Just Three Words (Soho Loft Romances) (36 page)

Sam stared at her. “Explain yourself.”

“You guys have always had this hard-to-explain vibe, a fiery chemistry. Back in college, I kind of wondered if you two would ever…” She raised a punctuating eyebrow.

“Seriously?”

“It crossed my mind once or twice, yeah.”

“Man. You were way ahead of me, that’s for sure,” Sam said, a little amazed. She turned to face Brooklyn more fully and softened her tone. “I know you were hurt that I didn’t come to you right away and honestly, if I hadn’t been so freaked out, I would have.”

Brooklyn nodded and stared out at the water. “It’s partially my fault. I was wrapped up in my own world, and I wasn’t the most available friend. So we both carry some of the responsibility.”

The night was fairly warm and Sam felt like she could sit out there with Brooklyn for hours. Next to her friend, she could let it all go. Be honest with herself and with Brooklyn. No matter how bad things seemed, there was comfort in that.

“I know you’re sad,” Brooklyn said, breaking the silence. “But she’s coming back, you know.”

Sam nodded. “But as what? Some distant roommate who comes and goes and speaks to me in overly polite exchanges? God, I don’t think I could take that, Brooks, not after everything. Not with the way I’m feeling.”

Brooklyn’s mouth fell open. “You’re a little lovesick, aren’t you?”

“That would be colossally stupid, which I’m trying harder this week not to be. Hunter’s not being stupid. Why should I?”

“Because this isn’t grade school. And it’s not objectivity you’re dealing with here. Column A does not have to equal column B in matters of love. In reality, you don’t know how stupid Hunter is or isn’t being. She puts on a lot of bravado when she’s hurt. That’s what you saw at the office that day before she left. She was in self-protection mode.”

Samantha nodded and let the comment roll around a bit. “Maybe. But she’s probably right to be. We should stop now before there’s any more of the hurting. Think about it. Her: a well-known player around town. Me: a pathetic exaggerator of all things romance. All of us: trying to run a successful business in a cutthroat city. Doesn’t that sound like a disastrous combination?”

“Not if you’re in love. Be honest with yourself. I know firsthand what it’s like to fall for the one person in life you shouldn’t. Doesn’t mean it can’t work itself out and be the most awesome thing you’ve ever experienced. And if it’s meant to be, the world will adjust. There’s only one question: Are you in love with Hunter?”

God, that word carried so much power. She’d thought she’d been in love with Libby. Hell, she’d been days away from saying the words to her. How silly that seemed now, in comparison. How trivial. And Brooklyn was right—it was time to be honest with herself. She took a deep breath and decided to lay it all out there. “I don’t know the exact moment it happened, and I thought you were supposed to.” She glanced at Brooklyn. “In the novels, they always know. But it’s here, Brooks. This overwhelming feeling of wanting to be around her all the time and take care of her and make out with her and go to sleep at the end of a day with her in my arms. And it’s more powerful than anything I’ve ever known. I do love her, no matter how much I fight it. So, lovesick?” She blew out a breath. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

A smile started small on Brooklyn’s face and spread out. “I’m happy for you, Sammie. I’ll admit, it was a shock at first, and it’s still taking some getting used to, but Mallory and I have done some talking.”

This was new information. She sat up a little straighter, her interest piqued. “You have? And what was the substance of those talks?”

Brooklyn lifted a shoulder. “If you and Hunter are meant to be, we’ll make it work at Savvy. We don’t want you to worry about that part. Some things are more important than business, and Mallory and I both feel strongly that you and Hunter fall into that category. We want you to be happy. That comes first.”

Samantha smiled as sheer relief washed over her in big, warm waves. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say. It means a lot to hear you say that.”

“And now you have, but there’s still a larger issue.” Brooklyn leaned forward, met Sam’s gaze squarely, and held on. “You’re in love, Sammie. Now what are you going to do about it?”

Samantha blinked back. Honestly, she didn’t have a clue. “I guess now I have to figure that out.”

*

Scraps of paper littered the floor, glitter was strewn about every available surface, and Pitbull played from the speakers in the corner. Scrapbooking class was in rare form tonight and Sam’s group of students was, too. Something must have been in the air.

