Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sam
“ Y ou escaped.”
I smile up at Naomi from my seat on the front porch. “I didn’t want to wake you. I made coffee if you want a cup.”
“Can I just have a sip of yours?”
I hand over my favorite yellow mug, a gift from an employee at the end of last season, and watch Naomi drink from it and smile. “Gotta love a man who knows how to make a cup of coffee.”
I keep my smile in place but say nothing. I have no idea how to respond to that.
She grimaces slightly and looks up at me apologetically. “I just meant…” Her eyes fall back to the cup. “Good coffee.”
I’ll make it for you every day for the rest of your life, princess.
“Thanks.”
“So, what’s on the agenda for today? More raking?” She goes for a subject change, and I allow it.
“You did seem to take to that rake like a natural. ”
Naomi smirks. “Yeah, well. I’m multi-talented.”
“Honestly, I thought we could work in the bedroom today.” I break off and join her in a laugh as the words leave my mouth. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” I shake my head and try again. “It’s supposed to be a hot one, so I thought I’d kick on the AC in the new bunk room, and we could work on getting it finished. I think all it needs is a good sweep, some white paint on the windowsills, and then the mattress dragged down.”
“And sheets and blankets and pillows,” she says, handing my cup back.
I nod. “Yup. I have all that. Fresh sheets are on the line right now, in fact.”
Naomi takes to painting in the same adorable way she took to raking—with the solemn concentration and determination of someone who has definitely never done this before. She’s just finishing up the third of eight windowsills when the questions start.
“Why don’t you ever go on vacation?”
I smile over at her from where I’m reattaching a light switch cover. “I do.”
I know exactly what she’s asking, but for some reason, I’m nervous to get into my personal stuff. I should be offering it right up on a silver platter after her intimate confessions from the night before, but I’m not used to sharing deeply personal information with people who don’t already know the answers.
“Fran told me that they always invite you to come on their little trips and you always say no.”
I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts in. “And don’t say it’s because you have to work or the resort needs you. I know firsthand that you can take a day off if you want. And it’s not a money thing, unless you’re hiding a secret gambling problem or something. You have a damn good job.”
I laugh softly, turning my gaze back to the screwdriver. “I just like doing less things.”
“That’s not the impression I got last night,” Naomi teases me.
Her little joke does a lot to set me at ease. “I grew up in a different world than those guys, but I spent most of my time with them. Something I noticed pretty quickly was that nothing was special. In the life I had with my mom, things were really special. We went to Frank’s Waffle Castle for my birthday every year, for instance. She has an album with a picture of us together there each and every year. She’s holding up fingers for how old I am in every shot, until I got too old and had to hold up mine as well.”
I smile to myself at the memory. “It was special because it was the birthday place. She made it special by never going there any other time, even though we loved it. Even though I begged.”
“So you never go on vacation because you want the one vacation you take to be special.”
I nod my head side-to-side, finishing with the light switch cover and standing up, stretching my legs. “I go on vacation twice every year. Once, for around a month, when the resort closes for the season. It’s the hottest time of the year here, and I choose somewhere I’ve never been before. Somewhere that’s at its best in July.”
“Where are you going this year?”
“Florence.”
“Okay. What’s your other vacation?”
“Every year, I rent a house in Sag Harbor for the week after Christmas. Me and my mom go up together and do puzzles. ”
Naomi laughs out loud, but recovers quickly at my raised eyebrows. “That is so perfectly, amazingly, Sam.”
She’s grinning at me, and I can’t help but drop my eyes to the floor, feeling very exposed. “My mom went there on a weekend trip in college, and I grew up hearing stories about Sag Harbor. It became this place of legend. The most perfect, storybook town, where everyone is solving mysteries and waiting for their fisherman husbands to come home. We never had the money to go when I was a kid, but as soon as I could afford it, I surprised her with a holiday trip. Now we go every year.”
“Let me guess. You go to the same little cottage you did the first time, even though you’re now a baller resort owner and could afford something much nicer?”
I grin at the utility cover in front of me, securing the little screw in the threads. “That was true for about a decade, but then the owner sold it and the property got developed. We walked the beach that last year and chose the perfect house to keep up the tradition, so now we rent that one.”
Naomi is practically glowing. She grins down at me, white paintbrush in hand. “That is the most adorably amazing story I’ve ever heard. I want to spend the rest of my life inside that story.”
I smile, but I’m not sure she gets it. “And yet, hopping in a helicopter and flying off to some fabulous resort every weekend is the ideal lifestyle. Even you were questioning why I don’t go.”
“I was questioning. I’m not questioning anymore. I’m fully converted. I’m going to spend my time doing yard work, eating ramen, and enjoying the hell out of my week at the seaside each December. It’s my new ten-year plan.”
“She would adore you.” The words just slip out. Luckily, they’re quiet enough that I’m not sure Naomi hears.
“Who? ”
No such luck.
“My mom.”
“Oh.”
There’s a heavy pause where we both focus on our projects. I know I should say something to break the tension, but my brain isn't coming up with any rational thoughts.
The woman just proclaimed my quiet, simple life as her ten-year plan. The idea of her living here, working on the house with me, hanging the sheets, driving to the beach to watch the sunset after dinner, sharing a mug of cocoa or tea as we pray for a green flash.
Hanging out with my mom in Sag Harbor every December.
“I didn’t mean…” Naomi apparently decides to try to take it back, to tell me I misunderstood, and I brace myself for it. “I just meant…”
“I know.”
“Sam.”
I push myself up to standing and turn in a circle, admiring how much work we’ve gotten done. “The windowsills look great.”
Naomi looks apologetic and nervous and sad all at once, but she offers me a smile. “Thanks.”
“You got some paint on your face, though.”
Her mouth drops open, and she spins, searching the walls for a mirror that isn’t there. “Where?”
With a grin, I close the distance between us, dragging my finger lightly over the brush that’s still in her hand before touching her nose. “Right there.”
She laughs and squeals, trying to get away but I catch her and pull her to me, making sure her brush hand doesn't end up between us.
When I kiss her, she closes her eyes and presses into me, lifting up on her toes to deepen our connection.
And to push her nose into mine.
She breaks away and cackles with glee. “Now you have some paint on your face, Sam.”
And the thought that hits my brain, sent there by my exploding heart…
This is the happiest moment of my life.