4 Samantha
4
SAMANTHA
I ’M GOING ON a date with the guy.”
Jeneva gasped. “The vet? How did that happen?”
“He asked me at Pooter’s vet visit.”
I did a final swipe of mascara and stood back to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Not bad considering the late notice. I was in a sundress and sandals. I had sunglasses in my purse and a hat I wore to the beach. I didn’t know how “outside” we were going to be.
“Are you done packing?” she asked. “Do you have time for this?”
“Totally packed. I had nothing to do tonight. And honestly, I could use the distraction.”
“Where’s he taking you?”
I rummaged for my favorite lipstick. “I don’t know. He asked me if I like boats. I didn’t want to ask too many questions. I kind of like the thrill of the unknown.”
“Yeah, well the thrill of the unknown is what gets you murdered. Text me when you get to where you’re going. Is he picking you up?” she asked.
“Yeah. Figured why not save the money on an Uber.”
“Oh God. It’s like you’ve never seen Dateline .”
I smacked my lips. “You know, I tend to have pretty good instincts about people. I think you should give me some credit.”
Pooter rubbed her face on my leg, and I picked her up and set her on the sink.
“Well, provided you don’t become a missing person, I’m excited to see you tomorrow,” Jeneva said.
“What about Mom?”
There was a pause. “I think once she sees you it’ll be fine.”
Another pause. “Yeah.”
Though we both knew it probably wouldn’t be fine. It hadn’t been for a while.
Our mom had dementia. She was only fifty-four.
It started a few years ago with problems focusing after a small head injury. She thought it was just the concussion taking longer to heal or menopausal brain fog. But then it turned into other things. Repeating questions, getting lost—crashing the car into a palm tree outside of a Whole Foods in Pasadena because she’d gotten the pedals mixed up.
Now she didn’t know my name.
That was the catalyst for me going to California this week.
I hoped when I got there it would be better. It had been almost eight months since I’d been home, so she hadn’t seen my face. Maybe that was it? She just needed the context—she had to be in the same room as me, then it would all come back.
At least that’s what Jeneva and I were hoping.
“How is it, living at Grandma’s?”
“Weird,” she said. “But Braden and Holden love the house.”
“The house is nice,” I said, petting my kitten. “Have you found any of the jewelry?”
“Not a single thing. I searched for weeks. I offered the boys five bucks if they find any of it.”
“Are they actually looking?” I asked.
She scoffed. “No. Maybe I should offer them Roblox cards instead. Might renew their sense of urgency.”
Mom had lost all the family jewelry in the months before Jeneva moved in. Great-Grandma’s wedding ring and heirloom locket, the diamond tennis bracelet that Dad had given her for one of her birthdays, her diamond earrings, her engagement ring, her wedding ring—irreplaceable memories somewhere in the house and our best hope for recovery were an eleven- and twelve-year-old with ADHD. That scavenger hunt would be the first thing I started when I got there.
“I wish I would have thought of hiding that stuff,” Jeneva said.
“We didn’t know what we didn’t know.”
I misted my makeup with setting spray.
My sister went quiet on the other end.
“I need to tell you about something before you get here,” she said.
I lowered my hand. “Don’t tell me you’re back with your ex…”
“What? Ew, no.” She stopped. “I shouldn’t say that, that’s my babies’ daddy. But no.” I pictured her shuddering. “Dad had to put child locks and alarms on all the doors,” she said.
My face fell. “For Mom? Did she take off again?”
“She did.”
I let out a puff of air and sat on the closed lid of the toilet.
She’d done this a few years ago during a visit here to see me. It was the first time we realized things were worse than we thought. She’d had a UTI we didn’t know about and it had exacerbated her symptoms. She was disoriented and didn’t know where she was and she’d wandered out of my apartment. Some strangers found her at a bus stop.
She hadn’t done that since. But now her condition was progressing. We knew it would. But the scary things were happening now. The dangerous things were becoming more common.
“Do the locks help?” I asked.
“Sort of? She can figure them out, but it takes a minute. Most of the time they frustrate her and she just gives up, but I still have to watch her constantly.”
“Is there a GPS tracker we can put on her?”
“She takes it off. Dad tried necklaces, bracelets. He hid an AirTag in her shoe, but she doesn’t always put on her shoes. Or put on both.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the visual of my beautiful, sophisticated, young mother leaving the house barefoot.
