Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb
At around six forty-five the next morning, Brax and Gabe spied me outside the barn. They caught me carrying a cup of coffee with a lid on it that I’d gotten from a coffee station near the front desk. I was on my way to meet Sam to supposedly talk about a good plan for Lilly, as we’d all be spending the entire day together.
After a restless night, I’d already come to a few conclusions. One was that the Lilly of now was definitely not the Lilly in my imagination. The real Lilly was not who I’d thought and dreamed she was. And the Samantha of now was not my enemy. Far from it. But that was as far as I got, and I decided that the safest plan for the weekend was just to survive it and to go home and try to process everything then.
I had to admit something that I never dreamed I’d think, that Samantha was fun. She was friendly and kind and open to new experiences. And she’d gone over and above for me and Lilly. Even worse, something between us was building—make that threatening to bowl me over—and it was nowhere near friendly in nature. It made me question myself—how was it possible to fall for someone so quickly? I never really fell for anybody. I didn’t have infatuations. I’d clung onto my vision of Lilly, my regrets, my what-ifs, for all these years.
What I was feeling couldn’t be real. Could it?
“Who’s that for?” Gabe asked poignantly. “I might grab some for Jason. He’s up working already and he’s not really into the hunting-your-breakfast stuff.”
Who was?
“It’s for Samantha,” I said calmly, “but don’t get your knickers in a knot. We’re going to discuss some strategies I can use today with Lilly.”
“Sorry she left early last night,” Gabe said. “But the french fry thing?—”
“I don’t want to talk about the french fry thing.” I cut that discussion off fast.
“You okay with the low-energy test results?” Brax asked.
I studied his expression. He didn’t seem to be joking. “Low energy?”
“Sorry,” he said, looking a little embarrassed. “I thought Sam told you. I mean, Mia knew, so I thought you knew too.”
It occurred to me that these doctors were talking about the hocus-pocus matchmaking test with the same scientific objectivity as a patient’s blood chemistry panel. “Sam told me the test was fine.” I left out “flying colors.” My head was spinning a little. Low-energy test? Failed? Why had Sam told me exactly the opposite?
“Maybe it doesn’t matter so much anymore,” Gabe said carefully. “You were with Sam most of the night anyway.”
“Let’s be clear,” I said quickly. “We did a round of dancing together after Lilly left. That was it.” And I’d gotten sort of swept up in the moment—enough that I’d touched her hair. A mistake.
“Leave him alone,” Brax said. “He’s discerning, right, man? You’ve wondered what if , and you’re seeing if Lilly lives up to the hype in your mind. Besides, that matchmaking stuff is just family tradition for Sam. Even she doesn’t actually believe in it.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I let that go.
“I believe in feelings,” Gabe said. “I mean, think about relationships. When something feels extraordinary between two people, it usually is. Or else no one would get married or make a commitment. Sam’s empathic. I think she can naturally sense if there’s chemistry between two people.”
“I thought I had that something special with Lilly,” I confided to my friends. “But now I’m not so sure.” It wasn’t just that I wasn’t feeling any chemistry. The way we viewed life seemed different—like, family was always number one with me, hands down. The way we viewed food (I ate and she didn’t), the way we viewed new experiences (me with anticipation, not skepticism), not to mention the way we treated anyone in the service industry were completely opposing. Her entire lack of interest in discussing books was also a blow. How had I not seen any of this before?
“Lust clouds the brain,” Brax said matter-of-factly.
“What?” I cracked open the coffee lid and watched the steam pour out into the cool morning air.
Gabe gave an enthusiastic nod. “Basically, he’s saying that the sex was great once upon a time, and that colors everything. Makes you look back on that time with rose-colored glasses.”
“Exactly!” Brax high-fived Gabe. “Plus she dumped you, right? If you aren’t the one doing the leaving, you always wonder what if because you didn’t have a choice.”
