Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sam couldn’t convince Lacey to skip work.
He’d tried, and failed, to tell her that she needed another day of rest. She was so stubborn, she reminded him of himself. Or Graham. Graham could really dig his heels in. But compared to Lacey, they were both wishy-washy flip-floppers.
She didn’t look one hundred percent like herself, but she didn’t have the same “please put me out of my misery” look she’d had on her face when she’d finished throwing up at the dance studio. So, Sam agreed to drive her into town because she threatened to walk if he didn’t and he believed her.
Sam dropped her off at her house, fully prepared to sit in the car and wait for her to come back out, but Gavin’s car was still in the driveway, so he let Lacey convince him that Gavin could give her a ride to work.
He worried, though.
So, Sam drove to Stardust, determined to kill an hour or two, then conveniently pop over to the dance studio with an iced coffee to see how Lacey was doing. If she’d overdone it and needed to go home, he could take her back into the woods, tuck her into his bed, and make her leftover soup while she watched Derry Girls on his laptop. Apparently Annie had suggested it. It was funny, and Sam loved The Cranberries.
Stardust was humming with activity. The birdwatching group had settled themselves at the long table in the backroom for their post-hike debrief, and a mix of residents and tourists filled in the other seats. Why couldn’t he be the only person that wanted to hang out on a Thursday morning?
Sam stood in line, tattooed hands in his pockets, thinking about refractory rhymes and how there wasn’t a rhyme for poem, which seemed ironic, and he wondered if he could work that factoid into a song. While his brain tried to work that out in the background, he saw that Sybil had new flowers. This bouquet looked like fire; yellow to orange to red to burgundy flowers filled the vase. He didn’t know the exact frequency, but Sam suspected Sybil was getting new flowers every few days. Who could be sending her flowers that often?
A not entirely polite tap on his shoulder toppled the house of cards that was his train of thought.
When he didn’t turn around right away, the tapper said, “Where’s your girlfriend?”
That got Sam’s attention. He turned around. “Excuse you?”
“Lacey. Your girlfriend.” “Girlfriend” was said with invisible air quotes that Sam did not appreciate. “Where is she?”
Sam stared at the guy. He couldn’t place him, but he looked familiar. About Sam’s height but with a stockier build, brown hair, brown eyes, and was wearing gym clothes. Overall, unremarkable. Maybe Sam could get a pass for forgetting who this guy was.
“Is that any of your business?” Sam asked coolly.
“Asking as a friend.”
Sam wanted to say that Lacey didn’t have any friends in town. Her words, not his. But he wanted to see where this was going more.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Mitch.” He stuck out his hand. “Appleton.”
The name clicked into place. Mitch Appleton. Lacey’s ex-boyfriend. Even if he hadn’t dated Lacey, Sam would’ve known him as “that asshole,” which is how Sybil and Connor usually referred to him when they saw him in public.
Sam looked at Mitch’s hand, but didn’t take it.
“I don’t shake hands,” he lied. Sometimes playing into the aloof persona worked to his advantage. He didn’t want to shake Mitch Appleton’s hand.
Mitch put his hand down. “So where’s Lacey?”
“Again, why is that any of your business?”
“Just, you know, people hear things. Like you and Lacey are dating. But no one ever sees you out together. Might seem a little…fishy.” Mitch let the last word hang in the air for a moment. “If it’s just sex, I get it. She’s a good fuck. So what if she ran around and told everyone you’re her boyfriend? Kind of worth it for the head, right?”
In his pockets, Sam’s hands clenched into fists. He’d never hit anyone before. Never been in a fight. His hands had simply become too valuable for him to even consider throwing a punch. But he’d make an exception for Mitch Appleton. He could afford the bail, the fine, the lawyer, whatever it took to wipe the smug look off the bastard’s face and soothe the boiling rage under his skin.
“Mitch!” Sybil barked from behind the espresso machine. “Get. Out.”
“What did I do?” Mitch asked, but it was more like a whine.
“You’re being a dick,” she said. “If you’re going to act like yourself, go somewhere else.”
“I wasn’t being a dick,” he insisted. “I didn’t do anything.”
“One, I can hear you,” Sybil said, putting a coffee on the bar next to the flowers. “Two, I’ve known you for almost twenty years. I can tell when you’re being a dick. It starts with you opening your mouth. Now get out, or I’ll take you out.”
