The smell of charcoal wafted through the guesthouse windows and I peeked outside to see Sam standing by the large black grill. I was impressed to see an old-fashioned charcoal grill. Most of the barbequing I’d done had been on a hibachi on the rooftop of Ellie’s East Village apartment. Drew’s more upscale building hadn’t allowed grilling.
I’d taken a shower earlier, and my hair was wrapped in a towel. I took it off, and my still-damp hair tumbled out. I wasn’t in the mood to blow it dry or straighten it, so I worked it into a quick French braid. In theory I’d end up with manageable waves instead of the chaos of curls it would be if I left it to air-dry freeform.
I popped into the bathroom and flat-ironed my bangs so I wouldn’t look like a poodle. By the time I walked back into the living room, the scent had changed from charcoal to the delicious aroma of seared meat. There was still a ton of work I needed to do but curiosity and my rumbling stomach propelled me outside.
I’d changed into a black tunic swing dress and capri leggings, and a gust of air flared the skirt Marilyn Monroe-style the second I stepped outside.
“Hey.” Sam’s grin was like a beacon luring me toward him. “Did you get a chance to rest from your drive?”
“Nah, but I did get in a shower. Those rainforest showerheads were amazing.”
“Glad you enjoyed them.”
Was it bad that I was hoping I’d just made him picture me naked? What was wrong with me? I was never this flirty, and not just because I’d been in a relationship the past half-decade. I just…wasn’t. “So whatcha cookin’?”
“We’ve got some jerk pork, some cilantro-lime chicken breasts, and some asparagus. There’s potato salad inside and some fiddleheads.”
“Ooh, fiddleheads. I’ve actually never had them. I thought they were only around in early spring.”
Sam shook his head, deftly turning over pork chops with his tongs. “Not up here. All depends on the winter and when the snow melts. This is a little later than usual for them to be around, but we had snow until May this year so…”
“May? Is that typical?”
He laughed. “The only thing typical about New England weather is that you can never tell what to expect.”
“I can’t imagine having snow until mid-spring. I’m used to Manhattan where a few inches slows everything to a crawl. But I do love when it snows at night. Empty New York City snow-covered streets are a thing of beauty.”
“That does sound nice. Did you grow up in the city?” Sam flipped the asparagus and lowered the lid on the grill.
“Yep. Lived there pretty much my whole life. I spent most summers at the beach, with a good friend. And I did an internship one summer during culinary school, in Boston. That’s where I met Audrey.”
“Right. Audrey. Is that how you wound up with the Speakeasy gig?”
“Yup. I needed a job and her family needed someone willing to get the gastropub up and running.”
“Sounds like divine timing.”
I shrugged and stared at my feet. Flashes of the scene that had led to me needing a job bombarded my brain. “Something like that.”
“You want a beer? Or I have soda, juice, wine…”
“Beer sounds great. Thanks.”
Sam jogged back to the house, hair bouncing. I tried to decide if he looked better coming or going. Which made me wonder what he looked like coming.
Phoebe, stop it. You’re here to do a job and make a plan for your fucked-up life, not to fuck it up more with…complications.
I forced myself to take a deep breath and focus on my surroundings. I hadn’t really looked around when we were moving all my shit into the cottage. The space between the main house and the guesthouse was no ordinary, run-of-the-mill back yard. It was surrounded on all sides by hundred-foot trees—a mix of evergreens and probably oaks, based on the acorn remnants I’d seen on the driveway. There were elaborate flower beds all around the house and a rock garden with enormous sparkling rocks—pink, gray, some sort of marble, maybe? I assumed that was a perk of owning a rock shop. And frog statues. Were they…doing yoga?
Sam appeared and handed me a chilled, bright-yellow can. The cheerful label said Sip of Sunshine IPA. “Your official welcome to Vermont.” He clinked my can with his, and we both drank.
It tasted bright and hoppy and instantly refreshed me. “I take it your aunt likes frogs?”
