CHAPTER 2

Sam

“Nichole wants to invite you to dinner.”

Sam looked up from the engine he was tinkering with in the driveway of his house. He grabbed the pink rag that was tucked in his back pocket and wiped his hands clean while he mulled this over. He’d eaten with Rocco and Nichole any number of times, but never with a specific invitation. Most times he was at the house around dinnertime and Nichole threw an extra plate on the table. No biggie. This sounded suspicious.

“What’s up?” Sam asked skeptically.

“Dinner,” Rocco said, shrugging off the question.

“Why are you asking me like this? There’s a catch, isn’t there?”

“No catch.”

Okay, he’d play along. “When?”

“You available tonight?” Rocco asked.

The handwriting on the wall was coming into focus, and he didn’t like what he saw. “Short notice, isn’t it?”

“You got any other plans?”

A beer in front of the Seahawks preseason game was about as social as he intended to get this Saturday night.

“Didn’t think so.” Rocco didn’t wait for an answer. He walked around to the other side of his truck.

“You need to come,” six-year-old Owen insisted.

“Why is that?”

Rocco grinned and ruffled the top of Owen’s head. “He’s looking for you to fill his jar full of dollar bills.”

Sam snickered; the kid had cleaned him out more than once.

“Only have to pay if you use bad words,” Owen clarified. “You need to come because Mom’s been cooking all morning and she’s got a special friend coming.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Slowly straightening, Sam glared at Rocco, who avoided eye contact. “A special friend?” he repeated. “Of Nichole’s?”

Rocco frowned down at his stepson as if to scold the boy.

So this was a booby trap. “How special?” Sam said again, focusing his gaze on his best friend. Sounded like there was a price to be paid for said dinner.

“Another teacher,” Rocco said with a shrug as if this was a small thing. They both knew it wasn’t.

“Male or female?” Although he already knew the answer.

Rocco thrust his hands into his back pockets and cleared his throat as if something had got caught in his windpipe. “Female.”

“And exactly when were you going to mention the invitation also included this special friend of Nichole’s?”

Rocco walked around to the other side of Sam’s truck. “I was getting around to that.”

“Sure you were,” Sam muttered. “You know I don’t do blind dates.” Or relationships. Better than anyone, Rocco knew Sam’s history with women, all of which was negative.

“I know…”

“She’s not blind, Uncle Sam,” Owen inserted before Rocco had a chance to speak. “It’s like a date and Mom said she’s perfect for you.”

“Right.” His gaze didn’t leave Rocco’s. This sneaky invite wasn’t like Rocco. “What’s the deal?” he asked, continuing to wipe his already clean hands.

Rocco continued to look ill at ease. “Nichole’s got her heart set on this. She really likes this teacher.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Once, briefly.”

“Her name is Beth,” Owen rushed to add.

Sam waited for Rocco to enlighten him. “And?” he prompted when his friend remained suspiciously quiet.

“Beth came to the house shortly after she met Nichole. I was there, but for the life of me I don’t remember much about her.”

Apparently, she wasn’t memorable. He didn’t know Rocco to lie, but Sam wasn’t convinced his friend was telling him the full truth.

“I remember her,” Owen popped up excitedly. “She’s nice; she’s not ugly or anything.”

That was an underwhelming endorsement. Bending over, Sam went back to working on the engine of the classic 1967 Dodge R/T. “Like I said, I don’t do blind dates.”

“Sam,” Rocco said and groaned.

“You gotta come,” Owen insisted. “Mom’s making homemade chicken cordon bleu, and she baked her special applesauce cake.”

“No thanks.”

“She’s even using the china we got from Grandma.”

Sam still wasn’t convinced. “Knowing Nichole, she’s got a backup plan. She can invite the next unsuspecting guy on her list.”

“Nope.” Again it was Owen who spoke. “She said you’re the one.”

“He’s telling you the truth,” Rocco said.

Sam groaned and slumped his shoulders. It was just his luck that Nichole would pick on him. “Why me?”

“Beth is the music teacher at the high school.”

“What kind of music?”

“Classical stuff: Mozart and Bach and a whole bunch of those old guys. You play the guitar, she plays the piano. You have a lot in common.”

“Like I listen to Mozart,” Sam muttered, shaking his head. He didn’t need to meet this teacher friend of Nichole’s to guess they were about as ill-suited as any two people were likely to get.

“She likes other kinds of music, too,” Owen said. “She knows Uncle Kracker and Bruno Mars.”

Owen was doing the talking. Seeing how silent Rocco remained made him all the more suspicious.

