“Well, right now, I guess I am a little shy… I haven’t been naked in front of anyone other than Matt in over a decade,” Lydia whispered.
Sam nodded. “I get that. I understand, Lydia, I do.”
“No, actually, I don’t think you do. Because it’s not just shyness, or that I’m not as thin as I’d like to be. Which, as I’ve established, I’m definitely not.” Lydia swallowed hard and blurted out, “I had a baby, Sam. And that does… not so nice things to your body.”
The corner of his mouth turned up sadly. “Do you really think I’m that shallow?”
She shook her head and stated, “No. No, I don’t. But it doesn’t make it any less difficult for me. I mean, it’s not like I’ve known you for months. You’re the first new bedmate I’ve had in a very long time. Cut me some slack, will ya?”
Sam nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’ve already told you: I think you’re beautiful, and have from the minute I met you. Hey—as soon as I met you, I couldn’t stay away from you. So why would you think your body is in any way repellent to me?” He eyed the garbage pail a few feet away, aimed carefully, and tossed his apple core. It sailed right in. “Aha!” he cried proudly.
“Two points.” She grinned.
He turned right back to her. “So what are you unhappy with?” he asked, not letting her off the hook. “What’s so different now? Which parts in particular are you talking about? Just tell me. What do you think I’m going to be repulsed by in the bright light?”
She couldn’t help but smile at his gentle coaxing. “Well, for instance, I used to have a really great rack.”
“You still do,” he said, his grin turning a little wicked. Without his even being conscious of it, his eyes drifted down to her ample chest.
She chuckled wryly. “Well, you’re kind to say so, but I know the difference,” she said. “I know how the girls used to be, and they were a lot perkier before. This may sound shallow, but sometimes, that makes me a little sad. And, well… besides the extra pounds around my middle, some of which I don’t think will ever go away, and my wider hips… fine, I’ll just say it." She cleared her throat and announced, "I have stretch marks. You had to see them, and you’re just being kind to not say anything. They’re a little faded, but not much. My stomach looks like a road map. I didn’t really care before; Matt was my husband, the father of the baby who ruined my body, and the only one who ever saw me naked anyway. So I didn’t care—it was okay for him to see me like that, and I kind of thought of the marks like a badge of honor, if you can understand that. But now…”
Okay. There it is. Damn. Sam silenced her with a deep, tender kiss. “I don’t care,” he whispered emphatically. He held her face, kissed her again, then gripped her shoulders gently and stared into her eyes. “Are you hearing me? I don’t care.”
“But I do,” she whispered back. “It’s just really… unattractive.”
“It’s reality,” he said. “It’s your body, your story. It’s you. And I’m very attracted to you. All of you. Come on, who’s perfect by their mid-thirties? Very few people, and I wouldn’t want to hang out with them, because they’re probably Botoxed to death. And poor conversationalists.”
Lydia laughed wryly and shook her head at him.
Sam smiled back at her, glad his jest had somewhat diffused the intensity of the moment. “Lydia.” His eyes never left hers as he traced his long fingers slowly down her cheek, down her neck, down the entire length of her body, until his hand rested delicately on her thigh. He kissed her mouth, nipped at her chin, then murmured against her lips, “Have you honestly not felt how much I’ve wanted you, every time I’m near you, from the very first night?” He grinned ruefully, almost sheepish. “I thought it was pathetically obvious. I haven’t been a slave to my hormones like this since college. You have no idea.”
Lydia just looked at him, silent, motionless.
Sam sighed inwardly. Although she was still, he could see the battling emotions in her expressive eyes: doubt versus hope, with the discomfort and uncertainty still dominant. He pulled back and said softly, “I really didn’t mean to embarrass you, and if I did, I sincerely apologize. I want you to feel comfortable with me. I hope I didn’t put you off, and if I did, again, I'm really sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”
She nodded, giving the tiniest hint of a smile. Her features softened a bit as she said, “I’m fine. We’re good.”
