Chapter Nineteen
Emma
“In the meantime,” Samuel continues, glancing at Annabel, “you let me know if Beau needs some new breakfast recipes to make for you. He told me how much you liked the bread pudding. I’ve got some good ones up my sleeve. As a matter of fact, why don’t I drop off some lemon and thyme scones in the morning? I’ve got homemade dough ready to go in my freezer—my own riff on Daddy’s lemon pancakes. You’ll just have to pop ’em in the oven and have a cup of coffee while you wait. Beau’s making you coffee, right?”
“The scones sound amazing. And yes, Beau makes a pot of coffee every morning,” Annabel replies, laughing. “He’s totally spoiling us.”
“The fact that your man makes you real food and good coffee doesn’t mean you’re spoiled. Means he’s taking care of you right. The way you should be cared for.”
Be still my beating heart.
Watching Bel and Samuel, I can see they have a genuine friendship. That surprises me, considering what a curmudgeon Samuel can be.
Then again, when he’s like this—happy and at home and generous—I get how he could be a great friend. I get how he and Bel could be close. If there’s one thing I’m getting from Sunday supper so far, it’s that Samuel loves his family. I can see him being the type of guy who’d do anything for them and the people they love, Annabel and Maisie included.
I’m more curious than I should be about what’s going down between Bel and Beau, and how Samuel is helping them out. Not because I’m jealous. But because a guy who cares that much about his people is quite possibly the sexiest thing ever.
And those scones? I wouldn’t mind having one for breakfast. After I had Samuel, of course.
He feeds his people, and he works hard for them, but most of all, he seems to get them. He doesn’t judge them or try to change them. He wants them to be happy.
Why doesn’t he want that for himself?
And how could such a good guy be such an asshole too?
“Speaking of good food, dinner’s about ready.” Samuel grunts as he lifts the cast-iron pot out of the oven and sets it on a trivet beside the stove. “Why don’t y’all go grab a seat?”
I push up the sleeves of my sweater. “I’ll help.”
“You don’t have—”
“I want to. I may even let you boss me around a little bit.”
“Don’t you dare,” Milly says, coming in from the porch. “I hope you’ll give him the swift kick in the ass he deserves.”
Samuel rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “You do that on the daily, sweet sister, so I’m set, thank you very much.”
I help, but so does everyone else. Samuel garnishes the food. I pour the wine. Hank changes the music, and June helps Annabel change Maisie’s diaper. Beau lights candles, and Milly fills water glasses.
And while it’s pure chaos getting everyone seated, served, and settled, it’s a fun kind of chaos. At one point, Samuel is coming out of the kitchen carrying that giant cast-iron pot while I’m heading back in for Maisie’s bottle, which Bel left on the table out on the porch. I’m about to step aside to let Samuel pass, but instead, he raises his arms, just like he did yesterday.
And just like I did yesterday, I grin and duck underneath them. I decide a beat too late that it’s a bad idea to let my arm graze his stomach like it did at the luncheon.
So it grazes. My body electrifying at the contact. I could be imagining it, but Samuel leans into the touch, close enough that I can smell the detergent on his clothes.
Again. He’s not wearing his cologne again.
A bubble of light is rapidly expanding inside my torso by the time I actually sit down to eat.
“Brother, you did it again,” Hank says, wiping his mouth with a monogrammed napkin that could only belong to Milly. “Best thing I’ve eaten all week.”
Rhett snickers. June elbows him. “Don’t be crude.”
“I try, Mama, but it ain’t easy.”
“You’re the one who’s easy,” Milly says, wagging her brows at him as she eats a forkful of collards.
Rhett smiles. “I am as God made me.”
“Y’all,” June says.
Maisie starts to fuss in Annabel’s lap. Swallowing his first bite, Samuel sets down his utensils and holds out his arms. “Hand her over. I’ll play uncle while y’all eat.”
“You sure? She’s pretty unfun this time of day,” Bel says.
“Of course I’m sure. Eat.” Samuel’s eyes find mind across the table. “That goes for you too, Emma. Did y’all know our new sommelier here has exquisite taste in wine but thinks protein bars count as real food?”
“No!” Beau gasps.
June takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’ll pray for you.”
Milly just solemnly shakes her head.
“Thank God you’re here,” Hank says. “I hope we’ve saved you before it’s too late. Eat up, girl.”
So I eat. And I answer questions and ask some of my own between bites.
“Why wine?” Milly asks. “I mean, I totally get being obsessed with it. But what made you decide to, you know, devote your life to the stuff?”
I feel the heat of Samuel’s gaze as I ponder my response. He’s had to get up from his chair in the hopes of helping Maisie chill out, and now he’s doing laps around the dining room while bouncing Maisie in his arms. Every so often, I’ll glance up, and he’s looking at me with this funny gleam in his eyes.
“I was pre-law throughout all of undergrad,” I say. “I took the LSAT, got into law school, and was set to enroll the fall after graduation. Everyone in my family is a lawyer, so it just seemed like the thing to do.”
Hank’s eyebrows pop up. “Literally every member of your family?”
“Literally. My grandparents, my mom, my dad, my sister…everyone. Needless to say, I felt a lot of pressure to follow in their footsteps. I wasn’t crazy about going into law. As a matter of fact, when I committed to law school, I had this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I knew it wasn’t the right move. It just didn’t feel very me.”
Milly winces. “I don’t like where this is going.”
I shrug. “I just didn’t have a particular calling or passion for anything else. My sister had gone to law school a few years before, and my parents were ecstatic about how well she was doing. So I figured I’d go to law school, keep everyone happy, and go from there. And then Spain happened.”
I glance up to see Samuel looking at me again. “What happened in Spain?” he asks. His eyes are intent on my face, his jaw tight, like he really wants—needs—to know where this story goes.
“It was spring break my senior year. United was running this insane sale on tickets to Europe, so my friends and I hopped on a plane to Madrid. We took a train to Grenada, which is this cool town in the south famous for its Moorish architecture. On our first night out, we met some of these cute Spaniards at a bar—”
“Okay, I changed my mind. I really like where this is going,” Milly says, leaning an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand.