“No. I’m just telling you that you don’t have to,” Matt said. “I mean… we’re going to be divorced for the rest of our lives, for the rest of Andy’s life. I don’t check on you, call you two or three times a day to see how he’s doing. I know you're a good parent, and I don't worry about him, because I don't have to. And I’m asking for a little of the same in return.”
“You’re right. Okay.”
“Okay.” Matt sighed. “Do you want to say good night to him?”
“Sure.” Lydia closed her eyes, swallowed hard. Sam squeezed her shoulder in assurance. She turned her face up to him and gave him a quick, forced smile before she heard Andy’s tiny helium voice say, “Mama?”
“Hi baby,” she cooed into the phone. “Hi sweetie. I just wanted to say good night to you. Are you having fun with Daddy? You had a good time today?”
“Yah,” Andy said, his voice sounding tired but happy. “Dada. Yah. Dada paaaahk.”
Lydia felt her whole face light up. “Park! Daddy took you to the park!”
“Yah,” Andy squeaked.
“You said ‘park’! Good boy!” she gushed, sitting up straighter in her joy. “That’s right, Daddy took you to the park! You must have had a really good time, huh?”
Sam watched her silently, taking in the complex myriad of emotions she went through in such a short time. Her voice had immediately changed when she’d spoken to Matt. Her rich, lyrical speaking voice had gone almost completely flat in tone, tight, like speaking to Matt was something to be tolerated or endured.
He remembered how, the weekend they’d met, she had mentioned several times that she was tired a lot of the time, how she felt drained. He was starting to grasp one of the main reasons why: if this was her daily routine, she lived on an emotional roller coaster, flashing quickly from a high to a low and back again within minutes, and possibly did that multiple times in the course of a day. It was probably exhausting, both mentally and physically. He listened to the deep love and affection in her voice as she wished her son sweet dreams; then how, within an instant, her voice went flat again as she said goodbye to Matt.
“Sorry about that,” she mumbled as she shoved her cell phone back into her bag.
“Andy said a new word?” Sam asked lightly.
Lydia broke into a broad smile. “He did. He tried to tell me that his father took him to the park, only he said ‘paaaahk’. It took me by surprise. A wonderful surprise, mind you.”
“That’s great,” Sam said. “Good for him.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, unable to get the soft, proud smile off her face. Sam pulled her back to rest against him once more and kissed her forehead tenderly. She nestled closer into him.
Within minutes, it was dark outside, and the cab was winding through the curvy streets of the West Village. Lydia couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re just covering all of Manhattan today, aren’t we? Midtown, uptown, now way downtown—talk about a whirlwind tour!”
“Are you enjoying it?” Sam asked.
“Absolutely,” she smiled. She turned her face up to his and kissed him. His hand went to her cheek and held her face to his for more kisses until the cab stopped at their destination.
“How’d you even find this place?” Lydia asked as Sam ushered her into a small, sleek building. “I live in New York, and I wouldn’t know where to go.”
“The people I went out with last night, from the office,” he said. “I’d gone online to look at a few places, but I asked the group for any good recommendations. Two of them insisted that I try this restaurant, that it’s just one of the best in the city. And that’s what I wanted, to take you for some of the best sushi in the city. So I made a reservation last night, called right from the table. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course it is.” The restaurant was full, vibrant with voices and music, the clanging of glasses, dishes, flatware. It was dimly lit, very stylish, and bustling with life.
The hostess led them to the only unoccupied table, a small table for two along the back wall. Lydia slid into the booth, Sam took the chair. They settled in, ordered drinks, looked over the menu, and ordered dinner. They made small talk until the waitress brought them their drinks.
When Sam had taken a long swallow of his heated sake, and made sure Lydia had taken two sips of her Merlot, he took a deep breath. Then he said in a quiet but unyielding tone, “I have a confession to make.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Okay. Should I be nervous?”