“She ever listen to the Oak Ridge Boys? What about George Strait, David Allan Coe or Carrie Underwood?”

Owen frowned. “I don’t know, but you can ask her.”

Sam didn’t plan on it, seeing that he had no intention of showing up for this dinner. He glanced at Rocco. “You’re not saying much.”

“This wasn’t my idea.”

Thankfully, Rocco understood where he was coming from. “Thank God for that.”

“Did he use God’s name as a swear word?” Owen asked Rocco.

“No.” Both Rocco and Sam chimed in together.

“You coming or not?” Rocco pressed.

“Not.” No good would come of this blind date.

Even with his head bent over the truck engine, Sam saw Owen’s face fall. “Mom’s not going to be happy.”

Sam managed to suppress a smile. He straightened and eyed his friend. “I want to know how Nichole managed to rope you into this?” Rocco was the one person who knew him best. He was well aware of the way Sam felt about friends setting him up.

“I love my wife,” Rocco said, exhaling slowly. “You have to know this wasn’t my idea, but Nichole has her heart set on you meeting Beth. The hell if I can refuse her.”

Owen grabbed the sleeve of Rocco’s shirt and jerked it. “Hell’s a swear word.”

“I am not paying you a dollar for hell,” Rocco muttered.

“You said it again. That’s two dollars.”

Rocco groaned. “It’s in the Bible, and any word in the Bible can’t be considered a swear word.” Glaring at Sam, he said, “See what you’ve done? You’re the one who started this.”

“And I’ve paid through the nose.”

“You can use other words instead of bad ones,” Owen helpfully supplied.

“True, but do you know the looks I get when I swear saying mother-forklift?”

Rocco burst out laughing.

“You think it’s funny, do you?” he asked, but he smiled himself. These days he’d gotten inventive when it came to swearing. He had Owen and that glass jar of his to thank. The jar now stuffed full of his dollar bills. And actually, Sam didn’t mind. He’d gotten into the habit of letting swear words fly without thinking. It’d taken Owen calling him to task for him to notice.

“Please come,” Owen pleaded.

“It’s important to Nichole,” Rocco added. “You know I wouldn’t ask you otherwise.”

Sam angled his head toward the sky. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. “You owe me for this.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Rocco promised.

Rocco would make it up to him. Sam would make damn sure he did.

Oh damn…he wondered if he owed Owen a dollar if he swore in his thoughts.

—

After Rocco and Owen left, Sam immediately regretted agreeing to this blind date. He wouldn’t do it for anyone other than Nichole. But when the time came, he showered and combed his shoulder-length hair back and tied it at the base of his neck. He hated getting his hair cut just about as much as he hated shaving, which is why he wore a beard. Examining his reflection, he noticed his beard had gotten a bit scraggly looking. He reached for a pair of scissors and he trimmed it back. Sam sincerely hoped Nichole appreciated all the trouble he was going through for this dinner idea of hers.

Shuffling through his closet, he chose a shirt with a button-down collar and put on a clean pair of black jeans. This was about as fancy as he got. If this teacher was looking for some suave dresser, then she was out of luck.

One thing Nichole did right was cook his favorite dinner. He was a sucker for her applesauce cake and he’d never tasted a better cordon bleu than what Nichole made. To be fair, hers was the only homemade cordon bleu he’d ever tasted, but he suspected few would compare. Being single, he frequently ate out and his meals usually consisted of something he was able to pick up at a drive-through on the way home from the car dealership. Either that or tavern food he got at The Dog House, where he often hung out. Not as much now that Rocco had married. Sam had other friends, but none as close to him as Rocco was.

Sam arrived at Rocco and Nichole’s place at around five-thirty. He had a few questions he wanted to ask Nichole before this teacher friend of hers arrived. Besides, he’d volunteer to hold the baby while she put the finishing touches on dinner. Knowing Nichole, she’d be fussing over every detail.

He sincerely hoped she wasn’t putting any stock into something developing between him and this teacher friend of hers. From the little bit he knew about…what in the world was her name again? Brenda? Brittany? Something like that. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember. No matter what her name was, he already knew it wasn’t going to work. He had no intention of getting involved in a relationship.

Owen had the front door open by the time Sam had climbed out of his truck. “Hi, Uncle Sam.”

“How ya doing, kid?”

“Good.” Owen held the screen door for him.

Sam ruffled the top of his head as he entered the house. Right away a mixture of delicious scents greeted him. If nothing else, he was getting a home-cooked meal out of the deal. Otherwise, it was destined to be a complete waste of his time and this teacher’s, too.