Sam smiled back, obviously relieved, and stroked her bare shoulders with both hands. “Good. Okay.” He kissed her again before they both went back to the bowl, digging out pieces of fruit with their fingers once more. He fed her a very juicy piece of pineapple; when she bit into it, the juice dripped sloppily down her chin.
“You chose that one on purpose,” she accused with a laugh, swiping at the drops with her fingertips.
“You’re right, I did,” he smiled widely. He leaned in and kissed her wet, sticky mouth and chin, nibbling on her and licking her as he went. She giggled like a younger girl.
“So while you’re still laughing,” Sam said, “I’m totally gonna push my luck. I know I’m asking too many questions tonight, but I’ve got one more. It’s actually the one I originally intended to ask. You up for it?”
She finished wiping her chin with the napkin and shot him a sideways look. “Sheesh. Can I have a stiff drink first?” she quipped.
He laughed. “Sure, if you want. I realize I’m getting a little intense on you, I’m sorry. You want me to order up some wine or something?”
She shook her head. “No, no. I’m finally not feeling any effects of everything I drank before. I don’t want to push my luck.” She smirked and said good-naturedly, “Go on, let’s get it over with, Man of a Million Questions. That’s your new Native American tribal name, by the way. Consider yourself christened.”
He laughed at her jest and smiled broadly, appreciating her spirit and her willingness to keep answering his probing queries. “You’re a good sport. See, you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
“Mm hmm. Go on. What’s so freaking urgent, what do you want to know now?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SAM HESITATED; he knew that words mattered, that they had weight, and he always gave that notion its proper respect. So he always tried to choose them carefully. “Well. I’m obviously missing a lot of the pieces to the puzzle, and I know that truthfully, when it comes down to it, it’s none of my business. But… the more you tell me about your marriage, the less I understand it.”
Lydia laughed dryly. “Join the club. That’s probably why I got divorced, huh?”
Sam grinned. “We usually don’t talk about Matt, or your marriage, and that’s fine. But I want to now for a few minutes, if that’s alright. Because… frankly, I just don’t get what you ever saw in him. Much less, enough for you to marry him. It sounds like you had very little in common. Like you were very, very different people. So I can’t figure that one out. Could you enlighten me?”
“Wow.” Lydia scrutinized him. “You’ve thought about this? Seriously?”
“Yeah," he admitted. "I’m really curious.”
She nodded and plucked some more grapes from their stems as she formulated a response. “You know, I’ve thought about that very question many, many times over the past few years. So I actually do have something of an answer for that one.” She chewed two grapes and took a long swig from her bottle of water before continuing. “When you and I were in the park before, telling each other about past exes, remember I mentioned my boyfriend before Matt—Tommy, the hotheaded guitar player?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. So I went out with Tommy for almost two years. And it was always filled with drama. I’m talking about drama.” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Initially, when you’re young, the drama seems exciting, but it gets boring soon enough, you know? I quickly learned that drama queens—or kings—can be a real pain in the ass.”
Sam laughed. “True.”
“Being
with someone who’s very dramatic is emotionally and physically draining. After a while, it was exhausting. So when Tommy eventually dumped me, I think I was secretly relieved. But at the same time, it still hurt, you know?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
She sighed. “And then there I was, twenty-five and single, with a deflated ego, and a broken heart, and all my friends were starting to get engaged and married.” Her expression turned wistful. “I was… lonely. I was depressed. I was starting to worry that I’d end up an old maid. And then I met Matt.” She reached into the bowl and plucked out a chunk of honeydew. “We met at a crummy little bar.” She took a nibble of the melon and cracked, “That alone should have sent up a red flag. But he was nice. I was with my friends, he was with his friends… he was good looking, kind of quiet, and he seemed very… calm. Relaxed. Easygoing.”
“No drama,” Sam said, following where she was going.
“Exactly. Being with Tommy felt like hard work; in comparison, being with Matt was so easy.” Her smile turned rueful. “There was never any drama. We barely even argued. I had a companion. The sex was pretty good. He didn’t ask a lot of me. He just wanted my company. It was flattering. And the truth is…” She hesitated, and her eyes flicked away for a few seconds before she revealed, “I think I really just wanted to get married. Took me a long time to admit that one to myself. Of course, by the time I did, I was already contemplating divorce.”
