6. Samantha
6
SAMANTHA
Today is another day and Jake is still here. He booked into the inn with no checkout date. I wonder how long he’ll stay.
My thoughts are interrupted by Ellie’s voice as it rings out from the front hallway loud enough to echo through the entire bed and breakfast. “Aunt Sam! Jake’s here!”
My stomach does an ungraceful flip at the mention of his name, but before I can respond, Ellie dashes into the sitting room like a whirlwind as I watch her curls fly.
“I need the football!” she announces, her little hands already rummaging through the basket where we keep a few of her toys for guests on rainy days.
Her curls bounce with every determined move as she tosses aside crayons and coloring books in her frantic search. “Got it!” she yells triumphantly, holding up the small leather football she has from one of my father’s visits. Without another word, she sprints back out toward the foyer, leaving me no time to argue.
“Ellie,” I say, setting down the guest ledger I’ve been updating. “What are you?—”
By the time I reach her, she’s already standing in the middle of the entryway, tossing the ball up and catching it with both hands. I hear the rapid thud of little feet against the hardwood floors, and Ellie barrels into the foyer like a hurricane.
“Ellie, slow down,” I say, watching her scatter her belongings everywhere. “What are you doing?”
“I have to show Jake my new throw!” she says, barely glancing at me as she digs deeper into the basket.
“You don’t have to do that now,” I argue, but she’s already pulled the small leather football free, holding it above her head like a trophy.
“Ellie, no,” I say firmly, planting my hands on my hips. “Not in here. Take it outside.”
“But I need to practice for Jake!” she protests, tossing the ball again with an exaggerated spin.
“Ellie,” I warn, my voice sharper this time, “I’m serious. If you want to play, go?—”
The sound of shattering glass cuts me off.
My breath catches as I watch the vase of fresh flowers from the front desk tip over, the delicate stems scattering in a puddle of water, and shards too numerous to count lay on the floor.
Ellie’s eyes are wide, her hands flying to her mouth as she moans, “Uh-oh.” She looks at me with hooded eyes.
I press my fingers to my mouth to refrain from yelling. I know I should be laxer, but it goes against my need to be perfect.
“Ellie,” I snap, but before I can get another word out, I hear shoes on the stairs. I instinctively know it’s Jake. He’s the last person I want to see this mess.
He steps inside, his tall frame somehow making the foyer feel smaller. His dark eyes sweep over the scene—the broken vase, Ellie’s guilty expression, my frazzled stance—and the corner of his mouth twitches in amusement .
“Looks like I missed the party,” he jokes. He kneels and picks up the large pieces of glass, gathering them in his hand.
Ellie wastes no time to join him. “Jake! I didn’t do as Aunt Sam said, and I broke it,” she says, clutching the football. “I’ve been practicing my throw! You missed it.”
“I can see that,” Jake replies, meeting her gaze.
“Ellie,” I say, angrily. “Maybe you can take it outside.”
Ellie nods, “Okay,” she groans with disappointment. But she turns on her heels and she darts to the door with the ball tucked under her arm like a pro.
“Ellie, wait—” I call after her, but she’s gone, the screen door slamming behind her. I feel like a monster for barking at her. Sometimes, it’s a fine line–consequences.
The vase has no sentimental value. Ellie is excited to have Jake around. I suppose it’s normal for her to forge a bond with him. I know he’ll eventually be returning to his career, and I’m afraid Ellie will be devastated when he leaves.
I might be too. He’s sweet, his body was built for sin and he’s easy on the eye. I haven’t had a crush on a man in years. It’s a small town, so my options are limited. There’s no sense in dating someone from the city. I love it here–it’s our home.
I sigh, turning back to the mess at our feet. I duck into the hall closet and grab a broom and dustpan. Jake stands when I return and steps closer, his expression shifting to something gentler.
“Let me,” he says, grabbing both. His voice is low but insistent.
“I’ve got it,” I reply quickly.
“Sam,” he says, his tone calm but firm, “just... let me help. If you can take care of the water, we’ll have it cleaned up in a minute.”
The tattoos on Jake’s arm catch the soft light of the morning sun. Reluctantly, I release the objects to him and duck behind the counter for a towel.
