by Robyn Neeley
“I don’t know. I’m kind of surprised at how good I am. Should I be worried? Are you a bad influence on me?”
Wynter giggled, punching her friend in the arm before settling down to rest her head on his chest. This should have put her at ease. They’d snuggled like this so often in the past. Sam would climb the old oak and tap on her window. She’d let him in and they would talk the night away. He’d comb his fingers through her hair. It had always made her want to purr. Eventually, she’d fall asleep. Sam would let himself out the window, closing it as best he could, before sneaking back into his own house in the wee hours of the morning. Her parents had been none the wiser.
Sam was on the scrawny side in high school, his slight chest bony, his long arms skinny. While they had been apart he had changed. Her skinny computer nerd had filled out. Now her head rested on one well-defined pec, while her arm stretched across the wide expanse of his chest. He was her Sam, and then some. Instead of snuggling into his chest, ready to chat the night away, Wynter found herself distracted by the scent of his spicy soap. Her fingers itched to play with the hair that curled against his neck. She remained still, hoping the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her cheek would calm her heightened senses.
“I was proud of you tonight, standing up to your parents like you did.” His deep voice rumbled through his chest, sending shivers all the way to her curling toes.
Great. Now she just wanted to crawl up his body and whisper naughty things in his ear. Wynter stiffened against Sam’s side. What used to be as natural as breathing was now the sweetest form of torture. Every place their bodies touched tingled. Her skin wanted more surface area covered. Her brain wanted her to lift off and hover, removing herself from the temptation that was her scrumptious best friend.
“I’ll just be glad when they leave.” Wynter couldn’t resist rubbing her cheek against the worn fabric of Sam’s tee. His fingertips skittered up her arm before finding their way into her hair to massage her scalp.
“Mmm … Me too.” The gravelly tone of Sam’s voice caught her off guard. Had he meant that the way it sounded? Or were her own needs interpreting that as suggestive?
The pads of his fingers pressed little circles into her hairline. Wynter ground her teeth together, suppressing the moan that would betray exactly how she really felt about him struggling to escape.
“Sam, about Scallop Shores. You didn’t have to tell my parents you would come with me. I understand why you stay away.” Understood but hated it.
He used the pressure from his fingertips in her hair to force her to meet his eyes. His jaw was rigid, his eyes dark and dangerous. She opened her mouth to speak but it hung slack as she registered the hunger in his expression.
“I don’t want to talk about Scallop Shores.”
“But—” Shut me up, Sam.
And he did. Sam hauled her up, bringing their faces into alignment before claiming her lips in a kiss that stole every breath, every thought, every last reservation she had. This time the moan did escape, slipping from her mouth into his. He swallowed it greedily, sharing a low sonorous growl of his own.
She wanted more. Her fingers became restless, darting over surfaces she hadn’t ever imagined touching. This was her Sam, after all, and she didn’t think of her Sam like that. Except that now she couldn’t stop thinking of Sam and sex in the same context. He made her want things she couldn’t have. He made her bold, ready to ask for what she needed.
His large hands cupped her bottom, pulling her against him right where the tightest bundle of nerves scraped against hard steel, urging her to lose all control and ride this wanton wave of lust to the finish. She couldn’t think. She could only need. Her body trembled with the force of it.
Then the toilet flushed in the hallway and her father exited the bathroom, whistling a tune. She knew, from memory, that he carried a rolled up magazine under his arm. Squeezing her eyes shut, she broke the kiss, trying to gain control of the situation. Sam held her chin up with one finger, and when she peeked through her lashes, she saw that he had no intention of letting her father interrupt what they had started.
She buried her face in his chest. This had gotten completely out of control. Never mind that it was what she wanted more than anything in the world. It was wrong. She couldn’t have Sam. She shouldn’t have Sam. Kissing Sam, touching Sam, it was all so good. And that was what made it wrong.
