Chapter 16 Sam
SAM
I am an abject failure when it comes to ignoring her. I have achieved a great deal in my life, and most of it has to do with hard work rather than talent. And yet no matter how hard I work at trying to avoid looking at the gorgeous woman in the rose-patterned dress, I only seem to look at her more.
I end up next to her at nearly every opportunity. Making small talk, commenting on Maggi’s enthusiastic dance moves, asking if I can get her a refill of whatever she’s drinking, and offering to be her dance partner for the next slow song—if that’s something she’d be interested in.
“Are you sure you’re up for dancing with someone who possesses the rhythm of a toddler?” she teases when I hold out my hand.
I let my eyes linger longer than I should, trying to imagine what she could possibly mean. I’ve seen her move and sure she was only walking, but I was transfixed pretty immediately.
“I think I’ll be able to handle you just fine,” I reply, relaxing when the soft skin of her hand slides over the well worn skin of mine.
It takes only a single breath before the length of her body aligns with me, one hand in mine while the other rests on my shoulder.
“Is this okay?” she asks, and a laugh nearly bursts out of me. Is her hand on me okay? “I noticed you favour it occasionally.” She trails off at the end of the word, looking away quickly.
She notices that I favour it…the realization that she has been watching me like I’ve been watching her sends sparks racing down my spine.
When her gaze returns I offer a barely there shake of my head. “It’s only an issue if I’m not expecting it,” I assure her. “Or if I’m being tackled.”
The warmth of her laugh radiates from beneath my touch, and I pull her in a little closer. She tips her chin, her lips parting as she smiles up at me.
“I promise not to tackle you,” she says, and I have to bite my tongue so I don’t tell her that she’s free to tackle me whenever the mood strikes.
Instead, I swallow down my flirty response and opt for something safer. “I appreciate that.”
We quickly fall into silence, swaying gently to the music, no toddler acrobatics in sight. I’m a failure on every level. I’ve given a masterclass on what not to do when trying to avoid someone.
“She made a good effort.” I nod toward where Maggi is sound asleep in Martha’s lap.
Rosie looks over at her daughter, the movement sending a fresh bloom of her shampoo straight to my head. I want to bury my face in her hair and live there, suffocate in it. Death by coconut-scented red hair.
“She’ll wake up dancing, I bet.” She sighs, her hand tightening in mine, drawing my attention back to her.
“Hopefully she lets you sleep in,” I murmur. “It’s already a late night.”
“It’ll be Martha and Thomas dealing with the early wake-up call,” she says quietly. “They asked if she wanted to have a sleepover in their suite.”
I’ve never been more disappointed in myself for having a no-hookup-at-weddings rule than at this very moment.
“Ah, so morning lounge and maybe breakfast in bed for Mom?” I tease, pulling her tighter against my body as we sway to a song I’ve never heard before but is quickly becoming my favourite.
She sighs and nods against my chest. “I hadn’t even thought of breakfast in bed, that sounds heavenly.”
I’m guessing she hasn’t experienced it in a while being a single parent. I wonder if I can deliver breakfast to her in the morning. Show up with her favourite food on a tray, and watch her smile sleepily as she takes in the morning bounty.
“What would you want for breakfast?” I ask as the vision of morning Rosie appears in splashes of watercolour across my imagination.
She hums in thought, resting her chin on my chest and peering up at me as I look down at her. “Buttery scrambled eggs, a thick piece of buttered brioche toast, bacon, and strawberries with freshly squeezed orange juice.”
“Seems easy enough.” I smile, already wondering if the estate kitchen has brioche.
The next song is another slow one and neither of us loosens our grip.
She seems as content to remain like this as I do.
I wish there was a way to stop time so I can keep her like this until our feet ache.
And even then, she can kick off her shoes and stand on my feet and we can dance until I physically can’t.
“Thank you, by the way.” The emotion in her voice pulls me back from thoughts of time and I look down again to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“For what?”
She tilts her head in the direction of Maggi. “For being so good with her. You really have gone above and beyond to make her smile. To make sure she’s included in the festivities.”
Confusion probably shows on my face because I can’t imagine that little girl not smiling. She seems like a ball of happiness.
“She’s a good kid. You should be proud.”