Sam opened the grill and plated the asparagus. “Actually, I’m to blame for the yoga frogs.” He gave the asparagus a quick squeeze of lemon and then set the plate on the wooden picnic table alongside the grill.
“Oh really?” I sipped some more, hoping to quell the fire or whatever it was that tingled through me every time Sam spoke.
“Legend has it that when I was three or four my grandmother took me to the Christmas bazaar at the all-season market, and I saw one of those frogs…” He scanned the yard. “That one, there, in the lotus pose. And decided I had to get Aunt Iris that frog for Christmas.”
“That’s adorable.”
“I was a cute kid. There’s photographic proof in some of the old photos in the house. But apparently Iris made such a huge fuss about how much she loved the frog, I got it in my head she needed another one every year. And now it’s just tradition. Every Christmas I get her some sort of frog. She took most of them with her when she moved into my grandmother’s house. There are salt and pepper shakers, creamers and sugar bowls, a teapot, bookends, a nightlight…”
“Wow. That’s dedication.”
He chuckled. “I’ve been traveling the last few years, and no matter where I was, I bought frogs wherever I saw them. I’m stocked up for a few Christmases now.”
I ran my hand over my beer can, tracing the logo. “It’s great how close you are to them. I’ve never had anything like that. Not with family at least. I’m closer to my best friend’s family than my own, but I don’t even see them much anymore.”
“I get it. Growing up, my best friend spent most of his time at my house. His parents were getting a divorce and my grandmother all but adopted him for a few years while that played out.”
“Does he still live in town?”
“Nope. He moved to Maine a few years ago. You’d probably like him—he runs a small bakery and makes crazy-good desserts.”
“Nice. Too bad he’s not closer. I’d hire him.”
Sam stuck an instant-read thermometer into one of the pork chops. “I’ll let him know in case the bakery doesn’t work out.”
“Can I help you with anything?”
He threw me that heart-stopping smile, and my insides flip-flopped. “Nope. You’re gonna be cooking for half the town soon. Tonight, let me do the cooking. Just don’t get too used to it, because I have a very small repertoire.”
“I can teach you a trick or two.”
He muffled another giggle and let his hair swing forward, but not before I caught the hint of a blush on his cheeks. For someone who rarely flirted I sure was managing to make everything I said sound sexual. Maybe I was just overtired, or something about the fresh Vermont air had gotten into me.
“I’ve no doubt you could teach me plenty. For now, how about you just help me get all this food inside? It’ll be too buggy if we stay out here.” He handed me the platter of asparagus while he grabbed the plate of pork and chicken and his beer.
He’d set two places at the kitchen table, not the breakfast bar like this morning. I slid into the side with the bench seat while he took a chair across from me. Puck appeared alongside me in an instant, purring and rubbing his head on my arm.
“Wow, unless you’re wearing catnip cologne, he must really like you. I’ve never seen him like this. Do you mind? I can give him his dinner or close him in the laundry room if he’s bothering you.”
I smoothed Puck’s silky black fur. “Nope. We’re good.”
Puck settled in alongside me and laid his head on my lap.
Sam passed me a square dish heaped with fiddleheads. “Hope you like them.”
I
scooped several onto my plate along with some potato salad, some asparagus, and one of the pork chops. I’d been too busy to think about food since the cinnamon buns, but I was suddenly ravenous. I popped a fiddlehead in my mouth, chewing slowly. “It’s like a mushroom and an artichoke had a love child.”
Deep laughter filled the room. “Vermont’s very free-spirited, so that may well be exactly what happened.”
I munched on another one. “They’re really good. How do you prepare them?”
“Pretty easy. You just drop them in boiling water a few minutes then sauté them with some garlic and butter, squeeze on a little lemon juice, and you’re good to go.”
I noticed he’d taken the time to zest a lemon too and sprinkle that on top. Did he always go to this much trouble, or was he trying to impress the big-city chef? Or did he maybe just want to impress me? My heart did a zingy thing at the thought. What the fuck? I was twenty-six years old, and not a single part of my body had ever had the responses that all my parts seemed to be having to this…stranger. He was basically still a stranger, even if he had fed me twice and even though he’d seen half my belongings and knew what was in my suitcase. Now I was the one blushing.
