He would have wanted her to do the same for him.
“One thing I’ve learned, though, is that you work and you try and you trade, but sometimes you don’t always find what you want.”
Sam carefully placed his framed picture into his messenger bag and withdrew a small square piece of white paper, which he held out to Sara. “And sometimes you do.”
Chapter 41
Sara
I took the card Sam offered to me. “What’s this?”
He scrubbed his hand through his hair and shifted uneasily on his feet. Nervous Sam had returned. I wondered why.
All that was written on the card was a phone number with a New York area code. I flipped the card over to see if there was anything written on the back, but it was blank.
“What’s this for?” I asked again.
Sam swallowed. His fingers drummed on his leg; he couldn’t seem to decide if he should keep his hands in his pockets or not. “If you’re serious about getting what you want, then you’ll want to call that number.”
I felt a hard, cold panic settle in the pit of my stomach. Sam was a magician when it came to finding things. He had said it himself—he could find anything. Was it possible he had found in one day what I had spent half my life looking for?
“Is this . . .” I had to stop, my breath catching in my throat. “Is this my mom’s phone number?” My voice cracked. Yes, I had said that was what I wanted, but I suddenly felt unprepared to have it so close. I wasn’t ready to hold the answer in my hand. I wasn’t ready to face her.
“No,” Sam said quickly. “It’s not her number. But you said your dad didn’t know where your mom was anymore. That number will put you in touch with a friend of Vanessa’s who knows a guy who knows a guy who might be able to help you find your mom.” His smile was the slightest bit crooked on his face. “I guess you still have a little more trading to do before you get to the end.”
I pressed the card between my palms and brought my hands up to my mouth as though I could breathe in the possibilities. “Oh, Sam . . .” I said, feeling tears rise in my eyes.
“I know it’s a lot to handle. And kind of a surprise—but, I hope, a nice surprise.” He looked down at the tops of his boots. “I can’t promise that James will be able to find her for you, but if anyone can, it’ll be him.”
All the words I wanted to say seemed small and inadequate compared to how I was feeling.
“I wanted to leave it up to you,” he continued. “You know, for when you wanted to call. That way you can talk about it with your dad. See what he thinks.”
A frown threatened to interrupt my good mood. “I doubt my dad would think this is a good idea.”
“You weren’t the only one she left behind,” Sam said quietly. “Your dad sacrificed a lot—he lost a lot—as well. But he loves you. And maybe he’s just been looking for his own happiness—same as you. Maybe you should give him a chance to find it again.”
I thought about Sam’s words. I was still mad at my dad for keeping secrets from me, for not fighting for our family like I thought he should have, but underneath the simmering anger I felt was a truth I wasn’t ready to acknowledge: There was more to the story. There were things about my parents’ divorce that I still didn’t understand, questions I hadn’t known to ask. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe, before I made a decision I couldn’t change, I should give my dad another chance to explain.
Maybe, before it was too late, I could try to trade my anger for understanding and build a better relationship with my dad. Starting with my apology for making him worry about me all day and night.
I looked down at the business card in my hands, amazed that something so small could be such a large burden and such an amazing opportunity at the same time. “How can I ever repay you for this?”
He lifted a shoulder in that familiar half-shrug of his. A dark shadow of embarrassed pride stained his cheek. “It’s what I do. I’m a finder.”
“Still. This seems like it goes way beyond the kind of thing you normally find for people. Don’t you usually charge some kind of finder’s fee or something?”
Sam brushed his hair out of his eyes. He hesitated, then said, “I can think of one thing that might cover it.”
“Name it and it’s yours.”
“A kiss,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft and shy. “If you don’t mind.”
My heart flipped in my chest.
Slowly, he stepped closer to me. Close enough to place his hand on my wrist. Then he slid his hand upward, his fingertips just skimming the surface of the skin. The fine hairs on my arm stood up as if electrified. I could feel the slightest tremor pass through him, as though he had to concentrate on keeping his movements slow and even.
