Chapter Ten
As Sam pulled her car into the driveway back at her mother’s house, she couldn’t remember ever being so exhausted.
Fitting what should have been three weeks of work into three short days had been the first challenge.
The stress of the presentation had been another beast entirely.
Sam had crashed hard on the plane, catching up on some much-needed sleep.
She smiled softly as she put the car in park.
She was totally sure that all her hard work had paid off, and she had nailed the presentation.
In a few weeks, she could be a director.
She got out of the car and grabbed her backpack and computer bag from the trunk.
Looking up at the house, she noticed a fan in the window.
Sam thought back to Sunday when she left and was reasonably certain that she hadn’t been the one to put it there.
Had Melissa come by the house while she was gone?
No. Sam shook her head. Melissa would have texted her.
Sam racked her brain, trying to remember details, but was so tired that she honestly couldn’t at that point.
She needed a shower. Maybe food? And sleep—lots of sleep.
Sam unlocked and opened the front door, only to be immediately assaulted by the smell of fresh paint.
“What the…” Her voice trailed off as she hit the light switch in the hall.
Her eyes opened wide as she took in the scene in front of her.
The entryway had been painted a soft cream color. It looked amazing.
Sam made her way down the hall and switched on the light in the living room.
Again, a coat of fresh cream-colored paint covered the walls.
Sam shook her head in disbelief. Finally, she reached the end of the hall and entered the kitchen.
She flicked on the light and looked around in awe.
It too was painted, this time a light butter yellow.
Sam was confused. She hadn’t even gotten around to picking out paint colors, but this looked beautiful.
Sam felt the hot prick of tears at the corners of her eyes.
This is what she had always wanted to do for her mom but had never made the time for.
It pained her that it took her death to make it happen.
“Who did this?” Sam whispered to herself. Just then, her eyes were drawn to an empty four-pack holder of Ommegang Witte sitting on the counter. Sam reached for the note taped to the side of the box and immediately recognized Alex’s girlish scrawl:
Welcome home. Beer is in the fridge, along with some dinner. I thought you might be hungry. There’s enough for two. If you’d like to share it, please give me a call. If you don’t, I get it.—A.
Sam folded the note and looked around the room.
Somehow, in the few days she was gone, Alex had come in and painted half the house.
Her eyes took in the kitchen, and she smiled—the yellow was perfect against the white cabinets.
The light cream color Alex had chosen for the entryway and the living room was relatively innocuous, but compared to what had been on the walls previously, it made the small room appear much brighter and larger than it was.
She couldn’t believe what a difference the paint made.
She also couldn’t believe how quickly Alex had gotten it done.
It had taken her two days to paint the small bedroom down the hall, and that was with Jordan’s “help.”
Sam shook her head again in disbelief and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was only a little after seven. She pulled out her phone. Alex answered on the third ring.
“What did you do?” Sam said by way of greeting.
“I take it you made it home?” Sam could hear the smile in Alex’s voice.
“Yes.” Sam smiled back. “I made it home to a completely repainted house.”
“Not completely,” Alex answered. “We still have to do the bedrooms on the top floor. But we ran out of time.”
“We?” Sam was confused.
“I had a little help,” Alex admitted. “Jordan, of course, though he supervised more than he helped.”
Sam let out a laugh. “That sounds about right.”
“Brad Thorne reached out to me after Easton’s and asked if there was anything he could do to help with the house,” Alex explained.
“He knew you wouldn’t take him up on his offer, so he asked me instead.
I told him you were trying to get up the energy to paint.
He and three of his friends showed up Monday morning ready to go. ”
“Brad helped you?” Sam was almost speechless.
“Mm-hmm.” Sam could hear Alex smiling again. “Turns out he’s an independent contractor. He did most of the work.”
“I can’t believe it.” Tears sprang to Sam’s eyes. Brad Thorne and three of his friends had helped Alex and Jordan paint her mother’s house. Sam was beyond touched. “I have to do something to thank him.”
“That’s not why he did it,” Alex was quick to point out.
“I know, but still.”
“Sam,” Alex’s tone was gentle. “He just wanted to help. We all do. Let us.”