Wynter pushed herself off his chest and scrambled for the edge of the bed, shrugging off his hand when he reached for her shoulder. God, he’s going to think I’m nuts! How to explain the guilt, the wrongness of wanting her best friend? She’d been married to Holt for nearly ten years and had never felt this passion, this all-consuming desperation to share herself with him. This was wrong.
Really, what kind of woman throws herself into the arms of another man mere months after losing her husband, the father of her new baby girl? A woman who should never have married that man in the first place. Holt had been there for her at a time when she’d felt alone, lost. He’d deserved a wife who gave him her whole body and heart. He just hadn’t gotten it.
And now she was giving herself to Sam with all the reckless abandon of a … She couldn’t even think the word. It was dirty. It was shameful. Yet it fit her to a T. Please forgive me, Holt. I’m acting like a slut. There. She’d said it, at least in her own head. Admitting it didn’t make the reality of it feel any better.
“Talk to me, Wyn. I’m not going anywhere.” This time he cupped both shoulders tightly, pulling her against him.
“See, that’s just the thing. You aren’t going anywhere. But I am.” She turned, catching sight of his stubbled jaw and resisting the urge to reach out and stroke it with her fingertips.
“My future is in Scallop Shores. I’ve known that I would go back since Holt and I left for college. As much as I want you in my life, in Charlotte’s life, it’s just not going to work. Unless you’re willing to face your past, slay your demons, this,” she laid a palm on his chest and then moved it to her own, “this is just temporary. And I don’t want to start something with you that we can’t finish.”
His silence told her he understood, and agreed. What had she been expecting? That he’d suddenly offer to overlook a past that had haunted him for twelve years? His focus was on her left shoulder and try as she might, Wynter could not get him to look her in the eye. His expression was pained. She hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. That was all on him.
“It’s late, Sam. Let’s get some sleep.”
This time he did look up, and the raw vulnerability she witnessed made Wynter want to take his hand and help him beneath the covers. She yearned to hold him, kiss him and tell him everything was going to be okay.
It was supposed to be all about her. Now that Holt was gone, it was Wynter’s chance to live independently, make her own choices. She had her daughter to think of and no time for complications.
But the more time she spent with Sam, the tighter he became woven into her life. They’d shared a past, they were connected. She’d understood that, had shamefully tried to exploit that. But these new feelings she was having for Sam? It was getting harder and harder to separate her wants and needs, her goals for the future from this old farmhouse in Middle-Of-Nowhere Vermont, or from the man who used to be her buddy and was starting to look an awful lot like her soul mate, a concept she’d considered a fairy tale until very recently.
Wynter slipped beneath the covers alone. Her toes stretched across the length of the mattress as though, if she stretched far enough, she could reach Sam, curled up with an extra blanket on the floor beside the closet. She hugged the pillow, catching just a lingering trace of Sam’s scent. Burying her face, she breathed deep. If she’d thought her life was complicated before arriving at Sam’s place, it was nothing compared to now.
• • •
The cement floor of the basement was chilly, even under her stocking feet. Wynter did a little dance to warm up, as she scooped the warm clothes from the dryer into the laundry
basket at her feet. Kicking it aside, she transferred the wet things from the washing machine into the dryer and turned it back on.
“Were you just going to hide down here until we left?” The sound of the dryer had masked her mother’s arrival.
She’d been planning to come back upstairs. Maybe at the last possible second, but she’d have been there to see them off. Barely. Slipping into her dutiful daughter persona, Wynter conjured a mental clock, ticking down the minutes until her mother was in that large rental currently parked in the driveway, heading toward the airport and away from them.
“Just getting a little laundry done while Charlotte sleeps.” She didn’t have the energy for another go ‘round.
Hauling the basket up on her hip, she was about to lead the way back up to the living room when her mother stopped her with a hand on her arm. Gloria wasn’t the touchy-feely type, so this was enough to stop Wynter in her tracks.
“I wanted to talk to you alone. Before we go.”
Yep. Another go ‘round.