Mitch pursed his lips and his face grew red. For a second Sam thought he was going to blow his top, but he turned on his heel and marched out the door. He tried to slam it behind him, but the soft close Sybil had installed so the door wouldn’t close too quickly on any of Crane Cove’s more elderly population made it impossible.
Sybil caught Sam’s eye and inclined her head. “Come here.”
Sam did as he was told and got out of line, looking at her over top of the espresso machine.
“You good?” she asked, pouring steamed milk into espresso.
“Yeah, I’m good,” Sam lied. The anger had drained but had left behind a burning guilt. Maybe Mitch had a point. Maybe he wasn’t treating Lacey enough like a girlfriend for anyone to notice. Maybe he was making more problems for her while his problem got solved. He didn’t like that.
“Don’t listen to Mitch. He’s got his dick permanently caught in his zipper.”
“So you don’t agree with him?”
Sybil hesitated, then shrugged. “I honestly wasn’t sure if you two were still together. It’s not like you’ve been out with Lacey since the Boo-wery. Not that you need to perform your relationship for people, but it has been mostly sneaking around.”
“Sneaking around?”
“You’ve been seen coming in and out of the office at the dance studio. That’s the only thing I’ve heard, and I hear a lot back here.”
Sam frowned then mumbled, “We’ve done things.”
Sybil pretended to gag as she put another coffee on the end of the bar. “Did you want a coffee or a tea?”
“Coffee, please.” He needed the caffeine because apparently his brain wasn’t working.
“Just one?” Sybil prompted.
“For now. I’m going to hang out for a little while and then take Lacey one at work.”
Sybil gagged again, but started working on the next order.
“Any more advice?” Sam asked.
“Ignore Mitch. Everyone else does.” She cleaned the steam wand. “If you’re both happy, who cares what people are saying?”
Sam nodded and got back in line. Was Lacey happy? She’d asked him for a date the day they’d gotten Daisy, and that date hadn’t exactly happened yet. What counted as a sufficient date? What would satisfy the rumor mill? What would make Lacey happy?
A table opened up as Sybil put his coffee on the end of the bar. It was next to the window, which wouldn’t have been his first choice, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Sam sat with his back to the wall, tucked back as far as he could be and blew on his coffee before taking a sip.
Where could he take Lacey on a date?
If he wanted to make them both happy, he would cook her a nice dinner at his house and they could watch a movie with Daisy and then go to bed early. But their relationship was performance art so they needed an audience. Hiding in his house wasn’t helping either of them.
What counted as nice, fun, and public?
It was Thursday. Barbecue night at Cranberry Brothers was nice and public. It was also crowded, which significantly cut down on the fun aspect.
Should he ask Lacey what she wanted to do? Or was that wrong?
Maybe Jordy would know.
Sam
Are you supposed to ask your girlfriend what she wants to do for a date or do you plan something on your own?
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, he got a reply.
Jordy
Nobody knows. It’s a test. You’re probably going to choose wrong.
I’m kidding. Kind of. In my experience, it’s the thought that counts. So if you’re going to ask for her opinion, have options so it shows that you put effort in.
Sam
This is confusing and hard
You’re so cute when you care about something
Are you coming to Thanksgiving? Annie wants me to ask you because she said asking Lacey was awkward
We’re coming to Thanksgiving. Lacey loves free food.
So you’re the perfect match
Why don’t you cook for her. Do the candles and shit.
I already cook for her. I need something different.
This is your problem. You set the bar too high.
Ask Graham. He might have some spots. Like wherever he takes Eloise.
The Tidewater. Sam had been there. It was a phenomenal restaurant, but Graham took Eloise there specifically because it was outside of Crane Cove. Sam also knew that Graham prebooked reservations for the entire year in advance and pretended like it was spontaneous.
Sam
You’ve been no help. Thank you.
Jordy
Love you too!
A string of heart emojis filled Sam’s screen, and he rolled his eyes.
Peter would’ve been a great choice, but according to the calendar Peter’s assistant Dempsey had created to help everyone keep track of Peter’s schedule, Peter was in Australia on a press tour. It was the middle of the night in Australia. So that ruled Peter out.
“Is this seat taken?”
Sam looked up from his phone as Graham sat down across from him.
“What if that seat was taken?” Sam asked, putting his phone face down on the table.
