Her Road Home. Laura Drake
she’d stepped in a hole. “Nick, I’m so sorry.” Her fingers touched the back of his hand. Long, elegant fingers. Soft skin. Touching him. He kept his eyes on the menu.
Don’t drag out the dirty laundry basket. Not on a first date. When he fisted his hand, her fingers hovered for a moment, then withdrew. For the best. He didn’t want her sympathy. Besides, sympathy evaporated fast given the blowtorch of his past. “It happened a long time ago. Do you want to try the crab?”
“Sure. But you’ll have to show me how. I’ve never had the guts to tackle those leg-cracker things.”
He glanced up to see if she was joking. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve never eaten crab?”
“Give me a break. Ohio isn’t exactly Mollusk Mecca, you know.”
“I guess not.” He gathered the menus, trying to hide a smile. “Crab is a crustacean.”
She waved a hand. “Whatever.”
Time to test those walls. “What’s Ohio like?” It was a bonus that he got to watch that gorgeous mouth move.
“Just about as different from this as you can get.” She looked out at the sea, squinting a bit in the glare. “California is like a teenager, all brash and full of energy. Ohio is a middle-class, middle-aged grown-up. Flat, staid and earnest.”
“Your family still there?”
She stopped, just long enough for him to realize he’d never seen her still. “My mom died when I was born. My dad died six years ago.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“I was first, and only.” She pulled a strand of wind-blown hair away from her lips. “But my mom was it for him—he never remarried. So he had to make do with me.” She smiled. “It was lucky for me, though. In the summer he had to take me to work with him, and I learned my love of building from him. If there had been a brother, Dad probably wouldn’t have thought to teach me.”
He ignored the heat in his chest, warmed by the smile that wasn’t meant for him. “Sounds like a fun childhood.”
Her smile faded. “It sounds that way, doesn’t it?”
When the waitress interrupted, he ordered for them. She asked if Sam wanted another glass of wine. Sam looked down as if surprised to find the glass empty. She shook her head, and the waitress left.
Sam folded her arms on the table. “What about you? Where did you come from?”
“Right here, in Widow’s Grove. I thought you knew.”
She looked him full in the face, eyes round in shock. “Jesse said something about it, but I thought she was kidding. You’ve never lived anywhere else? Ever?”
“Well, my trade school and internship was in L.A., but I scooted back here as soon as I could.”
Her lips quirked. “Homesick?”
He thought about the jail cell that had been his home for six months. “More than you can imagine. Like every other teenager from a small town, I couldn’t wait to blow this place. But L.A. didn’t suit me. Too many dazzling lights. Too many people. Too many bars.” He took a sip of Coke to make himself shut up, and kicked the laundry basket full of past to a dark corner. “Why did you leave home?”
She looked out to sea so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. Maybe he wasn’t the only one with an overflowing basket.
“About a month after Dad died, I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. You know how when you’re thinking, you don’t see what you’re looking at?”
She couldn’t have seen his nod.
“When I came to, I was staring at the kitchen cabinets. I really saw them. The white paint was dingy, and worn around the handles. The section over the counter actually sagged in the middle. I looked around the room. The linoleum was worn almost through, in places. The porcelain sink was rust-stained and the white tile on the counters was chipped.”
He knew she wasn’t seeing the waves she focused on.
“So I wandered to the living room. It was so weird. This was the house that Dad and I had worn for years, like a pair of well-loved slippers. On the other hand, I saw the house as a professional. What a disaster! How could we not have noticed that?
“Anyway, I figured I owed it to the old girl to spruce her up. I quit my job to work on the house. I needed a goal. I was kinda lost after Dad....” She shook her head, a sad ghost of a smile lifted a corner of her mouth. “By the end of the year, that house was a jewel. Walk-in closets, bay windows, curved archways. Man, that was a sweet place.”
He watched emotion flick across her face, sensing this woman didn’t divulge her past often. Or easily. “Why did you leave?”
She shrugged. “When I finished the renovation, I realized the house wasn’t mine anymore. I could just see a young mom, cooking dinner in the kitchen....”
“And so?”
“So, I contacted a real estate agent about selling. The offer that came in floored me. It started me thinking. Maybe I could make a living renovating houses and reselling them. I looked for another run-down house, but then I realized—it wasn’t only my house that didn’t fit me. Ohio didn’t, either.” She straightened the silverware in front of her. “Maybe it never had.”
When the server brought their meal, he wanted to shoo her away, afraid Sam would abandon her story. The girl must have sensed it, because she laid out the plates and left with only a smile.
Sam sat straight and put her napkin in her lap. “So I hit the road. I saw a lot of the country, and took on projects in places I liked: Florida, Texas and the last in Colorado.” She looked from him to the plate. “So here I am, on the California coast, with a plateful of crab and no skills for eating it.”
He flexed his knuckles. “Ah, but you are lucky enough to be dining with a master crab cracker.”
Through the meal, they discussed getting-to-know-you topics: music, food, movies, books. They lingered, talking long after the dishes had been cleared. He’d had female friends, but he’d never felt this relaxed on a first date. Hell, on any date.
Sam’s nostrils flared, taking in the salt air. “It never occurred to me that I’d live within driving distance of the ocean. Do you ever get tired of the view?” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, her hair lifting on a stray breeze.
He couldn’t pull his eyes from those long legs. “No, and I don’t think I ever will.”
At his reverent tone, her brow furrowed. Turning her head, seeing his smile, her eyes narrowed.
Wrong move, Slick.
Her face settled into tight, polite lines. “Well. Just look at the sun—what time is it?”
“I don’t know, Sam. Does it matter?” Note for the future—don’t gawk.
If there was a future.
She tossed her napkin on the table, scooted her chair back and reached for her small slouch purse. “I need to get back. I’m right in the middle of a big project.” She opened her purse and pulled out some bills.
He rolled on one hip and pulled his wallet. “I’ve got it.”
“I’ll pay for my own, thanks.” Her formal tone matched the cool in her eye.
He knew better than to argue with that tone. Damn. He’d known she had strong boundaries; he should have known better. But she’d been so relaxed, and he’d been enjoying himself so much that he let himself forget.
Now he may have blown his chance with the most interesting woman he’d met in eons. Idiot. No wonder you’re alone on Friday nights.
* * *
SAM