I’m not even all that surprised. Not after everything he said last night.
I’ll come after you.
I missed you.
I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.
Nope, not surprised Sam’s at my house, bright and early on a Saturday morning to have his say.
Problem is, I’m not exactly unhappy about it, either.
The bigger problem? I’m way too interested in hearing him out.
I tip my head back and glare at the sky. “Seriously?” I mutter while the stupid Fates laugh their butts off at my lot in life. “You haven’t messed with me enough so far today?”
Guess not, because when I lower my head, Sam is strolling up the sidewalk. Eggie races down to give him a proper, enthusiastic greeting, which includes running in circles around him three times, then shoving his nose into Sam’s crotch.
Taylor whips around, whacking me so hard in the chin with her sippy cup, my teeth clack together.
“Ow.” I rub the spot then take the stupid cup from her. “Be careful.”
Paying no attention to my stern tone—like her mother, she only hears what she wants to hear—her knees dig into my stomach as she turns and stands, her bare feet on my thighs. Capturing my face between her two sticky hands, she leans forward until our noses touch. “Who dat?” she whispers.
“That,” I whisper back, sensing him getting closer and closer and closer, “is Sam. He was here last night. Remember?”
She jiggles my face side to side as she shakes her own head fiercely, her face scrunched up in a tiny scowl. “No, Sam, Haddy. Don’t want Sam here.”
Taking both her wrists in one hand, I gently tug her hands from my face. “You and me both, kid. You and me both.”
This is as good a time as any for Taylor to learn the most valuable of all life lessons: You don’t always get what you want.
I sure don’t.
Especially when it comes to Sam Constable.
Except, when he stops at the bottom of the steps, his hand on my adoring dog’s head, I’m not sure what that is anymore. What I want from him.
All I know is that he’s here, looking way too good with his hair still damp from his shower, his face clean-shaven, his eyes clear and bright and studying me in that searching way of his. Like he’s trying to read my mind. Wanting to know my every thought. My feelings.
Everything I can’t let him see.
“Good morning, Hadley,” he says and the sound of his deep voice causes Taylor to squeak and put me in a chokehold as she presses her face against my neck.
Since speech is beyond me—what with my trachea being crushed and all—I nod in greeting.
He shifts his weight from one side to the other. Looks so nervous, so unsure, I can’t help but soften toward him. And isn’t that what makes him so dangerous to me? How easily he can get to me. How I feel about him even after everything that’s happened between us.
“Do you want to go to out?” he asks. “Get some breakfast?”
I reach back and loosen Taylor’s grip. “I can’t. I’m babysitting.”
“She can come. We can go to the bakery.”
The Davis Bakery is my favorite place to go and breakfast is my favorite meal to go out for.
Which Sam darn well knows.
I’m more tempted than I should be. All part of his dastardly plan.
Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean he’s a dummy.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say, my self-protection instincts kicking in.
Better late than never, right?
He nods as if he expected no less than my refusal. As if he came all this way just to give it a shot and now that he has, well, he tried. No harm done. “Okay.”
He turns and walks away.
And I bite my tongue so I don’t call him back.
Maybe he’s not so stubborn after all.
Or maybe he’s gotten smart and is finally giving up on me. For good.
Which was what I’d wanted. What I’d always known would happen.
But knowing it and experiencing it are two totally different things.
Taylor lifts her head. “Him leaving?”
“Yeah,” I say, as Sam waits for a car to pass before stepping onto the street, leaving Eggie at the curb. “Him’s leaving.”
Though it’s already in the seventies, I’m suddenly chilled. I want nothing more than to go inside, curl up on the couch under the blanket and hide there for…oh…the rest of the summer should do the trick. But that would be admitting how disappointed I am that Sam is getting into his SUV. And if I admitted that little nugget of honesty, then I’d also have to admit how, deep down, I’d secretly hoped he meant everything he’d said last night.
I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.
Stupid, silly, delusional me. I know better than to believe the pretty words some guy spouts. Boys will say whatever it takes to get what they want.
They’ll say whatever a girl wants to hear.
Actions speak louder than words. Which is why I don’t go inside and hide under a blanket. I force myself to sit there so I can watch Sam drive away.
Actions over words.
Except, he doesn’t. Drive away, that is. Oh, he opens the driver’s-side door and even climbs in, but he doesn’t turn on the ignition. Instead he leans down as if reaching for something then straightens, slides out of the vehicle and shuts the door.
And once more, heads my way.
This time carrying a bakery box.
I stand, settling Taylor on my hip. “What’s that?”
“I stopped at the bakery on the way over here. In case I needed something to convince you to talk to me.”
He doesn’t. Isn’t that obvious? He doesn’t need to bribe me—or any girl—to talk to him. To listen to that deep voice of his. To spend time with him.
That’s only one of the many, many reasons why he’s so flipping dangerous.
He opens the box’s lid. There are half a dozen donuts, three scones, two muffins, two pieces of apple strudel, two croissants, and a huge, frosted cinnamon roll.
I try to play it cool but it’s not easy when my stomach is rumbling and my mouth watering. Even Taylor has lifted her head to goggle at the wonders before us. “Wow,” I say, “when you bribe a girl, you go all out.”
He shuts the lid. “I didn’t want to take the chance of you saying no.”
As if that would even happen. This boy knows the way to my heart—through my stomach.
I shouldn’t give in. No matter how badly I want one of those scones.
“I don’t know,” I say, as if thinking it through. “I didn’t see any bear claws in there. That might be a deal breaker.”
“It’s not.”
“No? Because you’re hiding one in your pocket?”
He shakes his head. “Because you don’t like bear claws.”
True. And trust him to remember that.
He’s sneaky. Knowing me better than anyone, bringing treats here to lure me into conversation.
Sneaky and smart.
But the donuts, scones, muffins and cinnamon roll aren’t what get to me. It’s him.
He’s always gotten to me.
“Let’s go inside,” I grumble, a less-than-gracious hostess to my uninvited company, way less than grateful for the box of sweets I’m dying to dive into like a pool. “If we’re going to talk, I’m going to need some coffee.”