Under her scrutiny, Alex’s face slowly turned into a deeper variation of pink than she had shown on the porch. Sam mentally kicked herself for staring. But why did the woman still have to be so damn beautiful?
Breaking Sam’s gaze, Alex returned to fixing her coffee. She added another bit of sugar, stirring it very, very slowly. When she was done, she sat opposite Sam. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Sam swallowed thickly and closed her eyes, steeling herself against the memories. It had been a month since her mother passed, but the emotions were still so fresh. She still felt so raw, so lost…so alone. Could she share that with Alex? The pain she felt at her mother’s death was so intense and like nothing she had ever felt before. The pain Alex had caused had been surprisingly similar, though not as sharp. But it had been like a death of another sort, the death of a relationship. And it had happened just as suddenly, changing her life almost overnight.
Sam shook her head, clearing it of the past. “No offense,” she said, leaning back in her chair, trying to create a little bit of space. “But if I wanted to talk about it, you would be close to the last person I’d seek out.” She pushed the box of pie across the table. “And I don’t want your mother’s pie.”
Alex flinched, then looked down into her mug. “I guess I deserve that,” she said.
Sam scoffed and got up from the table to stand by the sink. She put her hands on the counter and looked out of the window, counting slowly in her head. Space. She needed space. Alex was here—Alex, who likely still knew her better than anyone. She couldn’t deal with that. She had enough on her plate at the moment. She didn’t need to add another side dish.
Finally, she turned around to face Alex, who was still sitting at the table. “And what about what I deserve?” She fought to hide the bitterness she felt. “It’s beenyears, Alex.”
Alex dropped her head into her hands and let out a sigh of frustration. “I know,” she said, looking up to meet Sam’s eyes. “And I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, but sorry for what?” Sam leaned against the counter, waiting.
Alex held up her hands, as if in surrender, fingers splayed as if trying to catch an invisible thought. Her lips parted, maybe the beginning of an explanation forming, but then something flickeredacross her face—a memory, or perhaps just better judgment. She pressed her mouth closed again, the corners turning down in a frown.
“Sam.” Alex’s voice held a pleading note. She stood up from the table.
“You know what.” Sam cut her off before she could make a move toward her. She turned around to dump her remaining coffee into the sink. “Never mind.”
“Sam? Could we maybe talk?” Alex tried again. “Not now,” she added hastily at the expression on Sam’s face. “But at some point, while you’re home.” She risked a glance up at her.
“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”
Alex looked at her for a long time, chewing on her lower lip. Sam kicked herself as her eyes strayed to catch the action. After a moment, Alex seemed to make a decision and walked over to pick Sam’s cell phone up off the counter. She fiddled with it for a moment while Sam watched. “There,” she said, placing the phone back on the counter. “Now you have my number.” Sam heard a faint ping from Alex’s bag. “And I have yours.”
Sam gave her a look but didn’t say anything.
After another long moment, Alex took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Sam watched as she walked to the sink and rinsed her coffee cup. When she was done, Alex turned to face her, leaning back against the sink. Why, after all this time, did she still look like she belonged in her kitchen?
Alex’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “At least think about it.” She grabbed her bag and the box, then walked past Sam, heading for the door. Sam sat for a minute, wondering if she should see her out. By the time she made up her mind, Alex was calling out a goodbye. The door clicked, and she was gone.
Chapter Three
Sam had Monday reserved for miscellaneous tasks and errands related to the house and settling her mother’s affairs. Most of the morning was spent on the phone—calling her mother’s credit cards to cancel them, filing insurance claims, changing the contact information on utilities and homeowner’s insurance, and dealing with Social Security, taxes, and other government entities. She repeated the same story at least two dozen times to at least two dozen customer service representatives. It wasn’t the first time she wished she had a sibling to share some of the responsibility with. While each conversation was emotionally exhausting, she found that everyone she spoke to was remarkably understanding and sympathetic, prompting her to pause several times between calls because she had started to cry.
Sometime midmorning, as she was sitting at the table nursing her umpteenth cup of coffee, Sam’s phone pinged with a text from Alex.
Free for lunch?
Sam paused. After the morning she’d had, she wasn’t sure she was emotionally ready for more interactions with Alex. Her fingers hovered over her phone before closing the screen on Alex’s text and sliding it back into her pocket. She couldn’t handle her right now. Her morning had been too busy to process those stirring thoughts and feelings, along with the waves of grief she experienced with each phone call.
An hour or so later, Sam was interrupted by a knock at the door. It had slipped her mind that she had an appointment with a real estate agent that afternoon. She wanted to list the house before the fall, but she needed an idea of the potential repairs and upgrades she might encounter and their impact on her ability to sell the house. Her mother had lived alone since Sam had left for college, and while the house was tidy and well-kept, many small, and some larger, repairs were still needed. Sam estimated that she had several weeks of work to complete, including sorting, cleaning, painting, and preparing the house for sale.
“Come in,” she called out, standing up to go and meet the agent.
“Samantha Weaver!” At the sound of the familiar voice, Sam bristled. Of course, as luck would have it in any small town, Sam would know the real estate agent. She didn’t realize it would be someone she hadn’t lost any love for in high school.
“Missy!” Sam spun around to face the other woman. “What a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you. The name they gave me on the phone was different.”
“It’s Melissa now.” Missy’s smile never wavered. “Melissa Carter. And I own Carter Real Estate. When I saw your name pop up in the schedule, I just knew I had to be the one to work with you!”
“Did you—” Sam began.
“Marry Nate Carter,” Missy finished. “I sure did.” She looked triumphant.