My breathing was suddenly anything but slow or even. I focused on the details of him that I had come to know so well over the last twenty-four hours: the way his brown eyes turned a shade darker when he was deep in thought, the slant of the leather strap of his bag as it cut across his broad chest, the curl of his hair as it fell across his forehead, the smell of smoke and sky and endless motion that was uniquely New York, uniquely Sam.
His hand reached the bend of my elbow, then continued traveling all the way up to the curve of my neck. He rested his thumb along the length of my collarbone.
I was sure he could feel my pulse increase as my heart tripped into overdrive in my chest. I couldn’t seem to breathe as deeply as I wanted to. All the nerve endings in my body felt like they’d been lined with glitter. I wondered if, when I closed my eyes, I would see myself glow on the inside.
I couldn’t look away from Sam, though. I didn’t want to. All the times I had imagined my first kiss, it had never been anything like this.
He kept his dark eyes locked with mine as he reached out and brushed a strand of my hair away from my face. His fingers left behind a trail of warmth.
Closing the distance between us, he drew me into his arms until we were almost touching along the leg, the hip, the shoulder.
Cupping my face in his hands, he leaned down until his forehead touched mine. The slope of his nose brushed against my cheekbone.
I could feel the nearness of his lips next to mine, the heat from his mouth as he breathed out the words, “Just . . . one . . . kiss.”
I felt a corresponding heat answer inside of me. I slipped my arms around him, thrilled at how natural it felt to hold him and to be held by him.
When his lips pressed against mine, I closed my eyes, feeling like a sun was rising in my chest, pouring light into my fingers and toes. In that moment, it was as if all the noise around me—the crowds of people talking and moving and shouting, the taxis crawling through the narrow lanes of traffic, the music thumping out of open windows and passing cars, all the thousands of sounds that made up the heartbeat of New York City—suddenly fell into silence.
The only thing I could hear was my own blood pulsing in my ears. The only thing I could feel was the touch of Sam’s mouth on mine. I kissed him back, lifting up on my toes as though I might fly away.
Much too soon, Sam pulled back from me ever so gently, though he kept his arms locked loosely around my waist. A delicate shiver traveled all the way through his body, and he smiled.
“That was exactly what I have been looking for.”
I couldn’t reply; I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
After a few moments, he turned his head and rubbed his cheek along the curve of my head. I could feel his prickly stubble against my scalp. “Sara?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“I hate to have to ask, but what time is it?”
“I don’t want to know,” I said.
“I promised your dad you wouldn’t miss your flight.”
“Sa-am,” I said, my whine making his name into two syllables.
“Sa-ra,” he mimicked.
I frowned and he laughed, swiftly bending down to kiss the dimple that appeared by my mouth.
“Don’t be mad at me,” he said. “I don?
??t want you to go. But—”
I sighed, knowing what was coming next and hating it.
“But you can’t stay here, either,” he finished.
I leaned my forehead against his shoulder and spoke into his chest. “I know.”
We stood together for another moment before Sam stirred, separating us back into two people. “Sara—”
I recognized that tone, and it sent chills like arrows through the warmth that still filled me. “Don’t,” I said, looking up at him fiercely. “Don’t say it. I don’t want this to be good-bye.”
“I don’t want this to be good-bye either,” he said. He pulled two tattered sugar packets from his bag and held them out to me. His eyes danced with light and life. “So, tell me, Sara without an h—what do you want?”
The last time Sam had asked me that question, I hadn’t known what to say. This time I did. Aces had given me the answer.
“I want my life to be filled with passion.”
Sam chuckled under his breath. “That’s a tall order.”
“But not impossible. Someone once told me that if you don’t know what you want, you’ll never get it.”
“I see. And something tells me that a smart girl like you will find a way to get whatever she wants.”
“Hey, I learned from the best.”