“Mom, I’m tired and I’m busy. You remember what it was like having a newborn around, I’m sure. There is very little time to get things done in between Charlotte’s little catnaps.”
“I do, yes. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, actually.”
Dropping her arm to her side, Gloria seemed to struggle for the right words.
This was interesting. Wynter set the basket of clothes on the dryer and began pairing socks, holding them together and rolling them into a ball, just as her mother had taught her.
“We haven’t had the easiest relationship. I know I’m partly to blame for that.
Before she could cough, sputter, gag, or in any other way acknowledge that gross exaggeration of the truth, her mother had continued.
“Everything I did was out of love for you and your brothers. I was the best mother I knew how to be. I want you to know how much I loved you all, how much I still love you.”
“Mom, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She’d run out of socks and was frantically searching the bottom of the basket for anything that would keep her from having to make eye contact. Who was this alien pod person that had taken over her mother’s body? The lonely little girl that had craved her mother’s affection was still there, hiding inside Wynter’s heart. And she was intrigued.
The adult in her was suspicious. Why now? Was this a last-minute ploy to get her to see reason and get her to fly home to Florida with them?
“I bought something, just a little present.”
Ah, there we go! A plane ticket, no doubt.
“Mom, you didn’t have to. Really.”
Gloria reached into the pocket of her baggy brown corduroys and withdrew a small box. It was too tiny to house a plane ticket. She held it out to Wynter, her expression one of uncertainty.
Taking a deep breath, her nose picking out equal parts dryer sheet and musty basement, Wynter accepted the box with trepidation. Her mother watched her closely. It was unnerving, really. A simple white box, it made very little sound when she shook it.
Removing the lid, she gasped. Inside was a bracelet, clearly meant for an infant. The links were gold, delicate. Dangling from the center of the chain was a flat charm, a filigreed rose etched into the metal.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Turn it over.” Gloria gestured with her hand.
Engraved on the back were the words Beloved Granddaughter. Wynter pressed her fingers to her mouth. Emotions she didn’t think she possessed for the woman in front of her clogged her throat, made it impossible to speak.
“She doesn’t have to wear it, of course. I just thought she ought to have something to remember us by.”
“Remember you by? It’s not like this is the last time you’ll ever see her.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve made it more than clear that you don’t need us.”
“I just … you were pushing too hard. I guess I was a little unreasonable.”
Wynter wrapped her arms around her mother. The slight woman felt stiff. They stood awkwardly for a few moments. Nope. Affection just didn’t seem to come naturally with them. The relief was tangible when they pulled apart.
“Thank you. I will make sure Charlotte treasures this bracelet.”
Gloria offered her a quiet smile and patted her hand. “There’s something in the bottom of the box for you, too. But you can look at it later, after we’re gone.” Then she retreated up the stairs, leaving Wynter stunned.
Had she misjudged her mother? Perhaps the idea of losing the relationship of another grandchild had made the woman resolve to be a better person. It didn’t erase the years of childhood trauma Gloria had inflicted on Wynter, but it was a start. A fresh start. And that made her heart feel good.
They made it through the rest of the morning and her parents’ departure rather uneventfully. It wasn’t until hours later that she recalled her mother’s mention of a gift and picked up the jewelry box again. There was a piece of paper stuck inside the bottom, underneath the soft batting. Curiosity piquing, Wynter plucked it out and unfolded it.
A check made out to her in the amount of ten thousand dollars was pinched between her trembling fingers. In the subject line, at the bottom of the check, it read Scallop Shores Travel Fund.
Of course. It was just like her parents to throw money at a problem. Her mother had called it a gift, but there were so many different ways she could interpret this check. Did they really just want to help? Or was this a means to get in one last dig at Wynter, to say that they didn’t think she could carve out a new life for her daughter without their assistance or Sam’s?
