Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (16 page)

“It was bad of me. Kissing you like that.”

Sam stopped what she was doing and turned to listen.

“I was half-asleep and…well, I hope that you’ll accept my apology.”

It wasn’t exactly an explanation, and as much as Sam wanted to move forward from this, she needed one. “What made you do it?”

Sam watched Hunter take a deep breath before meeting her eyes with reluctance. “Because in that moment, I couldn’t imagine not doing it. You were so beautiful standing there, the moonlight playing in your hair. Stunning. So I…acted.”

Samantha’s lips formed a tiny “oh,” but no sound escaped them. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her stunning. It hadn’t been what she’d expected to hear and that stripped her momentarily of her trajectory.

Hunter continued. “I didn’t tell you that to make you uncomfortable. But you did ask.”

“No, I did. I just…” Finally, Sam found her footing and said what her mind was thinking. “Really? You thought that about me?”

Hunter nodded, knowing full well it was a bold move, the honesty, but when asked the question, she couldn’t quite bring herself to sidestep the truth. Because it wasn’t some girl from a bar asking, it was Samantha. Samantha, who knew her better than most people on the planet. As Sam stared at her, Hunter felt a prickle of heat in her cheeks.

Sam glanced at the wall in mystification before shaking her head and meeting Hunter’s gaze. “I thought you’d maybe been sleepwalking.”

“I was awake.” And then because they were being so honest, Hunter took it one step further. “What made you kiss me back?”

At the question, Sam resembled a terrified puppy. Just as Hunter opened her mouth to let her off the hook, she got her answer.

“Well, you happen to be a really good kisser.”

Hunter laughed. She hadn’t seen that one coming. “Yeah, well, right back at you.”

Samantha walked around the island toward Hunter. “It can’t happen again. You know that, right? It would ruin everything that’s important.”

Hunter placed her hand over her heart. “I do, and it won’t. It was a moment in time. Our moment.” And then she grinned. “We’ll always have the kitchen, Sam.”

Samantha tossed a dish towel at her playfully and then covered her eyes with one hand. “I cannot believe you just said that to me.”

“I’ll never look at white grape juice the same way again.”

Sam gasped. “You have to stop or I will be forced to kill you. This is embarrassing enough.” But she was laughing and that was good.

“You can’t kill me. You adore me.”

Samantha stopped her advancement, her expression now sincere. “Now that part is true. You know that right?”

“I do.” A pause. “Leave the dishes for me. You made our dinner. I’ll clean up.”

“Roommate points. You sure?”

“Yep.” Hunter glanced at the sink. “I’m an amazing dishwasher. Prepare to be impressed.”

“I can hardly wait. While you do that, I’m off to Queens.”

Hunter smiled at Sam’s once-a-week volunteer gig at the retirement community. “Say hi to Mr. Earnhardt for me. And see if you can snag his lasagna recipe.”

“He swears he’s taking it to his grave, but I’ll see if I can’t sweet-talk him.”

“I have faith in you.”

Hunter put on the Eagles and went to work scrubbing the pots and plates they’d used for dinner. She was pleased with the kiss debriefing and felt they’d both handled the delicate situation quite well. They’d even laughed about it, which was just absolute bonus.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she automatically assumed it was April. They had plans to get together at nine just after April’s final class. She’d thought about canceling, but the distraction was much needed. But instead of April’s face smiling up at her from the screen, she saw her mother’s instead.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Hello, angel girl. Are you eating?”

“Right now? No. We just finished dinner. Why?”

“No, in general. You look too thin on the Facebook thing. It concerns me.”

Hunter smiled. Her mother was new to social media but was definitely making up for lost time. “I haven’t lost any weight, Mama. I promise. What photo are you looking at?”

“I don’t know. You were tagged by a girl named Stacey who has her arms around your waist. I hit ‘like,’ but I didn’t really like it at all.”

“She’s just a girl from a club I was at, Mama. I don’t really know her that well.”

“She wants to know you, that’s for sure. If you don’t know her, don’t let her up against you like that,
nani kaikamahine
. Everyone on the Faceplace is going to think she’s your girlfriend. My mah-jongg group will see and think there’s a wedding.”