I kneel beside him and most of the water as he sweeps the glass and dumps it behind the registration desk.
“I told her not to play in here,” I mutter.
“I figured,” Jake replies, glancing up at me with a small smile. “But she’s a kid, Sam. They don’t always follow the playbook.”
“That’s not an excuse for breaking things,” I snap, the words coming out harsher than I mean them to.
Jake doesn’t flinch. Instead, he finishes cleaning up the water and stands, holding out a hand to help me up. I take it reluctantly, the warmth of his palm against mine making my heart skip in a way that only adds to my frustration.
“She didn’t mean to break it,” he says, his voice softer now. “She just got excited. It happens to the best of us.”
I cross my arms, staring at the now-empty spot where the vase used to sit. “She needs to learn to be more careful.”
Jake leans against the counter, his gaze steady and unyielding. “What was so terrible?” His eyes challenge me.
I blink, caught off guard by the question. “Something could get ruined, or... someone could get hurt.”
“But no one got hurt,” he points out. “It’s just a vase, Sam. You can replace it. You can’t replace her excitement, or her.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. I flinch. Damn, that’s deep. It’s unexpected. And he knocks me off my game.
“I know that. I just... don’t like chaos,” I admit quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “I need things to be... well, not chaotic.”
Jake steps closer. “Life isn’t always about the expected, Sam. Parenting isn’t. You’re raising an incredible kid, but she’s not gonna grow up to be who you want her to be if she’s in a bubble. She’s going break things, make messes, and basically drive you crazy. But in the end, she’ll be as independent as you.”
“I can’t just let her run wild, Jake. That’s not how I was raised,” I protest. “My sister was wild and look where it got her.”
“Maybe it’s not about letting her run wild. Maybe it’s about letting her be a kid. What happened to Ellen was an accident. A terrible accident. She loved driving fast. I don’t think you have to worry about a five-year-old driving,” he smirks, and with it, tension fades.
The foyer falls silent, save for the faint sound of Ellie laughing outside.
“Sam,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you’re doing a great job. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”
I look up at him, and my heart is pounding for reasons I can’t quite explain. The sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away, and for the first time in a long time, I feel seen. His focus is on me and I blush. I’m not used to a man being around. But it feels–nice.
“Thank you,” I say softly, my words barely above a whisper.
He nods, his gaze holding mine for a moment longer before he steps back, giving me space.
“Now,” he says, a playful edge returning to his tone. “Let’s make sure Ellie hasn’t recruited half the neighborhood for a football game.”
Despite myself, I smile. “She probably has,” I sing-song.
As we step outside together, the weight in my chest feels a little lighter, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he is right.
I walk the porch, overseeing Ellie in the yard, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with exaggerated flair. She spots us as we step onto the porch, her face lighting up like a summer sunrise.
“Jake! Watch me” she yells, throwing the ball with all her might. It wobbles slightly in the air but lands squarely in Jake’s hands.
“Nice throw, kiddo,” he says, joining her as he dives for her terrible short toss and gently tossing it back to her with an easy flick of his wrist.
Ellie squeals with delight, running to catch it.
I lean against the porch railing, watching as Jake and Ellie toss the ball back and forth. There’s an ease between them that I can’t help but envy—a natural rhythm that I’ve never quite managed to find.
“She’s really good,” Jake says, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“She’s determined,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips.
“She gets that from you,” he says, and there’s something in his tone—something warm and genuine—that makes my chest tighten.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were normal. If Jake were part of our lives, throwing the ball with Ellie on lazy Sunday afternoons, sharing quiet conversations on the porch while she played in the yard.
But that’s not reality. Jake isn’t part of our lives. He’s just... passing through.
“Thanks for helping with the vase,” I say, changing the subject. “Will you keep an eye on her? I have to check on the restaurant.”
“Sure,” he replies, turning back to Ellie. “Throw it long,” he coaches.
He’s great with Ellie.
I wonder how long he plans to stay .
The afternoon sun pours over the Dragonfly Inn, bathing everything in a golden warmth that should’ve calmed me. But it didn’t. Not with Jake sitting across from me on the porch, looking entirely too comfortable, like he’d always belonged here. He’s a man who can fit into a room, and any elaborate fundraiser seamlessly. He wears well as the day has been filled with constant engagement and conversations from my little Peanut, a nickname I gave Ellie when she was born.
