Sam was avoiding her. Wynter lifted a hand to knock on the closed office door and let it fall back to her side. She didn’t blame him. She’d pushed him to reveal feelings that she guessed he didn’t realize he had. She wasn’t sorry. He couldn’t avoid talking about that night forever. But he deserved a chance to retreat, time to think about his revelations.
The last of the snow was now a muddy wasteland. The white stuff had lost its charm long ago, anyway. It was time to get out of the house, explore Sam’s town and actively look for signs of spring to help raise her spirits.
She’d finished her letter to Sam’s grandmother and slipped in a recent photo of Charlotte for good measure. Ruby Dennis had long been on a one-person crusade to make sure that letter writing did not go the way of the dinosaurs. Emails and phone calls would have been more convenient, but Wynter treasured their correspondence and enjoyed partaking in the old-fashioned tradition.
Dropping the letter in the mailbox would have been easier, but running it all the way to the post office meant the chance to borrow Sam’s car and take a little field trip into town, such as it was. Wynter bundled the baby in her car seat and headed for the barn that had been converted to a garage. She winced with each squelch of her sneakers, slowly getting covered in slime.
Backing out of the driveway, she hoped she could remember her way to town. Was it a straightaway? Didn’t she have to take a left at the signpost? She sort of recalled how to get to the hospital, but that was a couple of towns over. And there was lots of farmland in between. She shrugged, sparing a quick glance at the gas gauge and geared up for an adventure.
Four houses. She’d counted. That was exactly how many residences Wynter spied on the way to town. And she’d managed to find her way, avoiding the turnoffs to the myriad farm lanes that meandered through fields of cows. Seriously, she wondered if the cow population exceeded the humans in the state of Vermont. She’d have to look that one up.
To say the town was a disappointment would be an understatement. Brick shoeboxes were arranged side by side. Every building looked exactly like the one beside it, across from it. The sleepy little town looked cold and industrial. So much potential wasted. Where they could have built window boxes to dress up the facades, there were none. Where they could have brightly colored awnings that welcomed guests, they had stark, naked doorways.
Wynter couldn’t find a single bench for townsfolk to stop and rest while running their errands. Perhaps they were not encouraged to linger. Just because it was a small town did not mean it was a close town. Maybe people had no desire to stop and catch up with each other.
Pulling into the empty parking lot beside the post office, Wynter reminded herself that she was unfairly comparing Braeden to her hometown. She resolved to withhold judgment until she’d had a chance to do a little exploring. Maybe she’d find a hidden gem that made the bleak little town worth visiting.
Lucky thing she could drop her letter off in the big blue mailbox outside the door, because the post office did not open until 10am. Wynter pondered whether lugging around a heavy car seat, only to browse if no one was open yet, was worth it. She peered at the windows, trying to make out the lettering on the nondescript signage across the street.
An old plastic Coors logo was lit up in the window of a building on the corner. Hopefully it was a restaurant and not a bar. Looking both ways before crossing the street, Wynter scoffed at the wasted effort. There wasn’t a car in sight, save for Sam’s SUV.
Yes. Red Formica tables and sticky vinyl booths. No bar stools. Not sure where these patrons were hiding their vehicles, Wynter was surprised to find the place half full. There was no bell over the door to announce her arrival, yet every pair of eyes turned to watch her shuffle uncomfortably to the hostess station.
“You want a table?” An older, tired looking waitress appeared at her elbow, holding a menu in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other.
A table, a booth, anything to get her out of the spotlight. “Yes, please.”
The waitress walked her to a table in the back. Wynter tried smiling at the first few staring faces, but gave up when they only scowled back. Tough crowd. She set the car seat on the floor, taking a moment to tuck the fuzzy pink blanket beneath Charlotte’s chin. The waitress’ eyes lingered on the baby, her lips puckering in what could have been an attempt at a genuine smile but then she huffed and broke her gaze.
“Coffee?”
“I’d love some, thank you.”
She shouldn’t be here, on Sam’s dime, as it were. She’d eaten breakfast at home so this was just wasteful. Only she needed an excuse to explore the town. Flipping open the menu, Wynter searched out the side items. Surely Sam wouldn’t begrudge her an English muffin and a cup of coffee? Of course he wouldn’t. Any guilt was solely on her.
“Just passing through town?” The older woman set a chipped coffee mug down in front of her with a nod in the direction of the sugar dispenser and the little bowl of non-dairy creamers.
“Staying with a friend, actually. We’ve been here a few months now. Well, I have.” She gave the baby carrier a little bounce with her toe. “This little one only arrived about six weeks ago.”
“Never seen ya before.”
“Well, with Sam living out on Rockford Road, we kept getting snowed in. Not really sightseeing weather.”