She grimaced. “I realized later, too late, that I mistook his being relaxed and calm for what was actually simple apathy, a passive nature. I mistook his not asking a lot of me for what in truth was indifference. He wasn't really interested in the details of my day-to-day life. And after we were married, I realized that as much as having drama all the time sucked, being lackluster, lethargic, and apathetic sucked just as much. But hey, there we were, married.” Her voice trailed off and she stared off. Sam waited silently, letting her be. “And he wasn’t a bad person… look, I’d made my choice, so I tried to make the best of it. And I wanted children. I tried to make our family work. It didn’t. So… there it is. The ugly truth. At least, on my side. I have no idea what Matt would say about our marriage overall, but I'd imagine nothing good.” She arched an eyebrow at Sam and said in a dry tone, “Aren’t you glad you asked?”
“Hey. Don’t do that. I am glad I asked.” Sam’s voice was quiet, soothing. He held her hands firmly in his. “It’s not ugly. It’s good, because it’s honest. You took a hard look at it all, figured out what the real deal was, why it didn’t work, and then you actually did something about it.” He squeezed her hands, which were already noticeably colder. “You called me brave? Again, I think you’re pretty brave yourself, you just won’t own up to it.”
She shook her head and murmured, almost inaudibly, “If I was so brave, I would have stayed single and waited to meet the right guy, instead of settling just so I would be married.”
“I disagree,” Sam replied. “We all make mistakes. The brave person looks at them, recognizes them for what they are, and then does something to fix them. Most people don’t even admit when they’ve made a mistake, much less take an action to right it. Like, say, your husband. Sounds like he would’ve just stuck around no matter how unhappy you were, how unhappy you both were.”
“You're right, he would have. But I was just so miserable by the last two years,” she said. “Andy’s speech delay became such an issue, and it affected everything else between us, big or small… we fought a lot, or didn’t speak at all. Matt was so… angry that Andy had a disability. It frustrated him, and I think he was a little ashamed too. That our son wasn’t perfect, or ‘normal’.” Bitterness shadowed her eyes. “He didn’t know how to deal with it. I hated how he chose to deal with it, which was basically to just ignore it, to wait for it to just remedy itself or go away. And how he acted towards Andy sometimes—the lack of patience, the sharp tone of voice—that just killed any love or kindness I’d felt towards him. How can you not have patience for a baby? Your baby?”
She shook her head and scowled. “He was barely involved with any of the therapies, anything it took to help Andy… so it became a horrible living situation. I resented him so much, I got to a breaking point. And you know what? I think yes, he would’ve stayed, just because he’s so passive most of the time. But I couldn’t take it. I was so angry at him…” She blushed suddenly, then cleared her throat and pulled her icy hands out of Sam’s grasp. “I’m sorry, I’m going off on a total rant here. I must sound like a witch. Oh God. I’m shutting up now. I apologize.”
“Wait, no, don’t do that,” Sam said. He gripped her shoulders gently. “Don’t shut up, don’t apologize. I asked you to tell me. I’m glad you told me all of that. Now I have such a clearer picture, a better idea of… I wanted to get that pink elephant out of the room, you know?”
“Fine. I’m glad you’re glad,” she said, her voice clipped and hard. “But I don’t want to talk about him anymore tonight. I don’t want to waste any more breath on him, and I don’t want him touching this night. This night is mine. Ours. I don’t want to think about him at all. I just want to think about you. So did I tell you enough, can we change the subject now?”
“Of course, absolutely,” Sam said quickly. His eyes swept over her face, her set mouth. “Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Lydia said, but her tone still had a bit of an edge. She wouldn’t look at him, her eyes were glued to the window beyond him, and her cheeks were tinged with hot pink.