I sip my iced tea, watching Ellie dart around the yard, her curls bouncing as she chases something only she can see. I love watching her play, and how her little laugh floats on the breeze like music. But today, the sound twists something in my chest.
Jake leans back in the chair across from me, his long legs stretched out, his shirt—pulled taut over his chest. He rubbed his knee absently, the faintest wince crossing his face before he caught me staring.
“You okay?” I ask, nodding toward his leg.
He shrugs, flashing me that easy grin that comes so naturally to him. “Better. Physical therapy’s helping.”
“That’s good,” I said quickly, looking away before my thoughts could spiral into the dangerous sexual ones that have plagued my thoughts since he arrived. It’s as if his presence reminds me of the things I’ve given up. His voice commands my presence, and his body and his looks stroke my libido.
“Dr. Reid’s got me on a solid plan—stretching, low-impact work, lots of strengthening exercises. It’s boring as hell, but it’s working.” He flexes his knee a little, as if testing it. “If everything keeps going this way, I’ll be back with the team soon.”
The words hit me harder than I expected— like someone had taken the chair out from under me. He’ll be back with the team. Soon. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. Of course, he’ll leave. Jake Rivers doesn’t belong in Cherry Point, not long-term, anyway. I’m a realist and even though he fits into any situation, I can’t picture him here settling down here.
I nod, forcing a smile. “That’s great. You must be looking forward to it.”
“I am,” he says, his grin widening. “I’ve missed it—the guys, the game. It’s been weird not having football in my daily life, you know?”
No, I didn’t know, but I nod. And the fact that I am suddenly envious of a game—a game —makes my stomach twist. I sip my tea to cover the silence, hoping he won’t notice the faint tightness in my voice.
“What about you?” he asks, leaning forward. “You’ve got the inn and the restaurant, Ellie... but what about you? What do you want, Sam?”
I blink at him as he catches me off guard. “What do I want?” No one’s asked me that—ever. It makes me pause.
“Yeah,” he says, tilting his head.
“I don’t know,” I admit, as my fingers trace the condensation on my glass. “I haven’t thought about that in a long time. I’m content.”
“Come on,” Jake presses, his cute grin pulls at my heartstrings. “Why be content when you can have more? Name one thing you want.”
I smile faintly, as a memory bubbles to the surface before I can stop it. “Clam bakes,” I said quietly.
“Clam bakes?” he repeats, his brow arching.
“Yeah,” I say, with a smile adorning my face as I let myself recall the memories I’ve suppressed. “When I was a kid, my family used to do them on the shore every summer. My dad would build this huge fire pit, and we’d pile it with clams, corn, lobster—anything we could find. The beach became our world. It was messy with the butter and the crabs, the sand.” My voice drifts off. “It was chaotic, but it was... perfect.”
Jake’s grin widens. “Now that’s something I didn’t picture. Samantha McAllister, Queen of the Clam Bake. ”
I laugh and the sound of it surprises me. “I wasn’t the queen of anything. I just loved being there, surrounded by family. Even my dad, who’s always so…busy. Dad, would crack lobster claws with his bare hands and laugh like a kid.”
“You really loved it, huh?”
I nod, and let my gaze drift toward the horizon. “It was the one time I didn’t feel like I had to be perfect. The sand, the wind, the ocean waves lapping ashore. I love the ambiance of the campfire. The family together without a TV or a cell phone. We were just family…”
Jake is quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. But when I look at him, his expression isn’t one of pity. It is something else. Perhaps he notices I can be carefree with my windswept hair and how the tendrils have escaped and are now hanging over my face.
“You ever think about doing something like that again?” he asks after a moment.
I shake my head, the warmth of the memory fading. “Not really. It’s something we did together and it’s only the two of us. It’s so much work and I suck at starting a fire if there’s any wind. It’s why I have a gas grill,” I chuckle. “Ellie’s only been to a clam bake with me.” I clam up at the memory of how overwhelmed I was. I stifled a panic attack at the beach that day.