Ms. Guaducci chair-danced as she addressed Mrs. Potter. “I’m just saying that if he wants to flirt with the cafeteria workers, well, that’s his loss. I’m on the market and plan to wheel my chair past that newcomer’s door a couple extra times on the way back to my room.”

“How’s your page coming?” Samantha asked.

“Better than her love life,” Mrs. Potter said, angling her head at Ms. Guaducci. Ouch.

“That’s okay,” Mrs. Guaducci said, patting Sam’s hand. “Men are pigs, sweetie. But we love ’em anyway.”

“That we do,” Sam said, playing along.

“Ms. Samantha, I believe I’ve finished my book.” Mr. Earnhardt stood in front of her holding his scrapbook reverently in his hands. He beamed at her, and the warm smile melted her heart.

“Do you mind if I take a look?” she asked.

He handed the book over to her. “I’d be honored.” As she flipped through the pages, the rest of her class slowly joined her, gathering in a huddle of solidarity to look over their friend’s work. Samantha watched as Mr. Earnhardt’s time with his late wife passed by in a succession of photos that told the story of their life together. Stunning, complete, and full of love. A lump formed in Sam’s throat, not just because of the poignancy of the couple’s snapshots, but because she wanted that. All of it. The life. The bond. The till-death-do-us-part. But what was shockingly clear to her now was that it wasn’t just some generic dream anymore. She knew exactly who she wanted those things with.

“Why are you crying, dear?” Mrs. Swientek asked, and placed a hand on her back.

“It’s nothing,” Sam said, doing her best to downplay her emotion. “There’s just been a lot going on lately, and Mr. Earnhardt’s scrapbook is just so beautiful and touching. You did such a good job on it,” she said to Mr. Earnhardt.

“Thank you,” he said, taking back what seemed to be his new prized possession. “I bet you’ll have one just as nice when you’re our age.”

But she wasn’t sure of that at all, and the uncertainty must have shown on her face.

“Samantha, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Mrs. Guaducci asked. Maybe it was the stress of the week, or how much she truly missed Hunter, or even the beauty of the scrapbook she’d just experienced, or maybe it was a culmination of all of those things that prompted Samantha to burst into tears.

“Oh no,” Mr. Earnhardt said, looking nervously at the faces of his friends. The men quickly sprang into action, moving about and shouting commands, quickly trying to fix the situation.

“Get some water!”

“Turn the music down!”

“Someone sit her down.”

The women were different. They crowded around Sam and patted her shoulder, easing her into one of the glitter-covered chairs.

“It’s okay, dear.”

“You’re with friends.”

“Let it out.”

She felt ridiculous for crying and even more so for doing it in front of her class, but they took care of her, those lovable folks, and fussed over her until the tears subsided.

“You feeling better now?” Mrs. Guaducci asked. “A good cry always makes me feel better.”

Sam gulped in a breath and nodded. “I think so.”

“Well, are you gonna tell us about it?” Mr. Turner asked, in exasperation. She knew that, with him, the exasperation was really just code for concern.

She glanced at the faces all around her, the whole gang blinking back at her expectantly. “Well,” she began. “I guess seeing that wonderful scrapbook reminded me how much I’d like to have a life like Mr. Earnhardt’s. Full and rich and filled with love.”

Suddenly everyone was talking at once.

“You can have that.”

“Just gotta fall in love and settle down.”

“I got divorced three times and turned out all right.”

“Can we turn Pitbull back on?”

But she noticed Mr. Earnhardt quietly trying to ask her something in the midst of the mayhem, so Samantha held up her hands to obtain everyone’s attention. When the room fell back into silence, she turned to him. “What were you saying, Mr. Earnhardt?”

“Do you love somebody, Samantha?”

If it was possible, it seemed like everyone leaned in a little closer at the question, eagerly awaiting some sort of hint to the answer. And after Mr. Earnhardt had shared the details of his life with her, she felt like she owed him an answer.

“I do.”

“It’s babelicious, isn’t it?” Mr. Glenville asked.

The ends of Samantha’s mouth turned up at the nickname, and she felt the blush the second it touched her cheeks.

“It is!” Mr. Earnhardt shouted, and the two old men high-fived each other with a loud smack.

“And does she love you back?” Mr. Earnhardt asked.

