Chapter Four
“You basically coerced her into a date,” stated Matty as he held up one of Samantha’s dresses flat against his body and pranced about her bedroom with the exaggerated flare of an amateur model.
He would’ve pulled off the look if his shoulders weren’t so square, his waist wasn’t so narrow, and if his face wasn’t covered in short brown stubble that made him look ruggedly handsome.
“Not true,” said Samantha as she spread lotion on her legs, making sure she came off neither sultry nor sensual in front of Matty.
Although he didn’t seem too interested. Matty was much too busy searching her closet for the perfect jacket.
“Angel wants to go on a date with me. She would’ve said no if she didn’t want to. ”
“She did say no. I definitely heard her say the word ‘no’ when you asked her.”
“When?” frowned Samantha.
“Earlier today when you got the fire truck to come out. Ginny put up quite a performance, didn’t she?
Making as if she couldn’t come down when I’ve seen her jump down from the top of that sycamore tree a hundred times.
Where is she, by the way?” Matty scanned the room, hoping to see her.
“I want to congratulate her on her acting.”
“She’s asleep on her blanket in the living room. And no, she couldn’t have come down from that tree. She’s terrified of heights.”
Matty laughed loudly and shook his head.
It irked her. Samantha experienced an uneasy heat flush on her arms and legs and she couldn’t help it when she quipped, “Red really isn’t your color.”
He looked offended, even going as far as fake gasping. He pressed his palm to his mouth and dropped the dress on the bed.
“Are you sure you’re not gay?” Samantha asked, only because she knew how much it irked him whenever she teased him, and also because she knew that Matty was as straight as an arrow.
The evidence was there: a string of girlfriends entering and leaving his place, his often-inappropriate remarks about Samantha’s breasts—they were very lovely—and the very loud and rambunctious chatter with his male friends about beer, football, and boobs.
“Ha. Ha. Just because I have three sisters and know more about fashion than most guys, doesn’t make me gay. I can’t help it if you feel comfortable enough around me that you let me into your bedroom while you change. Now, aren’t you going to be late, Sam? It’s already ten to seven.”
“Crap,” she uttered. It would take her at least five minutes to find a parking spot and the perfect beach chair with the perfect view.
Everything had to be absolutely perfect for her first date with Angel.
“How do I look?” she asked, twirling the forest green linen dress that hung to her toes with a slit at its side and a sweetheart neckline that complimented her cleavage.
“Stunning.”
“Good. Now get out of my house. I need to get to the beach before she does.”
By the time Samantha had parked and grabbed the bag of snacks she had somehow put together last minute, she was fifteen minutes late.
There were tons of people on the beach. It was going to be quite the feat to spot Angel amongst the crowd, even if she was glowing with wings and a halo.
All around her were families and couples and groups of friends with oversized sunglasses warding off the evening sun, and large floppy hats and picnic blankets tucked under their arms as they searched the beach for the best seat.
A large projector screen had been set up against the backdrop of the ocean.
Wading through the patchwork quilt of picnic blankets, Samantha experienced that familiar warm tickling sensation of panic.
What if Angel didn’t show up? What if Angel decided that going on a date with Samantha was too much effort and since they didn’t have each other’s number, she couldn’t let her down politely? But what if she did show up and she couldn’t find Samantha anywhere?
It was then that she spotted the blonde beauty in the distance, standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her head darting left and then right in search of Samantha.
She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt.
Simple, yet perfect. Samantha experienced a sort of flapping sensation in her chest, as if a small bird was trapped within her ribcage, grabbing onto her breath.
Angel was incredibly beautiful. The kind of beauty you absentmindedly passed by and only when you were down the street did you experience that intense need to look at her again.
Samantha waved, but Angel didn’t see her.
Determined to make an entrance, Samantha sashayed her way through the throng of moviegoers, her hips swaying excitedly as she weaved between beach chairs and chatting teenagers.
“Angel,” she said when she was close enough to be heard without having to shout.
The firefighter spun around. The expression on her face was a combination of relief and irritation. Instead of smiling or scowling, her lips were pressed into a thin, flat line and her vividly green eyes bore uncomfortably into Samantha’s.
“You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I completely lost track of time.
” Samantha held up the picnic basket. “But hopefully this makes up for it. I’ve got everything from baby carrots and hummus to chocolate fingers.
I made the chocolate fingers myself. My grandmother immigrated from the UK, you see, and she was an amazing baker—”
“Shall we find some seats before they’re all taken?” interrupted Angel as she glanced over Samantha’s shoulder.
“Good idea.”