I frowned and shook my head like that wasn’t the case. But I had to admit that the feeling of being in love for the first time had been pretty amazing. It had been a powerful, heady time. But it hadn’t lasted. And I didn’t feel those feelings toward Lilly now at all—in fact, I was struggling to summon them again. As for being the one who was dumped—that had hurt like hell. I hated giving up on anything.
“Sam doesn’t believe in love,” I said. “I’m surprised that she’s even involved in this matchmaking stuff.”
“Everyone believes in love deep inside,” Gabe said softly. “It just takes the right person to make them feel safe wanting it.”
Interesting. Did Sam talk the big talk about not caring about love because she was afraid? Why had she told me the test with Lilly was ragingly positive? I left the guys thinking about the things that had already kept me up way too long at night.
As I walked through the wide-open doors of the barn and passed horse stalls and hay bales and farm equipment, I spotted Sam outside the far end, standing with her elbows on a wooden split rail fence, chatting with a brown-and-white horse. More horses grazed in the distance under the canopy of a lone tree. Beyond that, the morning mist blurred watercolor hills and the light of the rising sun that promised a warm, clear day.
“You’re a pretty thing, you know that, don’t you?” she murmured as she quietly stroked its mane. “Here you go.” She reached into a back pocket of her hiking shorts to pull out a giant carrot, which the horse delicately took between his teeth.
“Looks like you finally found a male you could trust,” I said. Probably not the greatest line to lead with. I set the coffee on a pile of logs behind us—didn’t want to seem too eager.
“Yep.” She tossed me a smile. “He’s a sweet boy. His name is Jetson.”
I liked this soft version of Sam—the one who forgot to be a cynic. Her smile lit me up, clear and bright as the dawning light behind her. The sun was shining on her hair, dark and silky as her horse friend’s, and it was up in a high ponytail again. No nonsense. Like her, dressed in hiking shorts and shoes, ready for the day’s adventures.
Glancing at her watch, she said, “Is it time for breakfast yet? I’m starving.”
“You might have to starve a little longer. I heard we have to fetch the eggs and milk the cows.” I paused to let that sink in. “But then Marin told me that a chef named Pierre is going to whip everything up into a fantastic meal.”
“Milk the cows?” The color drained from her face. “Are we processing the sugar cane and picking the coffee beans too? What does it take to get a cup of coffee around here?”
“Already did that.” I produced the cup of coffee. She shot me a startled look followed quickly by a grateful smile. She immediately took the lid off, rich fragrance and wisps of steam and rich fragrance escaping.
Somehow, I knew she’d be pleased. Her reaction made me happy.
“What’s for breakfast anyway?” she asked as she blew on it and took a sip. “Thank you for the coffee. It’s good.”
“You’re welcome.” For a moment, our eyes met and held in an inescapable hold. In the distance, some pigs squealed, excited to be served breakfast by one of the farm hands, who dumped a giant bucket of something into their area.
“Bacon,” I finally said. “Bacon’s for breakfast.”
“ Stop ,” she said. But she was wearing a little smile. As the smile faded, she glanced down at the cup and then up at me as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t.
“Hasn’t anyone ever brought you coffee before?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But you’re two for two days. You’re setting a bad precedent.”
“Hey, it’s my love language. Er—I mean, my friendship language.” Great. A vivid scene flashed uninvited in my mind, triggered no doubt by the love word. Sam in bed, her long hair down and tousled. Me handing her coffee. Her taking it with a smile—a welcoming one. A get-over-here-right-now-and-kiss-me one.
I blinked. Cleared my throat. Made a big show of visually scanning the entire area from the barn, the fenced field, and the wild field beyond to the tree line. A soft, low moo or two came from the barn. Jetson nickered. In the yard, a rooster crowed.
She downed another sip. “Oh wow. It’s ridiculously delicious.”
And I was ridiculously pleased. She had deep brown eyes, warm and rich like the coffee. When she wasn’t frowning at me, she was noticeably pretty. I mean, not that I noticed—except in a purely clinical sense. We docs were trained to observe, of course. The sun was rising far across the field in front of us. It was a beautiful almost-summer morning. I stepped back a step and pointed to a railroad-tie fence overlooking a rolling meadow. “Want to sit and talk about today?” Business. Purely business.