Graham raised an eyebrow.
“Good point.” Sam picked up his coffee cup. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m getting coffee for a management meeting,” Graham explained. “What are you doing here this early?”
“I dropped Lacey off, and I’m trying to wait an appropriate amount of time before I surprise her at work with coffee.”
Graham’s posture perked up and he leaned forward. “Oh, so you are still together.”
“Was that in question?”
“A little.” Graham shrugged. “If you dropped her off, does that mean you’re having sleepovers?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with the twins.”
“Maybe. They like to spend time with me.” That was possibly a pointed dig. “Is Lacey coming to Thanksgiving?”
Sam nodded. “She is.”
“Eloise is working on a seating chart,” Graham told him. “She’s making little place cards and everything.”
“So not a sweatpants dinner?”
Graham ignored him. “Should be about thirteen people. Can you handle that, or should I start assigning dishes?”
“Is Connor coming?” Sam asked, menu calculations firing off in his brain.
“Yes. We’re having a later dinner because the McMahons have their family meal in the afternoon.”
Sam nodded. “If Connor can handle rolls and dessert, I can do everything else.”
“You’re a saint and a martyr,” Graham said gratefully.
“No, I’m a glutton for punishment,” Sam corrected and took a drink of his coffee. “I want to take Lacey on a date, but I don’t know what to do around here.”
“Why don’t you cook for her?” Sam shook his head. “Okay…um…You could probably bribe the ma?tre d’ at the Tidewater for a reservation…” Sam shook his head again, and Graham frowned, pursing his lips while he thought. “I don’t know. You could do dinner at the hotel? Amara will give you shit, but the food is great.”
Amara, the chef at the hotel, would absolutely give him shit if he went on a date there. She’d probably plate his food in the shape of a dick, too. The meaner Amara was to you, the more she liked you, Sam had learned. She and Graham had deep respect for each other and had weekly screaming matches in the walk-in.
“I think I might suck at this,” Sam admitted. Defeat loomed on the horizon. He was never going to figure this out. He did nothing but let Lacey down. She deserved better.
“You’re out of practice. I sucked at it too,” Graham reassured him. “I probably still suck at it, but ninety percent of being in a relationship is showing up to do the work, even if it’s imperfectly.”
“But planning a date shouldn’t be this hard,” Sam complained.
“That’s because you’re putting too much pressure on it. You’re going to have lots of dates, Sam. This one doesn’t have to be the end all, be all, most perfect date in the history of dating.”
“You’re so wise now that you’re a married man,” Sam said dryly.
Graham shrugged and pushed back his chair as Sybil shouted for him to come get his drinks. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint.”
Two hours later, Sam watched Lacey dance with toddlers through the picture window of the dance studio. She wore a big, fluffy pink tutu, fairy wings, a tiara, and what appeared to be his sweatpants, directing the chaos with a star-topped wand. The under-five set twirled around her like tiny tutu-ed tornadoes.
The song ended, and Lacey led her students in their stage bows, then they all lined up by the door for stickers. One by one, Lacey put a sticker on the back of one of their tiny hands, then sent them to their adult in the lobby. As soon as they’d all exited the studio, her posture deflated, like someone had pulled her plug.
Sam took that as his cue to go inside.
He held the door open for the exiting students, giving small smiles to the kids who said thank you, and ignoring any stares from their adults. He didn’t want to take pictures or sign autographs; he wanted to give Lacey the iced coffee in his hand. His unfriendly aura paid off.
Sam stood in the doorway of the studio while Lacey picked up the supplies from class, still dressed like a fairy princess on her day off, waiting for her to notice him in the mirror. When impatience got the best of him, he cleared his throat. Lacey jumped, nearly dropping her armload of tutus.
“I brought coffee,” he said, and held up the iced drink like a holy relic to ward off the evil glare she gave him. It worked. Lacey sighed, and dropped the tutus into a pile on the floor.
“Thank you,” she said, exhaustion radiating off her in waves. Either the miniature humans had drained her, or her sparkling personality had been an act. Probably both.
Sam handed her the coffee, and Lacey drank it in gulps.
“I want to take you on a date,” Sam blurted.
The ice at the bottom of Lacey’s drink rattled as she finished it.
“You asked me to take you on a date,” Sam barreled ahead, a freight train with slipshod brakes, “and with everything going on, we haven’t gotten around to it. So it’s time. For a date.” He waved a hand between them. “You and me.”