I watch in awe as a pretty blush spreads across her cheeks and I can’t manage to stop my hand in time as my thumb traces its path.
Her breath catches, and it’s a reminder to take one myself.
It would be so easy and natural to lean down and kiss her, but I know kissing her wouldn’t be enough.
It will lead to me inviting her back to my cottage or dropping to one knee and proposing because apparently I cannot think straight around her.
It won’t lead anywhere good for either of us long-term.
Dropping my hand back to her waist, I force myself to look away. The new view not managing to hold my attention for longer than five seconds before my eyes are right back on her.
“I…” I begin as she says the same.
Nervous energy overwhelms my body and I gesture for her to go first.
“I, well, this is going to sound forward, but I’m going to say it. I don’t hook up at weddings.” The admission rushes out of her.
Relief and a bit of disappointment replace the nervous energy. Why disappointment is beyond me. I should be thrilled she has the same rule I do. This makes things way easier. Also, she’s letting me down, which lets me off the hook.
“Me either,” I reply as my thumb drifts absently across the back of her dress in slow circles.
Her face relaxes. “Oh good.” She laughs, dipping her chin so I can’t see her face, and I miss it instantly.
Don’t raise it, don’t raise it, don’t raise it, I chant to myself, willing my hand to stay put.
I wish I could say that whatever spell had been cast on me from the moment I saw her on the plane breaks after vocalizing our no hook up at weddings rule, but no. Now that we have shared our rules, all I want to do is break them. Rip them to shreds. Smash them. Fire them into the goddamn sun.
“So how long are you in Scotland for?” I ask, trying to erase the awkwardness that descends.
“Um, well, a month, but maybe indefinitely.” She looks back at where Martha sits with her arms around her granddaughter, swaying softly to the music.
“Maybe indefinitely?” It comes out oddly panicky.
She nods. “Martha and Thomas are desperate to have us closer.” I like that she says “us” and not just Maggi. I don’t know Sarah’s family beyond what I’ve discovered on this trip, but it’s pretty obvious that they see Rosie as more than a daughter-in-law.
“So you’re considering a move over here?”
“Well, it makes sense,” she muses. “My family is either dead or have moved away. I’m the only one left at home. Eric loved living in Canada, but…”
“It’s not the same?” It’s a foolish question. Obviously it’s not the same. I know the feeling all too well.
She offers a melancholic smile. “It’s not the same.
There are reminders of him all over. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that those reminders are happy but they also highlight that he’s gone.
Besides”—her fingers graze the back of my neck—“Maggi would love to live here and I’d love to have support so that I can maybe start focusing on moving on with my life.
Not only on the personal front but the professional one,” she rushes to add.
I want to pry into what she means by personal. Want to know what she wants and how she wants it. What her dreams are for that aspect of her life, but I divert my question to focus on the professional side.
“What is your profession?” I ask.
“I’m a florist by trade. I had a flower shop before everything happened.
I miss being surrounded by flowers every day.
” I’m about to ask what her favourite one is, but she keeps going.
“I never thought I’d say that again. It’s weird how differently I saw flowers after Eric’s funeral.
These beautiful things that died too soon.
They represented the shortness of life. Selling the shop was a no-brainer.
But now,” she pauses, looking over at Maggi.
“But now?” I encourage, desperate for her to explain what she means.
“I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty while it’s here. It feels wasteful not to.”
I stare back in wonder because I never expected to have my mind blown while dancing at a wedding.
“That’s actually a really good way of looking at it. I’m going to keep that mentality with me.”
“If you’re ever looking for more brilliant realizations about death and grief, I’m your woman.”
Your woman. Never have two words hit me so hard. If things were different, I don’t doubt that is who she could be. Even if I had to share her with a dead man, if a wife and kid was something I wanted, I think I could manage it. If things were different.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say as Pierre shouts something and the music goes from high school slow dance to downtown rave.
Reluctantly, I let my hands fall and step back. “Thanks for dancing with me, Rosie,” I say as two pairs of hands grab me by the arms and pull me into the throng of jumping and swaying bodies.
The last glimpse I get of her is of her mouthing “Rosie” with her eyebrows drawn in confusion.
Great, she probably thinks I don’t know her name. But it’s too late. When I get a chance to look back, she’s gone, and so are Thomas and Martha.