“On the fence?” she asked.
I looked around. Barn, dirt, fence, field. “No patio furniture for miles.” I made a gesture like a stirrup with my hands. “I can help you up.”
“I don’t need your help.”
I held back a smile. “Of course you don’t.”
She made several unsuccessful tries to get up on the fence, holding the coffee.
“Are you always determined not to ask for help?” I asked. Although admittedly, I had quite a nice view from down here.
“Did you just mumble something about a nice view?” She gave me a cold stare from the top plank of the fence.
Oh no. Had I said that out loud? “I—what I meant was,” I said, going full damage control, “that meadow.” I pointed out to the lush green meadow, covered with slanted rays of morning sun. “I mean, come on. It’s as nice as the one where Lizzy met Mr. Darcy at the end of Pride and Prejudice . With the sun just peeking through the trees. I mean, yeah.” I whistled. “ Quite a view.”
Her frown was accompanied by a big effort not to smile. “How do you know about Pride and Prejudice ?”
“It’s Mia and my mom’s favorite movie.” Then I looked into her eyes, which were brown, with pretty gold rims. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.’” Not a bad impression, if I could say so myself. I’d had a lot of practice tormenting Mia with that Matthew MacFayden line.
She laughed, but then a weird thing happened. I couldn’t stop staring into her eyes. I got tangled up in that big, brown gaze.
Finally, she turned to look out at the fields. “Thanks for helping me with Quinn last night.”
“He’s like, head over heels. He couldn’t stop talking about you.”
She put her hands up defensively. “I’m not looking for anything, especially not with anyone in this wedding party.”
“Aw, come on. One of the bridesmaids always sleeps with one of the groomsmen.”
She tossed me a glance. “We’ll save that for you and Lilly.”
Oh. Lilly. Hadn’t thought of her for a while. And right now, I was wondering about Sam. “What turned you off of love?” I asked before I could censor myself.
Another withering look. I definitely should’ve censored myself. “The day I discuss my love life with you will be the day the earth freezes over. I will literally never discuss my love life with you.”
“As it should be.” What was I doing? Flirting, asking her out-of-the-blue personal questions. I couldn’t tell her that I no longer thought Lilly was everything I’d thought she was—she’d think I was as unreliable and superficial as she’d initially believed. I cleared my throat. “Now then. Back to business.”
I took her cup, and she hiked herself up to sit on the top rung of the rail fence.
Then I stole a sip while she was getting situated. “You’re right. It’s good.”
She took a sip. “Really good.” Then she held it back out to me.
“Aha, so you did learn to share in preschool after all.”
She rolled her eyes.
A weird idea popped into my head. On impulse, I pulled out my phone. “Let’s take a selfie.”
She laughed. “A what?”
“Oh, come on. It’s the perfect moment.” I held the phone at arm’s length, got the rising sun behind us, and said “Smile,” while I clicked.
She humored me, standing close and putting our heads together. And it turned out to be a really nice shot. I took a bunch of photos, somehow desperate to capture this exact moment. “There. Farm weekend captured for posterity.” That wasn’t why I did it. I wanted to remember forever exactly how she looked right at this moment, sort of glowing, fresh and beautiful, with the rolling hills and the dewy new morning as a backdrop. And I wanted me in it too. The two of us together. Like I said, it was an impulse, and I went with it.
“So, did you see Lilly last night?” Sam asked. “Did you go for a walk in the moonlight? Did you take her down by the lake and pour out your heart? Did you get all those pent-up feelings out on the table?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
She blinked.
“You said you would help me. So that should mean not judging me.”
Silence. I could feel her considering that. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be a little sarcastic.”
My turn to lift a brow. “A little?”
A flash of vulnerability sparked in her eyes, but it passed quickly. She heaved a sigh that sounded sad and resigned. “Sorry. You called it. I don’t really believe in love,” she said. “I mean, I just don’t.”