“I think it’s possible. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Then you have to find out,” he said simply.

The others all chimed in, agreeing with him, murmuring and nodding.

“It’s not a good time,” Sam explained. “She has some things going on in her life. Her mother isn’t well.”

“Well, then you should be there for her,” Mrs. Potter said.

“She needs you,” said Mrs. Guaducci.

Mr. Earnhardt stared hard at her. “What are you waiting for?”

It was a valid question.

What am I waiting for?

“How about another bite of Jell-O, Mama? For me? Just one.” It was getting late in the day. Hunter could tell as she glimpsed the sun on its final descent through the blinds. She’d been at the hospital since the doors had opened at seven that morning, and they’d been at this Jell-O thing for a good portion of the afternoon.

“No,” her mother said, shaking her head and turning away. “No more.” Her spirits were low and Hunter understood that this whole ordeal had taken a heavy toll on her. While her mother was out of the woods for the most part, she wasn’t bouncing back as fast as the doctors had hoped either. Her progress seemed to have plateaued.

“Okay. Maybe later, then.” Hunter sighed and set the dish down in defeat. While the week had brought with it a medical status downgrade from critical to fair, it had also presented its share of challenges. After she’d been removed from the ventilator, her mom’d had trouble swallowing, which was a side effect of the intubation. Now she wasn’t getting the nourishment she needed. Not only that, but she was less than thrilled with the oxygen mask the doctors required her to wear and wasn’t so enthused about the laps around the unit the doctor had prescribed to get her up and moving again. In fact, she was irritable, argumentative, and downright unhelpful. It turned out that Hunter’s warm and wonderful mother was quite possibly the worst patient in history.

“I know today is hard, but I need you to work on meeting me halfway. I’m going to let you rest, but we need to go for a walk in a little while.”

“I hate it here,” her mother said sadly.

It about broke Hunter’s heart. “Then we have to do everything the doctor says so we can get you home.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of my family, not the other way around.” Her voice was still raspy from the many days of intubation, and it seemed to take a lot of effort for her to explain herself.

Hunter was as gentle with her response as her frayed nerves would allow her to be. She was running on so little sleep, it was a wonder she could string a thought together. She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal that hadn’t come in a cardboard container. “No one loves to be in the hospital. And what we’re trying to do is get you out. I love you, Mom, and I want to get you home.”

Her mother raised her hands which was clearly a struggle in and of itself. “Then let’s go.”

“Not so fast there, superstar. One thing at a time. You think you can rest?”

She nodded, looking about as forlorn as Hunter had ever seen her.

“Claire is going to come sit with you in a bit, once the twins have had their dinner,” Hunter said. “And I’ll be back this evening to take you for that walk.” She kissed her mother’s cheek, which elicited a smile. As she turned to go, her mother grabbed her wrist.

“Thank you, Hunter. I love you.”

The sentiment slammed her with a jolt of emotion, as Hunter recounted just how close they’d come to losing her. “I love you, too, Mama.”

“Your father?”

“Doing laps. You know him. I’m sure he’ll be by soon.” It was the only thing that seemed to make him feel better. He was definitely an interesting guy. In the time that Hunter had been home, they’d talked only about her mother’s progress. But to his credit, and this was hard for her to admit, he’d been there every step of the way, for Kevin, for Claire. Even for her. It mattered.

On the drive back to her parents’ house, Hunter nearly fell asleep twice. She knew she should catch a few minutes of rest before going back to the hospital, but at the same time, there was laundry that needed to be done, dishes to be washed, and if they didn’t do something about their nutritional situation, her mother wouldn’t be the only one with heart problems. Her dad and brother were virtually no help around the house, as they depended so heavily on her mother, who’d always handled all things domestic.

So though her coping skills were at an all-time low, sleep would have to wait.

She took out her key as she made her way up the walk, but was surprised to find the door unlocked. A quick glance at the front yard, which contained Kevin’s overturned bike, told her he was back earlier than expected from his junior-year orientation.

What she wasn’t prepared for, however, were the mouthwatering aromas that accosted her senses upon entering the home. She froze in the entryway, closing her eyes in surrender, because, good God, it smelled wonderful in here. Only when she opened them again did she also marvel that, in a shocking turn of events, the place was gleaming.