“Well, maybe we should do it together,” Jake’s deep voice infiltrates my thoughts and it’s as if it’s dripping a honey trail for me to follow. I’m excited and oddly, it’s not over the thought of a clam bake.
I look at him, and my heart skips a beat. We’re so close to having a moment and then, it’s gone as Ellie comes bounding up the porch steps, holding a bright yellow flower in her small hands,
“Aunt Sam! Jake! Look at this flower I found!” she exclaims, her cheeks flushed from the sun.
“It’s beautiful, Ellie.” I smile as she climbs into my lap. “Where did you find it?”
“By the fence!” she proudly states. Then, turning to Jake, she asks, “Do you like flowers?”
Jake chuckles, and then he leans forward to inspect the bloom and sniffs it. “I do now. That’s a good one, kiddo.”
Ellie beams, and she snuggles into my lap, clutching the flower Jake hands her and she begins to chatter about her adventures in the garden.
I glance at Jake, and my heart explodes as I watch him interact with her so effortlessly. He is good with her—too good. And the thought of him leaving, of her losing that, well, how can I not be sad?
But he isn’t leaving yet. I push the thought aside, leaning back in my chair as Ellie continues to talk, her rhythmic banter making the afternoon perfect. talking, her voice filling the quiet of the afternoon.
Jake is still entertaining Ellie as dinner time approaches. I should invite him to stay. But before I have the opportunity, Ellie strikes again as she carts Jake to my kitchen with her nonstop chatter. I can’t help but feel like my home has been invaded by the all-too-handsome football player. Jake doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs when she tugs at his arm, nodding along as she babbles about flowers, football, and something involving glitter.
“Aunt Sam makes the best chicken parm,” Ellie declares as we settle at the table. She’s practically bouncing in her seat, her curls springing with every excited word. “You’re gonna love it.”
“Ellie,” I say, slightly annoyed, “we don’t just invite people to dinner,” I whisper subtly. If I didn’t know better I’d say she’s playing matchmaker .
“But we do have enough,” she counters—her innocent wide eyes challenging me with her logic.
I shoot Jake a look, but he just shrugs, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “She makes a strong argument,” he says, his voice warm enough to make my stomach flip. “She might become an attorney. I admire her bold moves,” he smirks.
I sigh, focusing on the food as I try to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. Jake Rivers doesn’t belong in my life. And yet, here he is, sitting across from me, making my daughter laugh like he’s been here forever.
Ellie dominates the dinner conversation, peppering Jake with questions between bites of chicken parm. She twirls her pasta on the fork. She’s mesmerized by Jake. If his presence is an act, he’s doing a hell of a job.
“Do you live in a big house?” “Do you still play football?” she peppers him with questions. “Can you teach me to throw better next time?”
Jake answers every question with the kind of patience I’ve only ever seen in people who work with kids for a living. And every time he laughs, I feel this tug in my chest—and it grips me. This is what it would be like to have an involved father for Ellie.
Am I denying both of us an opportunity to have it all?
I’m the image of an everything bagel right now.
All my emotions—curiosity, irritation, intrigue—are jumbled together like seeds stuck in every corner of my life. I don’t like everything bagels. They’re messy, overwhelming, and impossible to enjoy without feeling like you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.
Jake is the meteorically using seeds. The poppy and sesame seeds and diced onion were sprinkled all over the carefully curated order of my life.
I glance at Ellie, who’s watching Jake with a look of pure admiration. “Aunt Sam,” she says suddenly, breaking my thoughts. “Do you think Jake likes my picture?”
I blink, confused. “What picture?”
Ellie darts from her seat, running to the side table where her sketchpad rests. She brings it back triumphantly, showing Jake a crayon drawing of him, her, and me standing under a big yellow sun.
Jake studies it, his smile softening. “This is amazing, Ellie. You’ve got talent.”
Ellie beams, her cheeks flushed with pride. “I knew you’d like it. You can have it!”
“Ellie,” I start, but Jake waves me off.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he says, tucking the drawing carefully into his pocket. “I’ll treasure it.”
Ellie practically glows as she bounces back to her seat. I can feel Jake’s gaze shift to me.