Sam took a swig of his beer and raked a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face for all of a few seconds before it drifted back into its sexy bedhead natural state. “Is the pork okay? You said no steak. Do you not eat beef?”
I swallowed my mouthful. “The pork is fantastic. The rub you used is perfect. And I love beef, I’ve just…”
“I’m sorry, was that too personal?”
I shook my head and took a breath. “No, it’s not too personal, it’s… Do you not spend a lot of time on social media?”
“As little as possible. Why?”
“Let’s just say I may be helping Audrey’s family out by opening their gastropub, but she’s really the one who’s doing me the big favor. I needed to get out of New York because I was… God, I don’t even know how to explain this. It’s embarrassing.”
Sam dipped his head and waited till I met his gaze. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable.”
And that was the thing. I shouldn’t have been comfortable sitting in a strange man’s house, sharing humiliating secrets. I should have wanted to retain what shreds of dignity I had left after the past nightmarish week. But something about him made me want to tell him everything. As if not telling him would be a lie. And for some reason that made no sense to me, I felt incapable of lying to him. So I spilled it out, the whole sordid story. I even pulled up the memes on my phone and handed it to him.
As he scrolled, I saw shock and then anger pass over his handsome features, and for a moment I regretted being so open. Then he looked up at me, eyes filled with compassion as he slid my phone back to me. “I’m sorry you went through all of that.”
“Yeah, so am I.”
“People have lost the ability to think about what their actions do to others. The thrill of saying something that gets a laugh or a like takes control of their brain and they don’t consider who they’re hurting. It’s horrible.”
I’d been so busy trying to move forward and forget about what happened, I hadn’t taken even a second to think about it that way. A lump formed in my throat, and I wasn’t at all sure I could swallow it away.
“And, excuse me for saying so, but this ex of yours was an asshole. That was a classless move, and doing it in public like that? Dude’s a fucking coward.”
I managed a half chuckle. “He knows I hate scenes and thought I wouldn’t make one. He misjudged me.”
“Seems like he misjudged a lot of things.”
“You know, the funny thing is, if he hadn’t cut me out of the business, I wouldn’t have been upset. We were a couple, but it… I don’t know how to explain it so it makes sense. We were together five years but it was never about love—we were like business partners with benefits. That probably makes me sound awful.”
Sam shook his head. “Not at all. You had a common goal, and you trusted each other. There’s nothing awful about that. Not every relationship has to be a storybook romance. Sometimes those are the ones that hurt the most.”
Something told me Sam had experienced that kind of heartache, and I had the sudden urge to smack whoever had broken his heart. “‘Trusted.’ Yeah, trust has never been my strong suit, but I did trust Drew. And look where that got me.”
Sam focused on me with those silvery eyes. “I’m looking. And I’m grateful to your dumbass ex because his loss is most certainly Colebury’s gain.”
6
Sam
I’d said her ex’s loss was Colebury’s gain, but what I’d wanted to say was that it was my gain. I’d had my share of hookups and flings over the past five years, but for the first time in what seemed like forever, I was having feelings.
Not gonna lie. It kind of freaked me out. But at the same time, having feelings felt so damn good I didn’t want to make them stop. Worse? I wasn’t sure I could stop them even if I tried.
Watching Phoebe eat, hearing her laugh, feeling her leg bump mine under the table, smelling her shampoo—honey ginger, if I wasn’t mistaken—all my senses came alive around her, as if I’d been asleep a very long time.
Once again she helped me clear the dishes, only this time we argued over who should wash them. Her lightning-fast kitchen moves got her to the sink before me, and we play-fought to get the sponge, soapy hands sliding together in a way that had me so close to kissing her I scared myself. She was new in town, exhausted from the trip, and fresh from a traumatic breakup. Now was not the time, even though I was inexplicably and overwhelmingly relieved to learn that she hadn’t been in love.