“No! Not at all. I should be.” He rubbed his jaw, tentative, momentarily rethinking his decision to tell her what he’d planned. Then he dove in. “Remember how, the last day of the wedding weekend, after our big talk, I told you I had to come to New York for business, and wanted to make it longer, turn it into a whole weekend so we could get together?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said.
“Well…” Sam grinned sheepishly and locked his eyes on hers. “I, um… I kind of… lied. I've been wanting to tell you that.”
Lydia stilled. She stared at him, obviously waiting to hear the rest.
“I didn’t have a business trip already scheduled. I mean, I do come to New York for business trips, but this wasn’t one of them. I'm saying there was no pre-existing trip; I just wanted to see you again. But I thought if you… well, if I said I wanted to come out here just to see you, you’d balk. You were skittish as it was. So I made it up, that I was already coming out here.” He took a long sip of his sake, his steady gaze never leaving her face.
Lydia remained silent. Her expression was cool, composed, and to him, indecipherable.
“I did make a business trip out of it, once I’d decided to come out here,” Sam added, watching her carefully. “I set up appointments, I really did have meetings yesterday, and I really did go out with co-workers last night. But I set all that up after you’d agreed to see me. Kind of putting the cart before the horse, so to speak.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Wow, terrible metaphor. Sorry.”
Lydia’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, her brows furrowed as she mulled over his words. She took a few deep swallows of her wine, then her eyes lowered to her glass. He watched and waited as she concentrated on the deep red liquid that swirled in it. After what felt like an hour, she raised her gaze back up to meet his and asked softly, “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because it would’ve come out sooner or later,” Sam said. “And I felt compelled to tell you sooner. The day has been going so well—I don’t want there to be anything between us that’s not… true. From the start. And this is our start. So here’s the truth: I made up the trip so I could come out here and see you again. Now you know that. It's out, it's done.”
The waitress arrived at the table and placed a small white bowl of edamame in between them. Lydia reached across and picked out a fat pod, twirling it in her fingertips as she pondered.
“Are you angry at me?” Sam asked, feeling small stirrings of anxiety flow through him. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“No, no. I’m not angry at you. I just don’t really know what to say,” she admitted, her voice low. “If I didn’t know you at all, I might think you were… a little off your rocker. But we have spent the last two weeks getting to know each other…”
“So now you know for a fact that I’m a little off my rocker,” Sam joked.
Lydia smiled gently. “You must be. I can’t believe that you… you really did that? You made up, and then actually worked out, a business trip… just so you could see me again? That’s just…” Her voice trailed off. She popped the beans from their pod and they fell to the table.
“You think I’m a stalker now, don’t you,” he said tersely.
“Ha! No! No.” She leaned in on her elbows, her gaze direct as she said, “I think you’re quick on your feet, and I’d better take note of that. I think you’re one of the most unabashedly open people I’ve ever met. And that’s gutsy. I admire that in you. I think you’re incredibly sweet. I think you’re a re
pressed romantic. I really can’t believe you did all this…” Her eyes fastened intently on his. “I’m incredibly flattered. I’m stunned. No one’s ever done anything like this before… for me.” She shook her head in soft disbelief. “You’re lovely.”
Sam took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand with utmost tenderness and said plainly, “I had to see you again. And soon. It was really that simple. Inspiration hit and I ran with it. Thankfully, it worked.”
She pressed her lips together again, her standard gesture of ambivalence and hesitation which was already endearingly familiar. He didn't release her hand, but caressed the back of it with his thumb as they looked into each other’s eyes, both of them searching.
“I told you at that hotel, and I meant it. You just… you hit me,” Sam said quietly. “Sweetly, but hard. You knocked me on my ass. It just felt right; it was like there was a knowing there, a click… and I know it sounds crazy, I do. But the only reason I don’t feel like a total idiot is that you seemed to feel it too, and that you still do now. I’m not imagining that, right?”