“You’re raising a great kid,” he says, his voice low enough that Ellie doesn’t hear.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “She’s a handful,” I reply wondering why can’t I take a compliment.
“She’s perfect,” he replies, softly.
I turn away from his endearing gaze but I’m filled with emotions that make me wish he’d stay here forever.
The night air is cool against my skin as I step out onto the back porch. The Harvest Moon hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the yard. Fireflies blink lazily in the tall grass, their tiny lights winking like stars that got lost along the way.
I hear the creak of the porch steps behind me and with only a hint of cologne, I know it’s Jake.
“She’s something else,” he says, leaning against the railing .
“She is,” I admit, my arms crossed defensively over my chest.
We stand in silence for a moment, watching the fireflies flicker in the dark. Jake shifts beside me. “Wanna walk the fence line?”
I hesitate, my mind racing with reasons to say no. But before I can come up with one, I hear Ellie’s voice from the doorway.
“Go Auntie!” she says, with a huge mischievous grin. She forced her eyes to enlarge as if she knowingly was setting up the situation.
Is she old enough to play matchmaker?
I glare at her over my shoulder, but she just giggles and darts back inside. She’s incorrigible at times, but I’ve never seen her this animated, or bold.
Jake chuckles, offering his arm. “Well, you heard the boss.”
I roll my eyes but step off the porch, falling into step beside him as we make our way toward the edge of the yard.
The dry grass crunches softly under our feet as we walk, the fence line stretching ahead of us. The fireflies are everywhere now, their lights flickering like tiny lanterns in the dark.
“Are you always this hard on yourself?” Jake asks, his voice quiet.
I glance at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs, his eyes on the horizon. “You’re doing everything—running a business, raising Ellie, keeping everything together. But how are you? How are you, Sam McAllister doing?”
He has a point. Everyone talks at me or around me. Only Maggie is close enough to notice my moods—and Ellie, who is too observant.
I focus on the ground beneath my feet. “I’m fine.” And I realize this is what I always say, regardless of how I feel.
“I have a feeling you say that to everyone and that you never stop long enough to take an inventory,” he says, stopping to face me. “I think you hold everything together and hide behind your tough exterior. I know there’s lots of love inside you. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in.”
His gaze is steady, and he manages to cut through my defenses.
“I don’t have that luxury, Jake,” I snap, my frustration bubbles over. “I have Ellie. I have responsibilities. I have so much to do?—”
“That you have lost yourself? Or do you use it as an excuse to not give someone a chance?” he interrupts, his tone soft but insistent.
His words hang in the air between us. The fireflies blink lazily around us, the moonlight catching on his face as he watches me, waiting.
I am speechless.
And then I do something unpredictable. I let myself feel the warmth of his presence and the quiet intimacy that suggests we’re a couple. And for a second, I wonder what it would be like to be with him. He has a way of pulling me into his world where feelings are worn on their sleeve and not repressed. I’m lost in him—his smell, his deep voice, and his tantalizing blue eyes.
I panic. I’m not ready and I take a step back. “I have to get Ellie to bed.” I turn to leave.
“For the record,” he says. “life is like an everything bagel. You know upfront what you’re getting. From the nutty flavor of sesame seed to the sprinkles of flavorful spices, it has it all. It’s a reflection of life’s emotions and one’s experiences—a journey of flavor and texture.”
I pause, listening to him as he continues.
“First, you get past the plain bagel and then you get a burst of taste sensations that are behind every seed and then, one has the complete picture as they all meld together, preferably with the silkiness of cream cheese melting on my tongue. It’s symbolic of life, Sam—new experiences, you know? I just want a chance to show you what it could be like with us to give this a chance. You can add more to your life, more seeds, and more flavors. You’re special, Ellie’s special. That kiss we had was special and I can’t ignore it or my feelings for you. I’ve thought about it for days.”
“And it brought you here?”
“Yes, that and your father’s implied consent. Although I wouldn’t let that stop me if he did disapprove of us. Somethings in life are worth fighting for,” he adds, with a determined look in his eyes that makes me believe I can have more.
I glance over my shoulder, catching his playful grin, and despite myself, I feel the tiniest smile tug at my lips.
Maybe, just maybe, I can learn to like the seeds on the bagel too.