Stiffening her spine, she tore up the check, until the pieces of paper were so tiny she couldn’t make out any of the writing. Wynter would earn her own way back to Scallop Shores. She would find a way to pay back Sam for his generosity. And she’d do it on her own.
Chapter 13
“I don’t understand why you can’t just keep everything the way it is. Convince Wynter that she wants to be with you, and it doesn’t matter where the two of you live.” Riley never looked up from the staring contest he was having with little Charlotte.
“So then I get everything I’ve always wanted and to hell with her dreams?” Sam scoffed.
“Shh. Daddy doesn’t need to start teaching you this colorful new language just yet, does he Charlotte? He’s just whiny because he’s not getting any. It’s what we call ‘sexually frustrated’. But you have a few years before we need to explain where you came from.”
“Yeah, like, not from me. I’m not her daddy, Ri. Cut it out.”
“It may not have been your sperm that helped give her life, but that doesn’t matter. You’re the man in her life right now. Well, you and her coolest uncle in the world. Uncle Riley.” He chucked the baby under her chin.
Sam rolled his eyes.
“You’re completely glossing over Holt’s role in all of this. Wynter loved the guy enough to marry him, to have his baby. She’s still grieving.”
“Uh huh. So then why is she choosing to suck face with you?” Riley puckered up his lips, making kissing noises at Charlotte.
Sam threw his hands up in the air and stalked to the window. He knew he shouldn’t have revealed that little tidbit to Riley. The man was worse than a gossiping old granny. He gritted his teeth and rested his hands on the window frame. Riley hadn’t stopped cooing at the baby.
Mother Nature had decided to be kind, bestowing a string of warm days to mark the end of winter and the start of spring. But to the people of Braeden, that meant rapid snow melt, slush, basement flooding, and mud. Lots of mud. Yeah, he had so much to offer Wynter here.
Sam tried to remember what it had been like in Scallop Shores at the beginning of spring. It was only a four hour drive northeast. Surely the conditions couldn’t be that different. He knew he held his old hometown to a higher standard, kept it postcard-perfect in his memory. He’d decided a long time ago that he was never going back. Sam had l
ost the right to live in Scallop Shores the night he’d let his parents die without him.
“Yo, Sammy, someone is smelling a little funky over here.”
“So take a shower.” He allowed a smile to slide over his features before turning away from the window.
“Aw, and here I was going to offer to change her.” Riley held the baby out to Sam with a wink and a wicked grin.
“You wouldn’t know which end of a baby to diaper if you had to. Come here, Charlotte, Sam will clean you right up.”
He carried the baby to the couch, cradling her in one arm while using the other to arrange the changing pad and supplies he’d need. Riley rolled his chair closer. Sam started to unswaddle the infant, knowing, before he was done, that he was dealing with a full blow out.
“Seriously! How can someone so incredibly cute do something so horribly revolting?” Riley covered his eyes in horror, waving an arm like he was warding off a major evil.
“Babies poop, Ri. It’s what they do. They eat. They sleep. They poop. Not much else at this point.” His movements were efficient. The mess didn’t bother him at all.
“You were so born for this.”
“To get attached to a little girl and her mother when I know they’re going to leave me?”
“No, idiot! To be a dad. You make it look effortless. You kind of make me wonder what it would be like to take on that kind of responsibility. If I could get past the fact that I can’t run with my kids, teach them to walk, or ride a bike. You can do all that. And you should.”
Sam released a long sigh. “This life … This moment, it’s not supposed to be mine. It was supposed to be Holt's. I feel like I’m stealing something from him, you know?”
“You didn’t kill him, Sam. He was gone before you even found out about Charlotte. Besides, he would want you to step up. Friends do that for each other.”
“Yeah, and friends support each other’s dreams. Which is why I have to let Wynter go. She wants to live in Scallop Shores. She wants to run my grandmother’s book store.”
“What if your grandmother doesn’t want her to run it? She’s your grandma. Tell her you want Wynter to stay with you. Have her convince Wynter that she should find a new dream.”