Lacey stared at him, and the second hand on the clock got louder with every passing second.
“You want to take me on a date? I puked in front of you yesterday. I’m pretty sure you saw me sleep with my mouth open. What part of the last twenty-four hours of unhinged sexiness brought this on?”
“You asked,” he reminded her.
Lacey patted his shoulder. “So happy I finally made your to-do list.”
Sam sighed. This was going about as well as an unmedicated root canal. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know.” She tapped the tip of his nose and smiled. “I’m teasing you.” She used her straw to fish around for any drops of coffee left in the bottom of her cup. “Can we sit down to talk about how you’re going to razzle-dazzle me? I’m fucking beat.”
Sam frowned and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. Warm, but not the furnace she’d been the day before.
“You should’ve stayed home,” he scolded her. “You’re still sick, sunshine.”
“I have to work, Sam. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”
Lacey moved past him into the lobby, and then back to the office. She dropped into the desk chair unceremoniously and held the icy cup to her head.
“This is stupid,” Sam protested, shutting the door behind him.
“This is America.”
He wanted to grumble and growl, but Lacey looked exhausted and he didn’t want to add to that. All of the energy she’d had to argue with him that morning was long gone.
Sam pushed the keyboard to the side and sat on the desk.
“Come here,” he said gently, and patted his thigh. With a sigh, Lacey laid her head on his lap and closed her eyes.
“Is this our date?” she asked, moving the cold cup to her cheek.
“No. It’s supposed to be public, remember?” Sam smoothed back some of the wispy hairs that had escaped her bun, and kept stroking her hair because Lacey melted under his touch. “Do you want to go to Cranberry Brothers tonight?”
“Absolutely not. Unless you want to take a corpse.” Lacey turned her head to peer up at him. “You’re not into necrophilia, are you?”
“Not on my list of kinks,” he assured her, and Lacey closed her eyes and turned her head back. Sam resumed stroking her hair. “Are you sure? Everyone will be there tonight.”
“I can’t meet your friends like this.”
“You’ve met my friends,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, but not as your girlfriend,” Lacey said, then added, “Fake girlfriend.”
“You don’t think your Weekend At Bernie’s impression will win them over?”
Lacey chuckled. “No, I don’t think it will. Was Cranberry Brothers your date idea?”
“Yes, but not my only one.” Sam hadn’t spent all that time at Stardust agonizing for nothing. “They’re playing Dirty Dancing at the movie theater Saturday night. We could get dinner and see the movie. Sorry it’s not super creative?—”
“That’s one of my favorite movies,” Lacey interrupted. “If you buy me popcorn and licorice, it sounds like the perfect date.”
“You’re making this too easy on me.”
“You can fly me to Paris a different week.” Lacey sat up straight with a small groan, and tossed her empty cup into the trash can. “I need to get set up for my next class.”
Sam stood, then helped Lacey out of her chair. “Will you call me if you feel any worse? I’ll come get you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she promised, but he didn’t believe her.
Sam didn’t believe her so much that as soon as he left the dance studio, he sent a message to his Crane Cove group chat.
Sam
Lacey doesn’t feel good so I’m not going to BBQ night tonight.
Chase
So you ARE still a thing! Connor owes me $20
Eloise
Is she okay? Is there anything we can do?
Sam
Seems to be a bug. I made soup.
Eloise
That soup is magic. Let us know if you need anything.
When Lacey left the dance studio at five, Sam was leaning against her car, and the look of utter exhaustion and sheer relief on her face in the fading sunlight broke his heart. There wasn’t anyone around to see, but he opened his arms and Lacey stepped into them, laying her head on his shoulder.
“Oh, thank god.” She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. “Are you taking me home?”
Sam pressed a kiss to her feverish forehead. “Of course I am, sunshine.”
Lacey fell asleep in his car again, and when she woke up in his garage, he swore he heard her murmur “Kidnapper” under her breath, but that didn’t stop her from going straight to his bed and face-planting onto the mattress. Daisy jumped up next to her.
The tension that had built all day eased out of Sam’s body. Lacey was back where he could take care of her and know she was safe. No more worrying. No more dark cloud thoughts.
“Sam?” Lacey said into the mattress.
“Yeah?”
“I need to borrow some clothes.”