I respected the admission, but I wanted desperately to understand. “How can anyone not believe in love? I mean, love is… everything.”
She took another sip of coffee and glanced out across the misty meadow. “It rarely works out.”
“I wonder, with a magical grandma, why you’re such a cynic.” I scanned her face intensely. This was the most honest thing she’d ever said. But she stared into the distance, her eyes focused straight ahead, and they weren’t revealing any secrets. At least not to me. “Haven’t you ever been in love before?”
“I never wanted to be,” she said. Then she faced me. “Look, my mom—she got pregnant young. And she married my dad, but she shouldn’t have. She didn’t go to college—she just worked and struggled endlessly to make ends meet. And tried to find a better guy. Only none of them were better, you know what I mean? She’d come and go, in and out of my life, and then she got pregnant with Wynn. By the time Wynn was eight, she left for good. Which was probably the best thing, because our grandma was amazing.”
I was so bowled over that I almost had to sit down. How had she accomplished all that with all she’d been through? How had she survived? I had to stop myself from asking more questions, because I sensed she’d shut me down, but I wanted to know everything about her. Hell, I had to stop myself from gathering her up in my arms. I wanted to hug all that pain right out of her.
“So you see,” she continued, “your assessment of me is spot-on. I am jaded and cynical. Nothing can convince me that love is a big old fairy tale. How are you so certain that Lilly’s the love of your life?”
“I’m not. But I needed to see her again to find out.” That was the truth. And I forced myself to stop there. I’d already found out that my romantic fantasies hadn’t panned out, but I kept that to myself. “My mom and dad—they’re still in love, even after all these years. I wouldn’t say what they have is a fairy tale. They’d be the first to call it hard work, but they still stick together through everything. From them I learned that your true love is someone who gets you. Who has your back no matter what. Who you miss when you’re not with them because you find yourself wanting to tell them all the little things that have happened through your day. Who’s kind and smart and fun.” I grinned because she looked so perplexed, like I was speaking a foreign language or something. “Someone who doesn’t frown at you and give you a headache every time you interact.”
“Ha, okay, I get that last part. Has Lilly had your back?” She must’ve seen my surprise, because she said, “I’m asking because I’m worried that this romantic notion of love you carry has clouded your vision.”
I stiffened. “You’re starting to sound like my parents.” And my friends, to be honest. Had everyone figured this out before I did?
And what was the answer to that question? I’d always thought of myself as needing to have Lilly’s back—but failing. Had Lilly ever had my back?
“Maybe they don’t want you to get your heart broken again.” She assessed me carefully, then said, “I mean, I hope that’s not the case. But a lot of times if someone’s friends or family doesn’t agree with their choice, they might be right.”
“That year Lilly and I moved to Milwaukee—we were very ill-equipped for real life. I couldn’t stop wondering if we would’ve made it if our situation was different.” The look on her face appeared to be pity. “But I’m not naive. I know that if I don’t take a chance and let people in, then I’ll never know. Love requires risk.”
She hit my sore spot, but I could put my finger on hers too.
She seemed to grow distant. Like if she were a teenager, this would be the part where she’d stopped listening. “Risk leads to pain, is all I’m saying. Just be careful, okay?”
“I’m more worried about you. You’re too young to give up on finding your person.”
We stared at each other a moment. I had this burning desire to know what made her sound like my own grandma instead of a person in the prime of their life, with all the hopes and dreams of love and life ahead.
She shrugged and looked out into the fields. “Not everyone needs a person.”
I wanted to say more, but then Marin suddenly emerged from the barn, gesturing for us to join her. “Come on, you people. Time to gather eggs.”
“Time to kill your breakfast,” I said with enthusiasm.
This time Sam burst out in a laugh. It was big and messy and spontaneous. Her whole face lit up. Her eyes too. It seemed to me that not many people knew how to coax a laugh out of her. I must say, I was pretty proud that I had. It was like unlocking a secret. And that was a sight to see.
As we headed in, I realized then that I’d completely forgotten to ask her about the matchmaking test.