“Sam,” Nichole greeted him as she came out of the kitchen dressed in a pretty pink blouse and black slacks. She looked good. The baby fat had disappeared or was cleverly disguised. He didn’t know which. She kissed his cheek and held on to his forearms. Her eyes were warm and full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I hope Rocco told you I’m not interested in having friends set me up.” Usually it turned out to be a huge disappointment on both sides.

“I know. I know. Rocco wasn’t happy about it, either, but I swear you’re going to like Beth.”

Beth, that was it.

“Owen said she’s into classical music.”

“She loves all kinds of music.”

He rolled his eyes.

Nichole slapped his upper arm. “Get rid of the attitude. You’re going to have a lovely evening.”

Sam sincerely doubted that, but saying so would only irritate Nichole. He liked his friend’s wife. He hadn’t been sure about the two of them when Rocco first brought her around. It wasn’t long, though, before she’d managed to worm her way into his heart, not that he was in love with her or anything. She’d won him over because of the way she loved Rocco. The changes in his friend were huge after Nichole came into his life.

There was a time when Rocco had been pretty wild, boozing it up and getting into scrapes with the law. He’d been free and easy with women, too, which was how Kaylene had come into his life. Hard to believe Kaylene was eighteen now and a high school senior. Everything changed for Rocco when he got custody of his daughter. That was when he settled down and became a responsible citizen. Eventually he took over ownership of Potter Towing. It was through the towing company that he’d met Nichole, when he pulled her out of a ditch.

It didn’t take Sam long to realize how strongly Rocco felt about Nichole. She had him hook, line, and sinker almost from the first day they met. It surprised Sam that a classy woman like Nichole would marry Rocco. Far as he could see, they were still head over heels about each other. Sam doubted there was anything Rocco wouldn’t do for his wife. She brought Owen into the marriage and now they had Matthew, and from what Rocco said, in a year or two Nichole wanted to have another baby. Good for them. Sam enjoyed being an adopted uncle. He’d always loved kids.

“You ready to meet Beth?” Owen asked.

“I’m ready to settle down in a rocking chair with Matthew,” Sam said, seeing that the infant was asleep in the fancy baby contraption set up in the living room.

“Not now,” Nichole warned. “I just fed him and got him down. With luck he’ll sleep through dinner.”

Sam was disappointed, but there’d be plenty of opportunity later. “Need any help?”

“You can help me with the wine,” Rocco said, coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of chardonnay in his hand.

“I’d rather have beer.”

“We’re having wine tonight,” Nichole informed him.

“I can’t have a beer?” He didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.

“Later,” Rocco mouthed.

Sam managed to hide a smile and winked back at his friend.

Nichole braced her hands against her hips. “We’re serving wine with dinner.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sam knew better than to argue with the woman of the house.

The doorbell rang and automatically Sam stiffened.

It was about to start: the awkwardness, the polite exchange of chitchat. She would look him over and he would check her out. Not that he was interested in knowing anything more about her than he already did. Him and a classical music teacher. Not happening.

“I’ll get it,” Nichole said, automatically heading for the front door.

Rocco stood next to Sam and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Relax,” he breathed. “How bad can it get?”

Sam stiffened. “I think we’re about to find out.”

Nichole let her friend into the house and then with a smile she gestured toward Sam. “I’d like to introduce my friend, Beth Prudhomme. Beth, this is Sam Carney.”

This was even worse than he thought. Her gaze shot to him and her eyes widened. He had much the same reaction. She was exactly what he’d expected, what he dreaded most. Everything about her—from the way she stood, shoulders and back straight—spoke of education and breeding. He saw it in how she moved, how she carried herself, in her clothes.

He’d met her type before, women who brought their cars into the dealership who hardly looked at him because he was the mechanic and far beneath their social status. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, but he saw the look in her eyes and suspected they reflected the look in his. This would never work. Just as he’d feared, this evening was already doomed and it hadn’t even gotten started.

“Beth,” he said, dipping his head.

Like Owen claimed, she wasn’t ugly. She was no raving beauty, either. In a word, she was ordinary, more on the plain side than beautiful. Small breasts. Skinny legs. Nothing to make her stand out in a crowd. He could only speculate what there was about her that made Nichole think they would ever be compatible. Looking at Beth, he couldn’t see a single thing. Her eyes told him she thought the same thing about him. No way.

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice was cultured and educated as she stepped forward and offered him her hand. Her touch was light, delicate, the same as she was.

“You remember my husband, Rocco,” Nichole continued.

“Hi, Rocco.” Beth turned away from Sam and looked at Rocco, offering him the same polished smile.

Oh yes, this was going to be a l-o-n-g evening.

Very long indeed.