Sam realized immediately that she was uncomfortable with how much she’d revealed—not about anything she and Matt had done, but for the fervor with which she’d exposed just how angry and disappointed she’d been, for the slight rant she’d been unable to contain once she got started. He knew how highly she valued keeping control over herself, recognized that she didn’t want to come across as negative to him so soon in the game, and guessed that she was probably reprimanding herself inwardly for what she’d said, was perhaps even embarrassed. In fact, he could almost actually feel her withdrawing from him, even though she sat only inches away.
Sam set the glass bowl on the floor. Then he turned back to her and said, “Hey. I have a great way to put you back in a better frame of mind. Allow me…” Ignoring the distance in her eyes, he smiled, then covered her mouth with his own, slowly easing her back to lie down on the pillows. As he kissed her, he could sense the tension in her body, and he realized his speculation was likely right on point. She'd been retreating within her head, and he’d started to distract her just in time—she probably would have left the room altogether if he’d let her beat herself up for another full minute.
So he didn’t stop; he kept kissing her, slowly and deeply, letting his hands glide over her curves with tenderness. He didn’t let up until he felt her muscles relax again, felt her mood soften and her body willingly mold to his. Only then did he pull back for a moment to smile down at her, and felt his own tension subside when she smiled warmly in return.
The kisses quickly deepened. He moved slowly, embracing her, and breathed her name as he told her he wanted her again. She'd wrapped her legs around his hips in answer, and stirred sinuously beneath him as she'd kissed him back. Soon they were moving together, and he was inside her again, but not fast and frenzied like it had been the first time; this time, it was slow, languid, leisurely, as they took their sweet time in exploring and enjoying each other…
Sam stopped running and blinked, his mind clearing as he realized he was back at the hotel. He’d looped around the Manhattan blocks without even realizing it, with no awareness at all, so lost in his reverie that the run had gone on automatic pilot. He gave a short laugh at himself as he checked his watch; he’d been running for forty-five minutes. Deciding it was enough, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, did a few quick cool down stretches, and then went back into the hotel to head for his room.
When he got to his door and pulled out his cardkey, a sickening sense of déjà vu washed over hi
m, made him stop cold and pause with his hand in midair. That first weekend, after Lydia had spent the night in his hotel room, sleeping sweetly in his arms, he had gotten up to go for his morning run without waking her. He’d written a note to tell her he’d be back soon, and then left, enjoying a run around the property in Connecticut much like the one he’d just had in Manhattan, similarly lost in thoughts of the previous night with her.
But in Connecticut, when he’d returned to his room, she’d been gone. She’d fled the scene, filled with doubt and ambivalence over what had occurred between them. He’d had to track her down, and when he did, she had already started working on shutting him out, protecting herself. He remembered how his heart had pounded with anxiety, how he’d tried to sound calm as he talked to her, the look of quiet panic in her eyes. But he’d given it his all and eventually won her over, convinced her that she could trust him, that they should try to see each other again, maybe try dating long distance… still, the fact was, when he’d left her alone, she’d given in to her fears, and he’d almost lost her before they’d even begun.
Sam swallowed hard and stared at the hotel room door. After the incredible day and night they’d just shared—the park, the meals, the bar, making love twice, talking about all sorts of things, laughing endlessly, holding each other and whispering until they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms—she had to be there. She had to be right where he’d left her only an hour before, sleeping in the majestic king sized bed. She wouldn’t have bolted, not a second time… Sam closed his eyes, mad at himself for even thinking it, but man…
He shoved the cardkey in the door and thrust it open. The suite was silent. He closed the door quietly behind him, feeling tension creep into his bones, and crossed the front room to stand in the bedroom doorway.
Lydia was right there, sound asleep, her lustrous copper hair fanned out against the snow white pillows, her luscious naked body still tangled up in the sheets and comforter. Sam released his held breath in a relieved whoosh and kicked off his sneakers. He shook his head in disdain, berating himself for ever doubting her. He stepped over to her and listened to her slow, deep breathing. He dropped a feather light kiss on her bare shoulder, stared at her for a few seconds, then tiptoed to the bathroom to take a quick shower.
Winter Hopes (Seasons of Love) Page 12