“True.” Sam granted me that point. “But I think there is one lesson left.” He bounced the sugar packets on his palm. “Instead of saying good-bye, let’s say hello instead.”
I lifted a packet from the palm of his hand. “How is this going to become a hello?”
“The same way it became two tickets for Jess, or a coupon for a free manicure. You trade your packet; I’ll trade mine. And if we keep them moving, eventually we’ll find what we’re looking for.”
“This little packet will bring me all the way back to New York?”
Sam smiled. “You never know. Maybe my packet will take me all the way to Arizona.”
I grinned, catching the spirit of the adventure. “Are you proposing another quest?”
“You game?”
I turned the small packet over in my fingers. “Yeah,” I said. “I am.”
“Good.” He tucked the square of sugar into his pocket. “Then the next time I see you, we’ll have a proper hello.”
I raised an eyebrow, feeling a matching lift of hope in my chest. “And what comes after hello?”
“Anything. Everything. Whatever you want,” he said. “Just as long as it’s not good-bye.”
He held my eyes for another minute, then took a deep breath and stepped out of my arms. “So, I’ll see you around?” he said, his voice holding the slightest hint of a question.
I curled my hand into a fist around my sugar packet and nodded.
He settled his bag more firmly over his shoulder, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, rocking his weight on his feet as though trying to decide how much effort it was going to take him to leave.
“Then I’ll see you around, Sara,” he said.
When he turned and stepped into the flow of pedestrians, I had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The moment was just like the picture I’d taken of him yesterday—the one where he was already walking away from me—but this time I knew I wasn’t supposed to follow. This time, I knew it was okay to let him go.
I thought back to the inside quiet I had felt visiting St. John’s Cathedral and in Central Park and again on Top of the Rock. I wanted that feeling all the time. And if that meant letting go of my anger and my fear, then that was what I was going to do.
I checked the clock on my phone. I still had time. I turned my face toward Times Square, toward where my dad was waiting for me. I had so much to tell him, so much to ask him about. So much to apologize for and to forgive.
I started walking, my steps quick and sure. In one hand I held the card that could lead me to my mother; in the other, I held the packet that could lead me back to Sam.
Both were equally thrilling to me.
I didn’t know if either one would work out the way I wanted them to, but I knew for sure that I was going to try.
Gotta keep moving, I thought. Then I picked up my pace, eager to see what my future would turn out to be.
Acknowledgments
This book started with a dream. I remember dreaming the first scene—I saw Sam outside the bookstore as clearly as Sara did, right down to the Zebra Stripes hoodie and the military-green messenger bag—and I woke up knowing I wanted to write a story about him. And as I got to know Sam and Sara, their story was even better than I originally dreamed.
Thank you to the excellent team at Shadow Mountain—Chris Schoebinger, Heidi Taylor, Emily Watts, Heather Ward, and Tonya Facemyer—all of whom support me in more ways than I can count and who make the whole process feel effortless.
Thank you to my alpha and omega readers: Cindi Cox, Jen Shaw, Valerie Hill, Becca Wilhite, Ally Condie, Pam Anderton, Dennis Gaunt, and, of course, my mom. Their feedback and insight encouraged me and kept me on the right track.
A special thanks to two Facebook friends: Lisa Nickolson Green for suggesting the name Chasing Pages for the bookstore, and Addison Kanoelani for suggesting the angel pin that Rebecca trades with Sara.
And thanks to my sister-in-law Tammy, who introduced me to the music of Matt Nathanson. And thanks to Matt Nathanson for coming in concert last fall and bringing Scars on 45 to open for him. And thanks to Scars on 45 for the song “Heart on Fire.” That song and their music—and Matt’s album Modern Love—provided much of the soundtrack for this story to take shape.
And, as always, a special heartfelt thanks to my family—specifically my too-amazing-for-words husband, Tracy. He believes in me even when I don’t; he is my heart’s desire. And I wouldn’t trade him for all the sugar packets in the world.
Lisa Mangum, After Hello
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