I let out a long breath. “I’ll be there soon and you guys will get a break.”
A message came through. It was Xavier telling me he was outside.
“He’s here,” I said. “I have to go.”
“Text me the whole time.”
“I will.”
I hung up and sat there for a moment, just to gather myself.
After the incident with the bus stop, every time I saw a missing person alert on the news, I thought of Mom. Wandering off, getting lost, getting hurt, getting kidnapped. It was like she was a full-grown toddler who had to be kept from accidentally killing herself.
She kind of was.
Dad worked. He couldn’t be home with her all the time. They’d moved in with Grandma for extra help, but then Mom became too much for her too and Jeneva moved in next. Three grown adults there and I was still worried it wasn’t enough to keep her safe. And a facility wasn’t an option.
We’d talked about this as a family early on, with Mom while she could still give us her thoughts. We wouldn’t be putting her in memory care.
She wanted to be home. We wanted her home. We wanted her with people who loved her in a place she’d remember as long as she possibly could. She grew up in that house, it was familiar to her. Her long-term memory would be the last to go and being there would be comforting. So we had to make this work. We had to figure it out. I needed to help figure it out.
But I couldn’t think about this now. I’d think about it tomorrow when I saw her. When I was there and it was in front of me.
For now I wanted to forget.
I got off the toilet seat, spritzed myself with perfume, and went to meet my date.
When I got outside, Dr. Rush was standing there looking very serious and holding a small succulent.
“Hi,” I said, putting my back to the door.
“Hello.”
I nodded at the pot in his hand. “Is that for me?”
“I wanted to bring you flowers, but you said you’re going out of town.”
“Awwwww. So you brought me something that can survive long bouts of absence and neglect instead? That’s really thoughtful—and also completely appropriate for my gardening abilities.”
The corner of his lip twitched.
“You look very nice.” He said it like it was his duty to inform me. It cracked me up.
Xavier was dry. He spoke in matter-of-fact tones. Sort of brooding.
Extremely, alarmingly handsome.
He was wearing a navy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He really leaned into the blue thing—he’d been wearing navy-blue scrubs both times I saw him at the office. He must know it brings out his eyes. He had these really piercing crystal-blue irises. They reminded me a little of a kaleidoscope. Darker on the outside and then clear and pale.
It was sort of a shock to see him out of the white veterinary jacket and scrubs, but a good shock. He definitely knew how to dress. Also, he smelled amazing.
Smart, successful, gorgeous, good with small vulnerable creatures. This man must get so many women, my God .
He gave me the plant and I held it up. “Thanks. Let me just put this inside and grab my purse.” I squeezed back through the crack in the door, put the plant where Pooter couldn’t knock it over, got my bag, and came out.
“So where are we going?” I asked, letting him walk me to his large black SUV.
“A sunset cruise on Lake Minnetonka.” He opened the door for me.
“Is there going to be food?” I asked, getting in. “Because if not we need to stop and get me a milkshake or something.”
He closed my door and got in on the other side. “There’s going to be food. And puppies. It’s an adoption cruise for Midwest Animal Rescue.”
I stared at him. “Did I just get invited on the perfect date right now?”
Amusement etched the corners of his eyes as he started the engine.
I looked around the vehicle while he pulled away from the curb.
The SUV was clean. Sort of. The front half was fine, but when I looked over my shoulder the back looked like a dog transport. It probably was a dog transport. The seats in the third row were down and two large animal crates were in the trunk. He had seat covers on the two captain chairs, but they were coated in dog hair.
He saw me looking.
“I didn’t get a chance to clean it before picking you up. I do a lot of animal rescue stuff,” he explained.
“I know, I googled you,” I said. “I saw the award you won.”
He didn’t respond, but his jaw ticked the tiniest bit. I wondered if praise made him uncomfortable. He gave me that vibe. That’s good. At least he wouldn’t spend the night bragging about himself. I’d been on that date. Many times.
“Are you hot?” he asked. “Do you want me to adjust the air?” He angled the vent toward me.
“I’m fine. Thank you. So tell me, Xavier, what do you do for fun?” I asked, launching into my first-date questions.
“I did a spay and neuter clinic last week.”
He said this completely unironically.
