Premiere: A Love Story by Tracy Ewens Page B

a minute to catch her breath. The thought of Peter made her aware of her breathing, and that was annoying. She was clearly an idiot. What more did a person need to put her through before she stopped feeling? How could she even be in the same room with him after the mess he left? Sam let out a deep breath. She’d always had a weakness for Peter, maybe she always would. Just something else to accept about herself. Sam pushed up the kickstand and backed the bike out toward the driveway.
    “Want some company?”
    Sam jumped and the bike fell to the ground. She whipped around to face Peter, who was standing right beyond the house, and her sunglasses flew off her face.
    “Christ! Jesus, where did you . . . ?”
    Peter kneeled to pick up her glasses while she struggled with the bike.
    “Sorry, you were in your own little world there. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    Sam snatched her sunglasses from his hand. Peter’s eyes were hidden behind his wired-rimmed shades which was a good thing because Sam was in shorts and she still had the most fantastic legs he’d ever seen. They were barely tan with the most adorable freckles at the knees. Peter felt his pulse quicken. Really? You ’ re turned on by knee freckles? Pull it together, man.
    Sam quickly put her glasses back on.
    “You didn’t scare me. Well, maybe you did a little. Why the hell are you lurking in the bushes?”
    She glanced at her legs in a flutter of insecurity, wondering if she was still too pasty white for red shorts.
    “I’m not lurking. Your mom said you were going to the farmer’s market and I thought. . .”
    “You thought you’d scare the crap out of me?”
    “I’m not much into parties, and I thought I’d see if you wanted me to . . . Forget it.”
    He turned toward the house. She should let him go. She told herself to get on the bike and let it go, but . . .
    “Make sure you get one with a basket,” she said pointing to the bike rack, “we have a lot of requests,” Sam said as she hiked up onto the seat and started down the driveway.
    Peter ran toward the bikes and was close behind her by the time she got to the street. They rode side by side on the wide neighborhood street in silence. Peter looked over at her every now and then. They both looked up at the sun twinkling through the huge trees that canopied above. Peter was rumpled and perfect, not Grady perfect, but perfect in Sam’s eyes. Khakis loose around his narrow hips, a navy blue T-shirt fitted over a much larger chest than she remembered, and leather flip-flops. His dark brown hair blew in the breeze. They pulled into the open-air market set around Victory Park and parked their bikes.
    “Where’s your red?” Sam asked, collecting the empty bags out of her basket.
    “What?”
    “Red,” Sam stopped in front of him and forgot herself, the bike ride having made her silly.
    Sheer stupidity set in when she touched his blue T-shirt and daringly the white rope belt that hung around his waist.
    “Blue shirt, white belt . . . no red.”
    Peter looked at her suspiciously for a beat and then took her hand gently and laid it right at the neck of his T-shirt. Sam could feel his chest moving in and out. She lost her words and her courage.
    “Red,” he said, showing Sam a string necklace around his neck.
    It was in fact red, white, and blue. She tried a casual smile as he let her hand drop. Peter’s mouth curled into a grin as he tried to steady himself.
    “Do you enjoy doing that?” she asked.
    “What? You touched me first.”
    “Seriously? Okay, actually, I believe you touched me first. About four years ago. I should probably keep my distance. We all know how that turned out.”
    It came out with a soft, sarcastic chuckle.
    For some reason it felt good for Sam to make light of it. Maybe it was the warmth of the day, but she suddenly felt stronger and so tired of the weight and drama. Peter’s heart had jumped when she touched his chest and that made her feel in control and a lot