Hunter smiled. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She knew when to pick her battles. Her mother was the sweetest person on planet Earth, but she came with a rock-solid set of morals and values that she expected her children to adhere to as well. And while Hunter did her best, she sometimes felt there was an unavoidable generation gap. Plus, her mother had never lived in New York City.

“I’m calling about your father’s birthday this weekend. It’s going to be more of a celebration than I originally thought. We’re having a party for him at the NCO club on base. All of our friends are coming.”

“Oh yeah?” She didn’t see why this had to involve her just because the location had changed.

“It would mean a lot to the family if you came. There will be pictures, and every time I look at them, my middle baby will be missing.”

Hunter dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. Not this again. If she knew him, her father would actually prefer it if she didn’t show up. It would be the best birthday present she could possibly give him. Why put herself through that and spend a weekend angry and resentful all over again? “He doesn’t need me or want me there, Mama. We both know this. If anything, it would just cause problems. He’ll make some sort of passive-aggressive comment. I’ll take offense and fire back. Nothing good ever comes from us being in the same room. You’d have photos of angry people.”

“That’s not true. I still hold out hope that you and your father will see eye to eye someday. Underneath it all, he’s a good man. He just has trouble communicating sometimes.”

And accepting his children as they are
, Hunter wanted to supply. But her mother was caught in the middle, and that couldn’t be an easy place to reside. She should cut her some slack. “I don’t think it’s going to work out this time. Plus, last-minute flights are hard to snag. I’ll come on a different weekend. How about next week?” She knew her mother was craving a visit, and if she dangled an impending trip in front of her, it might get her off the hook.

Her mom paused in defeat, not taking the bait. “It matters to me that you’re there. I want all three of my children present together when our friends and family come out to celebrate. You’re coming. You’ll find a reasonable flight. I’m your mama, and that’s what I say.”

What could she do here? Feeling as though her hands were tied and wanting to do whatever she could for her mother, she blew out a breath. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

“I love you, Hunter. Be good.”

“I love you, too, Mama. I will.”

Sam arrived at the Balmy Days Senior Center ten minutes late. She’d hopped the L train to Queens, but due to maintenance on the track, they’d been delayed and forced to transfer at the last minute. When she’d arrived, she was met by the usual suspects, all concerned she wasn’t going to make it for their scheduled scrapbooking class.

Samantha had begun volunteering at the retirement home three years prior, and since that time, had developed a steady following of residents who looked forward to their time together. While she tried to work up a variety of activities for them to participate in during her time with them, scrapbooking quickly emerged as their clear favorite. If there was one thing elderly people seemed to like to do, it was reminisce about the past, and organizing their old photos seemed to serve that purpose nicely.

“Sorry I’m late, everybody,” Sam said, sliding her bag off her shoulder. “Subway trouble.”

Mr. Turner nodded gruffly, but unfolded his arms. That was a start.

Mrs. Linehart clapped. “Well, at least we can get started now.”

“Thank God you’re all right,” Mrs. Swientek said, patting her shoulder. The others headed off to the recreation room, ready to get moving.

An hour later, with remnants of a glue stick all over her fingers, she moved about the room helping each resident as best she could. She looked forward to the time she spent at the senior center and loved her little group, even if they did bicker with each other incessantly over who was dating whom, or what the cafeteria should really look into serving. But one thing was clear: They all seemed to adore Sam—even Mr. Turner, who’d rather eat paper than admit it. Regardless of his stern demeanor, he showed up voluntarily each week, and quietly assembled his own scrapbook of mementos from his life.

“Samantha dear, do you have any glitter? I’d like to add some glitter to my single girl page. Make me a little bit of a rock star.”

“Sure, Mrs. Guaducci. What color would you like?” Mrs. Guaducci had recently added a pink streak to her white updo, in response to Mrs. Potter asking Mr. Glenville to sit with her in the dining hall. It was all a very big deal and still a bit touchy.

“Well, since I’m going for more of a hussy vibe with this page, to accentuate my swinging single years, what would you recommend?”

Swallowing her smile, Samantha selected a deep purple and handed it off.