I grinned at the side of his face. I couldn’t help it. “While I’m sure that was rewarding, I’m not sure that was fun,” I said. “You know, fun? That thing that makes you laugh and have a good time? Typically removing balls is not involved.”
This got him. His smile cracked and his whole face changed.
WOW.
What a beautiful, glorious thing. I was instantly addicted to it.
“I like the volunteer work. I do have fun doing it,” he said. “I go up north with my friends twice a year. But mostly I work.” He got onto the freeway. “So what do you do for a living?” he asked.
“I’m a social media manager for a mustard brand,” I said. “Murkle’s Mustard. Basically they pay me to abuse their customers.”
“I think I need you to elaborate…”
“Okay. I reply to social media comments with witty, biting repartee. I make graphics,” I said. “Write the newsletter, plan campaigns. I execute them and manage the comments and DMs. It is my perfect job. I get to work from home and be on the internet all day.”
“So you have a marketing degree?”
“Yes. But it doesn’t teach you how to do what I do. I mean, it does a little, but you have to ‘get’ people to be able to do it.”
“And you get people?” he asked.
“I do. You can’t sell someone something if you don’t understand them.”
He glanced at me. “I can see that. You can’t be a good vet if you don’t understand animals.”
“Is it hard to understand patients who can’t talk?”
“Not at all. They talk to me fine.”
I smiled at this.
When we pulled into the parking lot across from the lake, he came around and opened the door for me. Then when we paused to cross the street to the dock, he put his arm in front of me while he checked for cars.
“So do they do this every year?” I asked when we got to the marina. I knew which boat it was immediately because there were dogs being led up the ramp. It was a huge yacht.
“Third year.”
He stood back and let me go first.
The weather was perfect. Warm, a slight breeze, the sun was out in full force. One of those ideal Minnesota days you waited all year for. Kind of sad I was leaving tomorrow. It’s always better to bail on Minnesota in the winter.
My phone vibrated halfway down the dock to the boat. “I’m sorry, I have to check this,” I said, rummaging in my bag. It could be Jeneva. Probably just a spam call, but also a decent chance it was about Mom and no phone calls about Mom should ever be ignored at this point.
I pulled it out, caught a glimpse of my sister’s number—and then knocked my phone into the strap of my purse, out of my hand, and right into the lake.
I watched in horror as it swiveled down into the depths, still ringing.
“No…” I breathed. “No, no, no, no, no!”
Xavier peered around me. “What?”
I set my purse on the dock and got onto my knees to look into the water. “I just dropped my phone in the lake.”
This was literally my nightmare.
That was everything down there. My ability to work, the Uber I’d need to get to the airport, my plane tickets—Apple Pay. I couldn’t even call my sister and tell her what happened. I didn’t know her number by heart—she’d think I’d been thrown into a trunk on this date.
“I have to get it,” I said, standing.
It was at least six feet down.
It sat there on the sandy bottom, staring up at me still lit with the call notification and fish swimming around it.
I was going all the way in. Hair, makeup, dress—everything was getting wet. This fabric was probably see-through. Didn’t matter. I needed the phone.
I started to take off my sandals, resigned to my fate.
“Don’t,” Xavier said next to me. “I’ll get it.”
I looked over and he was already unbuttoning his shirt.
“I… no, you’ll be soaked.”
“It’s fine,” he said in an end of discussion tone.
Then he peeled off his shirt and my eyeballs dropped to his chest and exploded out of my head.
Holy SHIT.
This man was sculpted .
It was like one of those cologne commercials where everything’s in slow-motion black and white. I stood there wide-eyed while he finished undressing, oblivious to his shock factor.
He took his phone and wallet out of his pocket, put them in his shoe. I got a glimpse of an equally muscled back when he bent down. Someone whistled from the direction of the yacht and he shot an annoyed glance to the bow. Then he jumped in.
I don’t think I could have been any more turned on than if this man was saving my baby.
He came up a second later with my phone in his hand and cheers came from the boat.
“Thank you so much,” I said, on my knees. “You have no idea.”
He handed it to me. “You’re welcome. I hope it’s waterproof.”
“It is.”
He nodded back to the shore. “I can’t get back up from here, it’s too high, I have to swim out.”
I ran to the boat to ask for a towel while he made his way to the beach. The bar staff gave me four clean rags and I sprinted back to meet him as he climbed out of the lake.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the towels.
“Do you want to go home and change?” I asked.