Her features softened and suffused with warmth as she smiled. “No, you didn’t imagine that. I felt it too, and as strongly as you did. And it made me feel a little crazy and idiotic too, I have to admit it—I’m usually much more pragmatic than this, bordering on cynical. But… just because I can’t explain what’s going on between us, doesn’t mean it’s not really there. I felt what you felt. I feel what you’re feeling. So I guess we’re on the crazy train together.”
Sam flashed a radiant smile. “Good. Excellent.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it again, firmly this time. “And thank you for saying I’m not a complete jackass.”
She let out a short laugh. “Thank you. For doing all of this. It’s very, very sweet of you. Quite romantic,” she said, her tone hushed. “I admit that I'm appropriately, completely enchanted as a result.”
He nodded and grinned his lopsided, satisfied grin. “Great. I’m glad,” he said. “Enchanted sounds really good.”
With her free hand, Lydia grasped her wine glass. As she brought it to her mouth, she paused, then drawled, “And to think, the whole night’s still ahead of us… wonder if we’ll find a way to top it all off?” Her eyes held his as she sipped her Merlot.
Not breaking her gaze, Sam leaned in closely and said in a sensual purr, “I can think of a few ways. And I intend to show you each and every one of them.”
A faint blush bloomed on her cheeks. She bit her bottom lip and smiled in anticipation.
***
“Oh my God, I’m full,” Lydia moaned happily as they exited the restaurant. “Let’s not catch a cab just yet—can we walk a while? I need to move.”
“That sounds good, actually,” Sam said. “I’m full too, and that sake was strong.” He took her hand and grinned. “Lead the way, m’lady.”
They strolled up the street, taking in the hustle and bustle of a Saturday night in Manhattan all around them. They looked at store windows, watched the interesting array of people that passed by, commented on things that stood out, and laughed together.
When they got up to the Avenue of the Americas, they could see the majestic, easily recognizable arch of Washington Square Park across the way.
“Do you want to go over there?” Sam asked. “Or are two parks in one day too much?”
“I’d rather go somewhere dark and quiet,” she said. “Somewhere where we can have a drink and just relax.”
“I don’t think there’s a shortage of bars in Manhattan,” he cracked with a grin. “So the question is, do you want to find one around here, then hop a cab back to the hotel? Or go back up to midtown, and find a bar closer to the hotel?”
“The bars around here would probably have a little more character,” Lydia said.
“Then let’s go,” Sam said. “We’re on a mission.”
They walked up a few more blocks as the air turned cooler, passing a few bars along the way that didn’t seem to speak to them. Then, on West 10th Street, they found a small, dark lounge. Peeking through the window, they saw velvet couches, dim lighting, and not too many people. Lydia pulled Sam inside.
She went towards the back of the room, spotting an available loveseat covered in deep crimson. Sam helped her slip off her coat, then removed his own and draped both over the back of it. “I’ll go get some drinks,” he said. “What would you like? Another glass of Merlot?”
“No, I want something a little stronger now,” she said. “Vodka gimlet, please.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? You got it. Be back soon.”
“I’ll hold our couch.” She smiled as she sat. He winked at her and headed for the bar.
The loveseat wasn’t nearly as soft and comfortable as it appeared, but it was fine. She settled into the high-backed, rounded corner of it and looked around. The place was small, but not claustrophobic; and cozy. The shadowy lighting revealed rich shades of burgundy, crimson, and magenta on all sides of her. It wasn’t crowded; there were perhaps twenty other patrons in the bar. She smiled at the song playing over the sound system, an old ballad by Elvis Costello, one of her favorites. Then she looked across the room at Sam, who was leaning casually against the bar as he spoke to the bartender.
Damn, that is a handsome man, she thought to herself. She let her eyes roam slowly over the back of him, appraising him fully the way she’d wanted to all day. She took in his broad shoulders and wavy dark hair, his tall, lean build… she thought about how they’d likely end their date and felt her blood surge through her body. A jolt shot to her girly parts, making them tingle as her stomach dropped anxiously.
