Samantha
SAMANTHA
B ack at the house, I help Chandler bring the bags inside and set them on the counter. This place looks so good. I'm reminded that I need to call Penny and see how her showing went. Chandler is already filling a pot with water to make ‘the best damn pasta known to man,' according to him.
“I need to make a phone call," I say. He nods, setting the pot on the stove and turning it on.
I go out onto the porch and sit on the swing, taking in the beautiful sunset. The sky is a colorful burnt orange with a mixture of pinks and violets. I take a deep breath, feeling at ease and content. I take out my phone and take a photo of the sunset. I wish I could see this everyday. I call Penny, and she answers right away.
“About time you called," she says.
“Sorry," I say. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“You’re telling me. I’ve been out all day.”
“That’s good news," I say. “How did the showing go?”
“It went great! I got three offers above the asking price! And they all loved the sunroom. It was a hit! ”
I smile, pride swelling in my chest. “That’s great, Penny! Thank you for letting me work on it.”
“I might have a few other things for you to work on, too," she says.
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. You did an amazing job, Sam. You were made for this kind of stuff.”
“Thanks, Pen," I say.
“So, how’s the trip with your hot boss?”
I correct her, "Co-worker. And it’s going well.”
“Get any dick yet?”
I bite my lip, thinking about last night and the rolling pleasure that Chandler’s hands made me feel. “Um," I start.
“Oh, my gosh! You slept with someone?”
“No, no, we didn’t have sex.”
“Who is the guy?” She gasps. “Did you not get his name? God, that would be so hot!”
I roll my eyes. “No, I.” I internally cringe, preparing for her reaction from what I’m about to tell her. “Chandler and I,” I pause. “Did stuff.”
I have to hold the phone away from my ear because she’s squealing so loud into the phone that it crackles.
“I always knew you guys had a thing for each other! How was it? Was it hot?”
I close my eyes, shivering at the memory of Chandler's husky voice, his breath against my thigh.
Don’t hold back on me, Sam.
That’s it, good girl.
“Yes,” I say.
“So,” Penny sings through the phone. “Are you going to sleep with him?”
I feel my cheeks burn, and the heat travels down to my core at the thought. I want to; I know that much.
“I don’t know, Penny. ”
“Why not?”
“How much time do you have?” There are a million reasons we shouldn’t. We shouldn’t have even gone as far as we did last night. There are many more reasons I wouldn’t mind ignoring those reasons, though. The way he looked at me, the way his touch was so gentle, yet his voice was so rough and demanding, the look in his eyes when he was touching me. The yearning I felt for him last night was so powerful I almost gave in. Almost.
“I think you guys should,” Penny says, breaking my thoughts.
“I know. You just want me to get laid.”
“Not just that," she says, and I hear a door shut in the background on her end of the phone. “But I’ve always said you guys have a thing for each other.”
My skin prickles at the memory of the way his lips felt against mine, the way his fingers so expertly worked me until I came for him. Chandler’s voice rings in my head again.
But God, do I want to.
There’s no point in denying it now.
“We work together, though," I say, more for me than her.
“Yep, all day long, and now you’re on this work trip with the guy, and you’ve crossed a boundary. I think, if you want to, you should. Who's there to stop you? Who would even know about it?”
I think about it for a minute. She's kind of right. No one is stopping us from sleeping together. Just a big ego and the possibility of getting fired.
“Maybe," I say. “I don’t know. I thought the point of this was to have a one-night stand.”
“Those are overrated," she says. Now they are overrated? Of course, she would say this now that I’ve crossed the boundary with Chandler.
“Whatever you say, Penny," I say, teasing .
“I gotta get going, hun. Call me tomorrow?”
“Sure," I say, and we hang up. I hear footsteps approaching and turn to see Chandler standing in the doorway.
“Ready for my cooking to blow your pretty little mind?”
Pretty little mind? I wish I didn’t like that so much. I follow him inside, the aroma of whatever he made filling the room when I walk in. It smells good in here. When I see that he's set the table, I smile.
“Thanks," I say, taking a seat. “It smells good.”
“Of course it does," he says, then with a smug smile, “Wait until you taste it.”
Leave it to Chandler to take a compliment and still find a way to inflate it even more to feed his ego. He takes the seat across from me and watches as I sip my wine, taking a bite of his food.
“Damn, I did good," he says, smiling at me, bright-eyed, and then his eyes fall to my plate. I assume he wants me to take a bite, so I do. And he’s right, it is good. Really good. But externally, I keep my face neutral. He doesn’t need a bigger head than he already has.
“What do you think?”
“It’s okay," I say.
“Just okay?” He says, teasing me and then sipping his wine.
“Okay," I say, giving in. “It’s really good. You’ll have to give me the recipe.”
“Maybe I’ll just have to make it for you again.”
Again. As if having dinners with him will be a common occurrence. Right, okay, Chandler. I’ve had a nice time with him today, but I’m not sure what he’s getting at. Why is he assuming that this will be a regular thing? Maybe he's trying to see where we stand after last night. We haven't talked about it all day. But how do I bring it up? Chandler is bold, blunt, and a bit of a hardass. Maybe being up front would be better than beating around the bush.
“Do you make this for all the girls you finger, or am I just special?”
His eyes go wide, and he chokes on the pasta that he had just shoved into his mouth. I have to hold in my laughter. Nice. Now he's going to die, choking on his deliciously made pasta, and I won't even get the recipe. When he's stopped choking, he takes a sip of his wine and looks at me, still wide-eyed and gasping a little bit.
“What did you just say?”
I stab more pasta onto my fork. “You heard me.”
I pluck it into my mouth. Chew and swallow, keeping eye contact with him across the table. This is so good. He smiles and shakes his head.
“I’ll have you know, I haven’t made dinner for any other female, so consider yourself special. But if you prefer it to be a transactional thing, I think I can manage that.”
He has a smug smile on his face again, and my face burns, and an ache between my legs.
“I’m sure you’d like that," I say.
“You’re the one who suggested it," he says, sipping his wine again before taking another bite. I do the same.
“Have you told your family about the house yet? Sucks your grandfather is selling it," I say.
“I texted Cheyenne, and she said she’d come by with Gramps and the kids tomorrow. And yeah.” He sighs. “It does.”
We eat in silence for a minute, enjoying the quiet.
" Derrick says he thinks I should buy it,’ he says, looking at me. My heart sinks.
“Oh," I say, setting my fork down, heaviness settling in my stomach. “Are you going to?”
“I don’t know. I’m thinking about it. ”
My chest tightens, and I hate that I feel this way about someone I’m not even romantically involved with. “If you buy it, would you move back?”
“I’d have to," he says without a hint of hesitation.
“Oh," I say again. I’m not sure what else to say. It’s not like we’ve had a great relationship, at least not until now. The thought of him leaving when we’ve finally started to get along makes my chest ache.
“But even if I did, it wouldn’t be for a while.”
“Okay," I say.
What else can I say? I can’t ask him to stay. That would be insane. But I also don’t want him to leave yet. Because if he does end up leaving Florida for good and moving back to this charming little town, I’m worried that I’ll have regrets, that I’ll end up wondering what would have happened if we’d… No. I shouldn’t think that. This is Chandler. Of course, he’d leave without a second thought, especially about me.
“Sam?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yep," I say.
He looks at me, studying for a moment before he says, “Good.”
We clean up the mess, do the dishes, and put everything back in its place. My heart pangs when I think of him leaving, being here alone, or making dinners for someone else. I push the thought away. We’re co-workers. Nothing more.