He shook his head, wiping down his magnificent chest. “No, we’ll miss the cruise.”
“But your shorts are soaking.”
“It’s okay. It’s no different than sitting around in wet swim trunks. I’ll dry.”
I slumped. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “It was an accident.”
“Looking good, Dr. Rush!” a woman’s voice called from the yacht behind me followed by a group of female giggles.
He didn’t look amused.
The man was literally glistening. His hair was tousled, he was tan.
I crossed my arms. “Okay, but can you blame them, though?” I said. “You’re out here on this beach looking like paparazzi photos of Chris Hemsworth.”
He snorted.
“How much do you work out?” I asked.
“Enough. I need to be able to carry any sized dog.”
“Of course.” I tilted my head. “What if this was just me trying to get your shirt off?”
“You could have done less.”
I laughed. This man was so unintentionally funny.
I let out a deep breath. “My mom is sick,” I said. “That was my sister calling. That was really nice of you to get my phone.”
“Did you call her back?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
He nodded at my purse. “Call her.”
He left me on the beach to grab his clothes on the dock and I stood in the sand dialing Jeneva.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said when she answered.
“Nothing. Just checking to see if you need an emergency Get Out of Date call.”
I scoffed. “No, definitely not. I just saw him half naked.”
“Ooooh! What was that like?”
I glanced over my shoulder at him while he buttoned up his shirt. “It’s giving Greek god vibes,” I said. “I have to go.”
“Have fuuuuun.”
I hung up and met Xavier mid-dock. He was fully clothed now. “Everything okay?” he asked.
“Fine. False alarm.”
“Good. Shall we?” He motioned for me to go first.
There were two floors—an upper cabin with an enclosed restaurant-style seating area and an outside deck with tables and chairs. Downstairs had another dining room with more booths, a cherrywood bar, and a buffet. There were volunteers stationed around the boat with rescue dogs you could pet.
He knew all the dogs’ names.
Passengers were still arriving, so Xavier took me to the bar to get a drink. He ordered us the signature cocktail. A salty dog. He ordered his as a mocktail.
“You don’t drink?” I asked, leaning on the bar.
“No.”
“Why? Are you sober?”
“I don’t like the feeling of being out of control. Also, I’m driving you.”
Okay. I liked that. “Do you think they’ll all get adopted?” I asked, watching a shaggy mixed breed parade by on a leash.
He shook his head. “No. Most of them won’t, not here. This is mostly for fundraising.”
I peered around the room. “Were you already coming to this tonight?”
“I was.”
“And you didn’t have a date?”
“I had a date,” he said, sliding me my drink. “It was my friend Chris.”
“And what happened to Chris?”
He picked up his tumbler. “I told him I needed his ticket,” he said, talking into his glass.
“And how did Chris feel about being punted from tonight’s activity?”
“He is a very good friend who knows I wouldn’t ask unless it was a good reason.”
I smiled. I liked being a good reason.
“Want to sit on the top deck?” I asked. “Dry out in the sun?”
“Sure.”
He led me back upstairs and we found a spot outside.
Servers with trays of appetizers were walking around and he got me one of everything and slid them across the table to me like tiny offerings. There was only one stuffed mushroom left and he put it in front of me without even asking.
Then we sat there in silence, sipping our drinks while he gave me what I could only best describe as a contemplative gaze.
I didn’t care. I gazed back.
His black hair was messy now that it was wet. He had to keep raking it back from his forehead in the breeze. A strong angular jaw. The faintest hint of a five-o’clock shadow.
Everyone on this boat knew him. Volunteers and a lot of the guests too. And to his credit they seemed to like him. They’d say hi as they walked by, clearly excited that he was there, even though his body language didn’t match their energy. He’d smile, but it wasn’t anything overly enthusiastic. He wasn’t being rude, just reserved. Not prone to outward displays of emotion. Self-contained.
My late grandfather was like this. Introspective and observant and not at all as intimidating as he appeared—and neither was Xavier.
If Xavier were actually as scary as he looked, these people wouldn’t dare hoot at him while he was shirtless or make it a point to come over and say hello. They were used to him, they liked and respected him, and they knew how he was. He was obviously thoughtful. Kind to animals. Maybe a little grumpy, but he did say he thought most people were assholes, so that would explain that. A bit of a resting bitch face, but it was still an excellent face.