“Samantha, dear, have I ever showed you a photo of my sweet Martha and me on our honeymoon?” Mr. Earnhardt asked.

“I don’t think so, Mr. Earnhardt.” She crossed the distance to his workstation and stared at the black-and-white photo of the young, happy couple standing next to a sand castle on the beach. Mr. Earnhardt had lost her five years ago to cancer. “Oh my. She’s beautiful.”

Mr. Earnhardt beamed at her words and looked back at the photo. “She was the prettiest girl in all of time. I think I’m going to give this photo its own page. Spotlight it some.”

Samantha smiled. “That sounds like the perfect idea to me. How about some beach die cuts? I have some in my supply bin.”

“It would be nice if you had one of the sun shining brightly.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with.”

The two-hour session seemed to fly by, but by the end of it, each of the residents had made much progress on their project. As Sam packed up all of the scrapbooking paraphernalia, her most dedicated gang of troublemakers hung close.

“When are we going to get to meet your girlfriend, Sam? You told us you’d bring her with you one day soon.”

Samantha hesitated, closing her eyes briefly at the still-painful Libby reminder. “I did say that. But unfortunately, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up.”

“Tramp,” sweet Mrs. Swientek shot. Sam’s eyebrows rose in response to the otherwise grandmotherly woman. “You’re better off without her, then. Burn her stuff.”

“Oh, wow. Thanks, but it’s not her fault. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“You’ll find someone better,” Mr. Earnhardt said.

Sam sighed and fastened the lid on the box of supplies she stored in the closet. “Maybe someday.”

“Well, if she can’t visit, maybe you could bring back those friends you work with sometime. They were very nice girls.”

Samantha smiled. The residents craved visitors, and she did what she could to bring folks in to see them. Mallory, Brooklyn, and Hunter had been great about stopping in every now and then, sitting in on her classes and helping as best they could.

“Now that is a definite possibility.”

“I like the blond one. She’s the most fun,” Mrs. Guaducci said.

Mr. Glenville raised a finger. “I think the dark-haired, exotic one should come back.”

Mrs. Guaducci scoffed and muttered under her breath. “Babelicious.”

“Excuse me?” Sam said, looking in question from Mrs. Guaducci to the others. “What does ‘babelicious’ mean?”

“It’s what these men call your friend. Downright disturbing if you ask me,” she grumbled. “Bunch of old men chasing after a girl her age.”

“We’re not chasing after her,” Mr. Earnhardt corrected. “That would be impolite. We just like it when she’s here. And we can see her.”

Sam couldn’t hold back the smile. “You call Hunter babelicious?”

Mr. Glenville shrugged sheepishly.

Sam laughed. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

*

“Can I order you another?” Hunter asked April, gesturing to her dwindling glass of Merlot. Not feeling wine herself, she’d gone with a vodka tonic and could already feel the day slide off her. She was relaxed, at ease with April, and feeling like herself again. It had been a good idea, this little late-night get-together.

They’d met at a tiny little French bistro in the Meatpacking District, not too far from the gym where April had just finished with work. They were the only table in the place, but then again it was after ten on a weeknight.

“Oh, no thanks,” April said, holding up the glass. “One is my limit during the week. Trying to stay on the fitness train as best I can. I’m happy you called. I don’t know if I said that already, but it’s true.”

Hunter smiled. April had a tendency to repeat things. It was kind of endearing. “Me too. I needed to get out tonight. This is perfect.”

April tilted her head to the side and studied her. “So what’s your story?”

“My story? Well, I work in advertising. Graphic art, more specifically. Recently moved from just down the street here to Soho. It’s an artist’s loft, so I can live and work in the same building due to zoning allowances. I have a dog, I’m into yoga, and work with my three best friends.”

“And date a lot of girls along the way.”

“Who told you that?”

“Just a hunch. You’re way smooth.”

“Thank you for catching that.”

It was light, their banter. They’d settled further into the place and traded stories about their days. April was funny and good looking and seemed to have a head on her shoulders. But she was nervous, that much Hunter picked up on. Luckily, she knew how to help. She dipped her head and met April’s eyes. “You’re very pretty, you know that?” It wasn’t a lie.