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My head swipes to the side and gazes at the unknown young guy sitting in a Chesterfield chair in the far back corner next to the window. He has a wireless earphone in his right ear, and his fingers rush over his telephone screen. Who is he?
I bring my attention back to the front when Cole coughs, and my grandmother and the couple glance our way. Carmen rises and walks towards us. Her eyes shift, and when she looks at me, I return her sincere smile.
"You came." She grabs my shoulders and kisses me on my cheek. "How are you, Samantha?"
"I'm okay, and you?"
"I'm fine, my dear. Why don't you sit with Victor?" she mentions, pointing to the guy sitting in the chair. "He's the son of Beatrice and George. I guessed you might enjoy talking to someone of your age. Jeremy will call the two of you when dinner is ready."
I glance at Cole, who glimpses over his shoulder to the guy and nods. I saunter over and sit in the armchair next to him. Leaning forward, I peek at his screen. He's playing the game Piano Tiles.
"What level are you?"
He lifts his head, and his hazelnut irises reach mine. I inspect him. He's got a friendly face—dark toffee, short edge haircut; straight eyebrows; a firm chin; and a straight nose. But most eminent is his broad smile.
"I'm Samantha."
"Victor. You play the game too?" he asks, holding his phone.
"Yeah, I'm at level twenty."
His brows raise. "What?"
I can't help but giggle as his eyes widen. He removes his earphone and slides his phone into the pocket of his black jeans before leaning back into the chair and grabbing his drink that’s on the side table next to his chair.
"So tell me, where are you from? I overheard my dad saying to my mom you moved here?"
"Yeah, I'm from Los Angeles."
He whistles. "What a contrast."
"Absofuckinglutely."
Victor spits his drink back into his glass and coughs, wiping his mouth and shaking his head.
"You sure aren't the stuck-up rich girl I expected to walk into the room."
I chuckle. "Nope, I'm just Samantha from L.A."
His smirk grows, and for unknown reasons, I find myself at ease in his presence. He's so different from Leo. Fuck, stop it. Leo is forbidden territory.
Victor places his right foot over his knee. "So,just Samantha from L.A, tell me, what are the most significant differences you’ve found between Los Angeles and Boston?"
I mimic his posture and begin. "The prominent contrast is something I haven't encountered yet—snow."
Victor's mouth drops. "Are you saying you never walked in the toe-freezing cold?"
I shake my head. "Nope, L.A. has a subtropical climate."
Victor shakes his head and rubs the palms of his hands together. "Girl, it's hell. Layering before you go outside, and limbs going numb to the point where you expect they might fall off."
I laugh at his explanation. "But a white pack of snow is so romantic."
He snorts. "Romantic, my ass. I can't wait to see your face when you encounter your first snow and fall flat on your behind because you missed the ice layer underneath yourromanticsnow."
I laugh. He's funny. With him, it's as if I'm talking to Rachel. Both our noses cringe when Jeremy steps in and places salads on the dining table.
"I prefer a double cheese hamburger," I whisper.