By the time Samantha had stretched out the folded-up chairs and sat them down side by side, she was very aware of Angel’s eyes burning holes into her back.
Samantha felt Angel’s gaze even more so when she had taken out a small plastic container with its lid falling off and dropped the carrots into the sand.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“Leave it,” said Angel as she sat down. “I’m sure there are enough snacks in that basket of yours to make up for the loss of the carrots.”
Nodding, Samantha settled back into her chair and made a mental note to grab the sandy carrots to toss away as soon as the movie ended.
Angel said nothing else and looked determinedly at the blank screen.
Every move Samantha made, or noise uttered from her throat, felt pronounced, as if she was under a spotlight on a stage.
Her mind was swirling with things to say, none of which seemed interesting enough to impress Angel.
Samantha was just about to tell her about Ginny, the cat, when the screen lit up and everyone around them hushed.
The logo of the production company popped onto the screen first, which was soon followed by the opening scene of Fifty First Dates.
“This used to be my favorite movie of all time,” whispered Samantha as she leaned a little closer to Angel. She could smell faint traces of lavender soap and something citrus. It was a delectable scent that made Samantha want to stick her nose into Angel’s hair.
“Why?” frowned Angel. “It’s literally a movie about a woman who lives the same day over and over again. It’s sad. Can you imagine growing older but still reliving the same memories, stuck in a never-ending loop?”
“But Henry gives her a reason to smile every day. Even if she can’t remember it the next day. It’s sweet. It’s romantic—”
“Shhh,” came a voice from behind them.
Not daring to look back—Samantha hated confrontation—she simply shifted down in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Angel snap her head back. “The movie hasn’t even started. We’ll stop talking when the actors start talking, alright?”
Whoever had complained kept as quiet as a church mouse. Samantha didn’t blame them. Angel had the ability to be frightening and extremely hot at the same time. That was the thing that intrigued Samantha the most. Angel was both intimidating and extremely irresistible.
The movie started.
Settling into her chair, Samantha grabbed a handful of blueberries and stuffed them into her mouth, very aware of Angel beside her. Time passed both extremely quickly and very slowly. Samantha was deliberating offering Angel a chocolate finger when the movie suddenly stopped.
The screen blanked and then a second later, a large red heart popped onto it with, I love you, Margaret.
The crowd gasped and then All of Me, by John Legend, filled the air just as a man with a head of dark curly hair stood up from his seat, his hands visibly shaking as he reached into his back pocket and lowered into a kneel.
The screen changed again and this time the heart said, “Will You Marry Me?”
“Ugh,” moaned Samantha softly. “I really hate public proposals. It always feels so forced and awkward. Why not propose somewhere else, somewhere more private and romantic?”
Angel turned to her as if she was seeing Samantha for the first time and smiled. “I expected you to love public proposals.”
“Me?”
The woman squealed—Samantha assumed she had said yes—and cried loudly.
The crowd erupted into applause, as if it was the most romantic thing in the world.
It felt as if every single woman sitting on the sand dreamt of a day when their significant other proposed to them at the beach in front of hundreds of strangers.
“Yes, you,” said Angel, her voice soft and teasing. The smile was still stuck on her face and Samantha found herself staring as if Angel was some rare and exotic creature that didn’t belong in the chair beside her.
She was, wasn’t she? Rare and exotic described her well. A steely ice queen who spoke her mind and said ‘no’ to a suggestion of a date and scolded an innocent person who had hushed her.
And Samantha had just made her smile.
“Well, why would you think that?”
Angel shrugged. “I guess it’s because you seem like the type of person who’s always up for dramatics and attention. And what’s more dramatic than a public proposal?”
“Well, I guess you were wrong,” said Samantha. She wasn’t sure if she should be offended or complimented.
“I guess I was.” Angel winked and turned her attention back to the screen.
The heart fell away, and the newly engaged couple sat back down at the same time the movie started again.
Samantha was grinning so widely that her cheeks ached, and she had this strange sensation to reach over and interlace her fingers with Angel’s.
A glass of red wine would give her courage, but then again, she didn’t bring any because she didn’t think Angel would approve of drinking on the beach.
Taking a deep breath in, she laughed when Henry pretended that he couldn’t read, and Lucy offered to help him.
Slowly she reached out, interlacing her fingers with Angel’s.
The firefighter stiffened but didn’t pull back.
Maybe it was too much. Maybe Samantha was being too presumptuous, and the date wasn’t actually going well at all, and she had completely misread the signs.
Samantha’s doubts were reaching a maximal high, and she was just about to retract, to move her hand away, when Angel squeezed her fingers tenderly.