“Sam?” The waitress frowned.
“Sam Dennis. He’s lived here for about eight years now, I guess.”
“Nah. Never heard of him.”
“How about Riley Tucker? They live across the street from each other.”
“Nope. Him neither.”
Unsure what else to say, Wynter held out the menu. She ordered an English muffin, no butter and a slice of cheese. Her waitress frowned, like she wanted to say there was a minimum order and if she wanted to eat there, she’d have to order more food.
The baby started to fuss and Wynter wished she could join her. She rocked the car seat back and forth. Why would Sam punish himself like this? Hide in a town where no one seemed to know, or care, that he even existed. This was awful.
In Scallop Shores, he’d been loved by all. He’d been on the basketball team and the baseball team, rubbing elbows with the jocks. Proud geek, he had been the one to start a chess club in high school and won trophies for math club. His family hailed back so far, Wynter wouldn’t be surprised if they were some of the town’s founding fathers.
Mr. Dennis had been the town vet, practicing out of an old house in town that had been in his family for generations. Sam’s mom had been the police dispatcher, the voice everyone heard over their scanners whenever the police were summoned, which in their town was rarely for anything exciting. It was with bitter irony that Wynter realized the most action Scallop Shores had seen, while she’d been living there, was the call that the Dennises had asphyxiated in their sleep.
That was Sam’s last memory of his hometown. Hers, as well, practically. But while it was enough to keep him away for the rest of his life, it did nothing to curb her homesickness. She still wanted to go back, now more than ever. But how to get Sam away from this awful place he chose to serve his penance? She really hoped she heard back from Ruby soon. If anyone could help her convince Sam to move back home, it was his grandmother.
• • •
If he didn’t stop and take a break, his eyes were going to permanently cross. Sam pushed off against the edge of the desk, sending his chair flying back a few feet. Because it was fun, he did it again. Remembering the reason he’d barricaded himself in his office sobered his mood.
Sure he’d been avoiding her but Wynter, being Wynter, was supposed to come in and get in his face. It was what she did. It was their routine. He tried to hide from the things that made him uncomfortable and she forced him to deal with it. So where was she?
The house was quiet. He hadn’t heard Charlotte crying in a while. It was hardly likely that they were just napping together. They must be out. And she hadn’t told him she was leaving. Good grief! They weren’t an old married couple. How many times had he said exactly that to Riley? So why was he working himself into a snit now at the possibility she’d gone out without him?
Get used to it, Sammy boy. This is what it was like before she got here. This is what it’s going to be like when she moves back to Scallop Shores. Leaning his head back against the leather chair, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. His computer went into sleep mode and a photo of Wynter and the baby popped up on his screensaver.
She thought he’d told her everything about that night. She thought she understood his guilt. She had no clue he had really been in her room to finally admit his feelings for her. And there was no reason to tell her now. So why did he feel sneaky, as though he was hiding something from her?
A form of self-flagellation, Sam’s mind went into the old ‘what if’ scenario. What if he’d had the nerve to tell Wynter he loved her that night? Would she have returned his feelings? Would he have been so anxious to run, to escape Scallop Shores and everyone that reminded him of his parents and the fact that he’d cheated death? Would she have made more of an effort to find him when he first left, not twelve years after the fact? And the kicker, would Wynter have chosen Sam over Holt? Married him? Had his baby?
It shouldn’t even matter at this point. Sam growled, banging a fist on the armrest. He was hanging on to the past and it had to stop. Scrubbing his hands over his stubbled face, he shook his head. He needed a shower—and a toothbrush. It was time to let go of the ‘what ifs’ and start focusing on the ‘what could bes.’
After he’d showered, shaved, and sucked down a scalding cup of coffee, Sam went in search of his girls. Yeah, they were his now and it was time to figure out a way to keep Wynter in his life.
His SUV was still in the barn so they couldn’t have gone far. He’d seen the stroller, still folded, and leaning against the wall by the back door. It appeared that Riley had a couple of guests. Well, his buddy was about to get one more.
“Lucy, I’m home!” Sam let himself into Riley’s kitchen.
“Go away, I have a date.” Riley’s voice came from somewhere in the front of the house.
Sam listened for Wynter’s responding laugh, a comment, anything. Where was she? He stalked down the hall, finding his friend in the living room, a biography on Abraham Lincoln open in his lap, and Charlotte nestled in the crook of his arm.
“Where’s Wyn?”
“You thought she was who I was talking about when I said date, huh?” Riley’s wolfish grin grew huge. “You were jealous.” His laughter grated on Sam’s nerves.
“Shut up. Where is she?”
“Finally taking back what is yours, huh? Good for you, man.” Riley nodded his head toward the hallway. “She went down in the basement. Said she has a surprise for me. Lots of racket. I have no idea.” Riley shook his head.
