before she could talk herself out of
it and twisted her shirttail between her fingers, smoothing it while waiting for
Sam to answer.
The door opened.
He stood before her, framed by the opening and backlit by the
light of his living room. Wet hair and blue flannel sleep pants told her she’d
caught him on his way to bed. The absence of anything above his waist—and the
accompanying spike in her heart rate—told her that her suspicions as to why
she’d been behaving so very badly were dead-on.
“Lib.” He spoke cautiously, as if waiting for a shoe to
drop.
“Hi. I...” Crap. What was she supposed to say? She should have
waited until tomorrow, should have given herself a chance to figure out the best
way to—
No. No, she needed to do this now. And if her words weren’t as
polished as she would like, well, maybe that would make it easier for him to
hear that they were coming straight from her heart.
“We still need to talk about how to handle things. About your
son, I mean. But I—”
“Casey.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. She tried not to
look.
“Sorry?”
“His name is Casey.”
“Oh. Of course. Well...” She inhaled to steady herself and
caught the subtle peppery scent of his body wash. The tiny corner of her brain
still operating on a rational level noted that it wasn’t the stuff from his
commercials. “I just wanted to say...I’m still not happy about the way you kept
this from me, and we will need to figure out how to make this all work.
Tomorrow.”
“He’ll be here late tomorrow morning.” Something flickered in
his eyes. “He usually naps in the afternoon.”
“Okay. I... If you can jot down his schedule for me first thing
tomorrow morning, I can look at ways to work around it, and then we can go over
things while he naps. Will that work for you?”
“It should.” His head dipped to one side. He shifted a little,
narrowing his stance so he didn’t look quite so intimidating. For the first time
she realized that he had probably been ready for another blast from her.
“I’m still not happy about the timing of this. But I wanted to
say...I...”
His eyes narrowed. She pushed the words out before she could
stop herself.
“I realized tonight that I wasn’t exactly making it easier for
you to tell me things. That I was deliberately making things more unpleasant
between us than they needed to be. And I just want to say, I shouldn’t have done
that. I’m sorry.”
He studied her as if waiting for her to change her mind. After
a moment his shoulders relaxed and his hands slipped down to his sides.
“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “And for the record, I
know I should have been more up-front. You deserved that. I didn’t mean to make
things more complicated for you, and I blew it. I’m sorry.”
The big why burned inside her,
pushing to be asked, but she bit it back. She deserved some answers, absolutely.
But she could wait. She—they—needed time to take the raw edge off everything
that had been said and done.
So she murmured her thanks for his apology and stuck out her
hand.
“Fresh start?”
His palm brushed hers. Awareness, heat, memories shot through
her, and she had a terrifying moment of wondering if she had bitten off a far
more potent mix than even she could chew.
Then his hand enveloped hers, surrounding it, and he grinned in
that old cocksure way, and even though she knew things were still dicey, knew
they had some rocky times ahead, she had this feeling that maybe—just maybe—they
would get through this.
There had once been a time when she had believed she could do
anything with Sam on her side. She was no longer that naive.
But maybe, perhaps, they could make it through the summer
together.
* * *
T HE NEXT MORNING , Libby was halfway through the final session on camp
policies and guidelines when Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, grinned like
an idiot and practically ran out of the dining hall. Her gut contracted.
His son must
it and twisted her shirttail between her fingers, smoothing it while waiting for
Sam to answer.
The door opened.
He stood before her, framed by the opening and backlit by the
light of his living room. Wet hair and blue flannel sleep pants told her she’d
caught him on his way to bed. The absence of anything above his waist—and the
accompanying spike in her heart rate—told her that her suspicions as to why
she’d been behaving so very badly were dead-on.
“Lib.” He spoke cautiously, as if waiting for a shoe to
drop.
“Hi. I...” Crap. What was she supposed to say? She should have
waited until tomorrow, should have given herself a chance to figure out the best
way to—
No. No, she needed to do this now. And if her words weren’t as
polished as she would like, well, maybe that would make it easier for him to
hear that they were coming straight from her heart.
“We still need to talk about how to handle things. About your
son, I mean. But I—”
“Casey.” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. She tried not to
look.
“Sorry?”
“His name is Casey.”
“Oh. Of course. Well...” She inhaled to steady herself and
caught the subtle peppery scent of his body wash. The tiny corner of her brain
still operating on a rational level noted that it wasn’t the stuff from his
commercials. “I just wanted to say...I’m still not happy about the way you kept
this from me, and we will need to figure out how to make this all work.
Tomorrow.”
“He’ll be here late tomorrow morning.” Something flickered in
his eyes. “He usually naps in the afternoon.”
“Okay. I... If you can jot down his schedule for me first thing
tomorrow morning, I can look at ways to work around it, and then we can go over
things while he naps. Will that work for you?”
“It should.” His head dipped to one side. He shifted a little,
narrowing his stance so he didn’t look quite so intimidating. For the first time
she realized that he had probably been ready for another blast from her.
“I’m still not happy about the timing of this. But I wanted to
say...I...”
His eyes narrowed. She pushed the words out before she could
stop herself.
“I realized tonight that I wasn’t exactly making it easier for
you to tell me things. That I was deliberately making things more unpleasant
between us than they needed to be. And I just want to say, I shouldn’t have done
that. I’m sorry.”
He studied her as if waiting for her to change her mind. After
a moment his shoulders relaxed and his hands slipped down to his sides.
“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “And for the record, I
know I should have been more up-front. You deserved that. I didn’t mean to make
things more complicated for you, and I blew it. I’m sorry.”
The big why burned inside her,
pushing to be asked, but she bit it back. She deserved some answers, absolutely.
But she could wait. She—they—needed time to take the raw edge off everything
that had been said and done.
So she murmured her thanks for his apology and stuck out her
hand.
“Fresh start?”
His palm brushed hers. Awareness, heat, memories shot through
her, and she had a terrifying moment of wondering if she had bitten off a far
more potent mix than even she could chew.
Then his hand enveloped hers, surrounding it, and he grinned in
that old cocksure way, and even though she knew things were still dicey, knew
they had some rocky times ahead, she had this feeling that maybe—just maybe—they
would get through this.
There had once been a time when she had believed she could do
anything with Sam on her side. She was no longer that naive.
But maybe, perhaps, they could make it through the summer
together.
* * *
T HE NEXT MORNING , Libby was halfway through the final session on camp
policies and guidelines when Sam pulled his phone from his pocket, grinned like
an idiot and practically ran out of the dining hall. Her gut contracted.
His son must
Similar Books