I knew more about him in five minutes of seeing him interact with the people and the dogs on this yacht and watching him watch me than I probably would have gotten small talking with him alone literally anywhere else.
And I liked him. I felt a little flattered that he’d asked me here.
“What was your last girlfriend like?” I asked.
He peered off over the lake. “Carolyn was an acquisitions attorney.”
“And how long did you date?”
“Five, six months?”
I put my straw to my lips while the boat cast off. “Why’d you break up?”
“She didn’t like dogs.”
I choked. “How did you end up dating someone who didn’t like dogs ?”
“She was a cat person, so I let it slide.”
“Ah.”
His gaze came back to mine. “Who was your last boyfriend?” he asked.
I twisted my lips thinking about it. “I take that title pretty seriously, so I haven’t had one in a while. The last guy I dated long-term was a semiprofessional baseball player. Oscar.”
“Why’d you break up?”
“He didn’t like mustard.”
He laughed, smiling out over at the passing mansions. The air was warm, but the breeze off the lake made it comfortable. The view from the top deck was spectacular.
This was the perfect thing to do today. If he hadn’t asked me out, I’d just be sitting in my apartment, eating food out of takeout boxes—which honestly sounded kind of nice too. But this…
“Is your mom okay?” he asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I set my drink down and gave a one shoulder shrug. “No. But that’s not what the call was about.”
“What was it about?”
“It was my sister wanting to know if I needed to be rescued from this date.”
“And do you?” he asked.
“If I got rescued from this, I’d want to be rescued from the rescuers.”
He made an amused sound through his nose, and I got another one of those smiles that reached his eyes.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-nine. You?”
“Twenty-eight. So do you have any siblings?”
“No.”
“Cousins?”
“No. I have a group of friends that I’m close with,” he said.
“And what do your parents do?” I asked.
He gave me his expressionless look. “I don’t talk to my parents,” he said.
“Oh.” I picked up my drink. “Well, boundaries are important.”
He didn’t react to this.
“What do your parents do?” he asked.
I looked at the ice in my cup. “My dad is a regional manager for a furniture company. My mom…” I paused. How to answer this?
Do I tell him who she used to be? Who she still thinks she is because she can’t remember she’s not anymore? Or do I tell him what she is now?
You know how when someone dies, all anyone cares about is how? Somehow the moment that takes them out is more interesting than decades worth of life and accomplishments and living. I hated it.
I didn’t want Mom’s dementia to be that for her. The summary of everything she’s done and everything she means to me, reduced to her disease. Because she’s more than that and she always will be.
“My mom’s a CEO,” I said. “She runs my family’s landscaping business in Los Angeles.”
“And your sister?” he asked.
“A special education teacher.”
A volunteer with a pit bull mix came to the table.
“This is Peanuts,” the woman said. “He likes treats and sleeping.”
I leaned over and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Same, Peanuts. Same.” I looked up at my date. “Cute name. Who comes up with them?”
“Whoever wants to,” he said. “His whole litter was named after nuts. Walnut, Macadamia, and Almond.”
I smiled and the dog licked my hand.
“If Pooter was a boy I was going to call him Prison Mike,” I said. “Kind of bummed I can’t use it.”
The volunteer left to go to the next table, and I sat back in my seat.
“You’re good with names,” he said.
“Picking names is fun. I had a lizard named Elizardbeth once.”
The eyes again.
“What would you name a dog in the witness protection program?” he asked.
I tilted my head. “Wow, sounds serious. Boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“What kind of dog?” I asked.
“Mixed breed. Long hair.”
“What color?”
“Brown,” he said.
“I’m thinking… Jake from State Farm? That way when someone says, ‘Where’d that dog come from?’ you can be like, ‘State Farm.’”
He huffed. “I like it.” He regarded me in that quiet way he had. “You’re not going to ask me why the dog is in witness protection?”
“He turned state’s witness, obviously.” I ate the cherry out of my drink and his eyes dropped to my mouth. “You give me John Wick vibes, Xavier. Dexter, but for pets. I have a feeling that whatever you did to put this dog in witness protection, I’d one hundred percent bail you out of jail for.”
He smiled.
A member of the service staff gestured to the lower level. “Dinner is being served,” she announced.
She looked at Xavier a moment too long. He ignored it. He didn’t ignore her, just the flirting.
All his attention was on me.