Sam sat silently with a tightness in her chest. She was still figuring out what to do with the new knowledge that the people of Hicksville still cared about her.
“Sam?” Alex’s voice pulled her back to the present.
“So, about that beer in the fridge…” Sam let her voice trail off.
“Is that an invitation?” Alex teased. Again, Sam could hear her smiling through the phone.
“The door will be unlocked.” As she said it, Sam briefly wondered what she was doing. “I’ve been traveling all day and need a shower. Come on in when you get here.”
Sam set the phone on the counter and looked at it for a long minute. It was just dinner with a friend, right? Nothing to see here.
Sam let the hot water pour down her shoulders while she tried to collect her thoughts.
It was nearly eight p.m. and Alex was on her way.
The image of Alex from Saturday that had been living rent-free in her mind flashed again.
Soft, beautiful Alex, the blue sweater that hugged her curves and brought out the color of her eyes.
Alex with her single-dimple smile and exceptionally kissable lips.
Alex, who had been continually checking her out, her eyes frequently returning to Sam’s mouth.
If that night had gone in a different direction…
Sam groaned and forced the memory from her brain.
She was sticking to the decision she had made in Boston.
Her time in Hicksville was temporary. What she and Alex had was in the past, and it needed to stay there.
She toweled off and dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, pulling on a light-gray hooded sweatshirt.
She brushed her hair but left it loose to air dry.
After looking in the mirror, she debated whether to try to conceal the circles under her eyes.
But she had never been a makeup person and had no reason to start now.
It was only Alex. Alex had seen her in every state imaginable.
Sam blushed at the memory of a few in particular.
Thankfully, the sound of the front door opening interrupted her memories.
She heard the door close and then Alex’s voice calling out.
“Sam?” Alex’s voice sounded tentative and uncertain. “Are you here?”
“Just a minute!” Sam called back. She caught her reflection in the mirror one last time. With a deep breath that did nothing to steady her racing heart, she pulled open the door. She entered the kitchen and found Alex pulling out two beers from the fridge.
“You’re up for a beer, aren’t you?” Alex held up one of the bottles.
“Totally. After the week I’ve had, I could use one.
” Sam reached for the beer and grabbed the opener from the drawer.
She popped the top off her beer and handed the opener to Alex, who did the same.
Sam tilted the bottle back and had a long drink, taking the opportunity to study Alex.
Sam felt her heartbeat quicken as she did.
Like Sam, she was dressed for comfort, wearing fitted black yoga capris and a worn-looking Boston University sweatshirt.
Her blond curls were pulled back into a messy bun at the back of her head, and she wore a pair of tortoiseshell glasses instead of contacts.
She was stunning. Sam set her bottle down and decided then and there that she needed to implement a two-beer limit.
“That sweatshirt looks vaguely familiar,” she said, resolving to keep the conversation light.
Alex leaned against the counter, pulled down the front of the sweatshirt, and looked down at herself. “Yes,” she said, looking up at Sam, a challenge in her eyes. “And I’m still not giving it back.”
“I’m surprised you still have it.” Sam tilted her head questioningly.
Alex looked confused. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“No reason, I guess,” Sam said, shrugging.
Alex pushed away from the counter, turning her back on Sam. “Are you hungry?” Alex asked over her shoulder as she reached into a cabinet for plates.
“Starving,” Sam admitted. “I put the lasagna in the oven to warm up before I jumped in the shower. It should be about ready.”
Alex opened a drawer to grab an oven mitt.
Sam leaped to her side and stopped her with a hand on the forearm.
Alex looked down at Sam’s hand for a moment and then slowly dragged her gaze back to meet Sam’s eyes.
She quirked an eyebrow. Sam felt herself blush as she snatched her hand back.
“I’ve got it,” she said quickly. “You’ve done more than enough already.
” She grabbed a mitt from the drawer and moved toward the oven.
She took her time checking the lasagna. When she finished, she turned to Alex, who was leaning against the counter and watching her, her expression unreadable.
“It needs a few more minutes.” Sam gestured toward the table. “Should we sit?”
Alex watched her for another long moment. “Sure,” she said and made her way to the table.