As if on cue, a table saw whined loud enough to reach their ears. What the hell? Sam scrunched his nose and sent Riley a confused look. The other man shrugged his shoulders.
“I told you. Big racket. Been at it all morning. Tell her she better plan on cleaning up after herself. It’s not like I have a way of getting down to that basement any time in the near future.”
“I’ll see what’s going on. You good here?”
“Yeah. My date lets me do all the talking. I think this one’s a keeper.” Riley kissed the top of Charlotte’s downy head. “Go get her, Romeo.”
Sam strode for the stairs to the basement, his heart racing with worry that Wynter was taking on something far too dangerous for her to handle.
The buzzing of the saw cut off before he reached the bottom of the stairs. He steeled himself for a fight with the most stubborn woman he’d ever met. Rounding the corner, he opened his mouth to tell her exactly how crazy he thought she was to be messing with power tools, and let it hang. There might have been drool involved.
“Hey, I see you’re out of your cave. No telling Riley what I’m up to, you hear?”
Nope. He wouldn’t say a word. Mostly because all his blood had rushed to regions south. He’d lost all feeling in the upper half of his body, while the lower half was uncomfortably . . . stiff.
She stood behind a table saw, safety glasses covering her eyes. His old blue plaid flannel, barely covering a tiny white tank top, was tied in a knot at her waist. Sam looked her up and down, licking his lips as his imagination went into overdrive. She needed a tool belt. Yes. And work boots. Oh, and cut-off jeans.
“Yoo-hoo? Earth to Sam. You in there?” She’d lifted the glasses to the top of her head and set her hands on her hips.
“You’ve picked up some interesting new skills since high school.” Sam worked his tongue around the inside of his mouth. His words felt slurred, his head definitely fuzzy.
“Who knew, right?” She hefted a stack of boards, cut to size, to the workbench against the wall. “Turns out I can DIY like a pro. Guess all those home improvement shows I’ve been watching have paid off.” She winked as she picked up a drill and Sam had to bite back a moan.
“So what’s the project?” He managed to squeeze out the question.
“Riley’s got all those books and no place to store them. I’m putting some built-in shelving on either side of the big picture window in the living room. It all has to be waist-level, so I may just wrap it around the whole room.”
“He’s a lucky guy.” Sam’s sentiment was genuine.
“Jealous?” She flipped the safety glasses into place with a grin and gave the drill a brief whir.
Sam’s feet were moving before he realized his intent. He grabbed the drill from Wynter’s hand and set it on the bench. Slowly, he lifted the heavy plastic from her eyes, smiling with satisfaction when he realized her hooded gaze surely matched his own. He backed her up against the workbench, their bodies fitting together like a jigsaw puzzle. Just imagine what it would be like without clothing?
“Nah. Not jealous. It’s just the two of us down here, and Riley can’t make it down the stairs.”
Knowing she was about to scold him for his unkind words, Sam captured her lips before she could speak. He could smell her lavender body wash. He tasted her peppermint chewing gum, stealing it out of her mouth with a swipe of his tongue. Her throaty chuckle had him straining to get closer still.
Never breaking their kiss, he swept Wynter up in his arms. She wrapped her legs around him. Yes. Just like that. Sam didn’t even have to tell her what he liked.
He broke the kiss so that he could explore more of her, taste her sweet skin. Drawing her earlobe into his mouth, he sucked harder when her breathy sigh turned into a soft mewling. Their bodies were so close but he needed to be closer still. His hand was at the snap on her jeans when he realized what he was doing.
He’d waited this long, for this amazing woman. He’d saved himself for her. He knew that now. His first sexual experience was supposed to be with Wynter. But not like this. He wouldn’t take her in someone else’s dank basement. This was not the memory he wanted to create for his first time.
“I want you.” He rested his forehead against her shoulder, taking long shuddering breaths and willing his body to calm down.
“I want you, too.” Her fingers found him through the rough fabric of his jeans and it took everything he had to reach down and curl his hand around hers.
“But not like this, Wyn. You deserve better than this.”
“It’s okay.” His body cheered as she tried to convince him with her words, and her actions, that they should continue.
“We deserve better than this.” He couldn’t even believe his brain was still functioning at this point.
Wynter unhooked her heels from behind him, lifting his head to place a soft kiss on his mouth. She held his face between her hands as she studied him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes overly bright. In her expression he read frustration and a promise that they would pick up where they’d left off. But she wasn’t angry.
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he loved her. But he didn’t want to scare her. For all he knew, her interest in him was purely physical. At least this way, by keeping silent, he wouldn’t have to find out. It was his heart’s way of protecting itself, should his plans for the future not come to fruition.