“You’re so stubborn,” she scolded, wrenching the sponge from my grip. “You can dry if it means so much to you. And when I cook for you, then you can wash. Fair?”
I’d have said yes to pretty much anything she asked me, to be honest. “Sure.”
She was already planning to cook for me sometime. I was a happy man.
I watched her hands turn lazy circles on the soap-covered dishes, my mind so full of other thoughts about her hands rubbing things that, soon, I needed a cold shower. Instead, I dried the dishes like my life depended on it.
“I have to go to Speakeasy tomorrow and meet the owners and have my official tour. What’s good for getting around up here—Uber? Lyft?”
I snorted. “Nope. What time do you need to be there?”
“He said any time after ten.”
“Perfect. I’m heading into Crystal Persuasion to do some inventory work. The shop’s closed on Sundays. I’ll drop you off at Speakeasy. It’s right down the road. You can just walk over when you’re done, and I’ll take you home.”
She stopped scrubbing and tilted her head. “Are you this nice to all your tenants?”
“You’re my first.”
“Seriously, you don’t have to do all that if it’s a problem. There must be a taxi company or something…”
“There’s one, but it takes a few hours to get your ride, costs a mint, and they prefer you book a week in advance. It’s mainly for things like rides to the airport in Burlington.”
“Sorry. Culture shock.”
I nodded. “I know. But honestly, it’s no trouble at all. In fact, if you want, when you’re done tomorrow, I can drive you around, give you a quick tour, show you where the grocery store and pharmacy are. You might feel a bit more at home once you get the lay of the land.”
“Except that I won’t be able to get to any of those places on my own. Know anyone with a cheap car for sale?”
“No need for that. I usually take my truck to work, which leaves the little Subaru here all by its lonesome. You’re welcome to use it whenever you need.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re just going to let a stranger drive your car? Have you never heard the horror stories about New York drivers?”
“Hey, I’ve survived Massholes in Boston and up here for summer vacays since I wa
s a kid. And I lived in Florence for six months. You can’t possibly be wackier than Italian drivers.”
“You didn’t see me taking those mountain roads in that U-Haul.”
“You must have a guardian angel who’s very on the ball.”
She shrugged. “I’m starting to think maybe you’re my guardian angel.”
“Nah. Just your Landneighbor.”
By the time the food was put away and the last dish was washed and dried, Phoebe looked exhausted.
“I’m still stiff from the long drive.” She twisted at her waist, grimacing, then bent to touch her toes, giving me a breathtaking view of her curvy ass. She rolled back to a standing position and ran a hand over her flank, flinching again. “Dammit.”
“Muscle tension?”
“I think so. Probably from having my right leg flexed the whole drive.”
“That’ll do it. Can I try something?”
Her brows shot up. “What’d you have in mind?”
“Just something my grandmother taught me as a kid. No funny business, I promise.”
“Did you just use the phrase ‘funny business’?” Her eyes playfully mocked me.
“I did.”
“Well then, I definitely trust you. What are you going to do to me?”
“Just relax and take a few deep breaths, nice and slow, in through your nose then out through your mouth.”
She took a very shallow breath.
“You’re way too tense. Come on, do it with me. In through your nose, and let your belly expand…” I did as I said, and she did too. “Now release it all nice and slow through your mouth.”
Her shoulders dropped with the exhale, so I knew she was starting to relax. “One more.”
As she was inhaling I started rubbing my palms together as she watched, skepticism clear in her furrowed brow.
“Good. I’m not going to touch you, so just relax, close your eyes, and keep breathing.” The friction built between my palms, heating them till they were burning hot. I grounded myself, calling in energy from source and the earth and letting it pool between my hands as I slowly brought them apart. Then I moved my hands to her back—not touching, just hovering an inch or two from her body where she’d said it hurt. My hands tingled and I moved them in slow circles, feeling the tension release from her. I shook my arms, waving it away. “Good. Take one more cleansing breath.”
Touchstone Page 4