She exhaled a shallow breath. She needed that drink to calm her suddenly jangling nerves. Sam turned his head to peek at her over his shoulder and shot her a lazy, sexy smile, that smile that physically affected her. Maybe several drinks, she amended.
Sam returned, examining her expression as he handed her the drink. “What’s going on?” He sat beside her on the loveseat, angling himself towards her.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The look on your face… you’re like the cat who swallowed the canary.”
She laughed, grateful for the dim lighting so he wouldn’t see her blush. “Oh, I was just thinking.”
“May I ask about what?”
She shrugged, raised her glass to her lips. “You.” She sipped her drink, and let her eyes flirtatiously lock on his.
His lips parted in surprise. The air seemed to crackle around them. All he could do was stare back at her as a slow grin spread across his face. He took a long swallow of his beer. Balancing the dark bottle carefully on his knee, he leaned in and said, “You are one of the sexiest women I have ever met. Can I just tell you that?”
“Thank you,” she said. “Let’s just hope you still think that a few hours from now.”
Sam stilled for a few seconds, unsure of what she was saying.
“Lydia,” he said, “I’m pretty sure that any actions you take in the next few hours will only reinforce my opinion, not diminish it.” He watched her take a generous gulp of her drink, then another. She usually nursed her drinks slowly. Realization washed over him, and a slight grin lifted his mouth. “Wait a second. You’re not nervous about being with me tonight, are you?”
She laughed out loud, a full and throaty sound. “Hell yes, I’m nervous!”
He loved her laugh. The grin stayed, but his brows furrowed in confusion. “Seriously? I don’t mean to sound patronizing, but it’s not like we haven’t… been together before.”
“Sam,” she said quietly. She looked at him directly, but her voice was hushed. “We definitely had some fun. Lustful, fabulous, semi-naked fun. But we didn’t… come on, you know. Last time, I drew a line. This time, I’m not drawing any lines, and we both know it. And that’s fine, I want that. I’m on board, believe me. It’s just…” She gnawed on her bottom lip for a few seconds. His gaze burned into her. Then she simply blurt
ed out, “I haven’t had sex in over a year, okay? And I haven’t slept with anyone other than Matt in over eleven years. So it’s a little… daunting. To say the least.” She took another hard gulp of her drink. The glass was already more than half empty.
Sam thought back to the first time he’d slept with a new woman after Chelsea’s death. His wife had been gone for two years. Back in Chicago, he’d met someone at a bar and gone home with her, half drunk, really just wanting to get the experience over with. It had been quick. As soon as they were done, he’d excused himself to go into her bathroom, ostensibly to dispose of the condom and clean himself up. He’d done all that, then turned the water on full force to help mute any sound, and vomited violently—not from his drinking, but from guilt, sadness, and self-loathing.
While Lydia’s situation wasn’t quite the same, he remembered well the lump in his throat, the uncomfortable strangeness, the wrenching feeling of displacement, the overwhelming vulnerability. Having sex with a different person for the first time after only being with one person for so long…
Sam set down his beer on the floor so he could reach for her free hand with both of his and grasped it tightly. Again, her soft hand was wintry. Something occurred to him, and he began to connect the dots: whenever Lydia was upset or uneasy, her hands got cold, a bona fide physical reaction to her distress. He rubbed her hand between his to warm it. He reached up to smooth a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, looked into her eyes, and said softly, “It’s okay, Lydia. I understand. I really do.”
She pressed her lips together, obviously embarrassed by her admission. But it was also obvious his words reached her. She gave a small, slow nod. “Yeah. Well. You probably do, now that I think about it.” She took another sip of her drink. “Hey, what if all my parts don’t even work anymore from lack of use?”
He laughed, he couldn’t help it. “I bet I can get them working again.” He leaned in and kissed her, slow and sultry. She responded instantly, and he felt his whole body surge with fire and adrenaline. His fingers softly gripped the back of her neck, holding her to him. “God, do I want you,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’ve barely been able to think about much else since you drove away from me in Connecticut.”
Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) Page 9
