And I would find he was serious when he said, “This isn’t a vacation for you. You’re not here a few days to relax and enjoy the beach and then goin’ home never to come back. I didn’t just buy four vases because my woman wanted to fill the house with flowers. I bought four vases because my woman’s livin’ at my house and she’s the kinda woman who fills the house with flowers.”
Oh boy. I had a feeling that explained the garlic press.
Sam went on, “I dig that you gotta sort out what you gotta sort out at home. When I’m there with you, we’ll sort out what I gotta sort out when I’m in Indiana with you once you got what you gotta sort out sorted.”
Right, I followed that… kind of.
He kept going. “But we don’t have shit to sort for you when you’re here except this, gettin’ you a ride. So I’m sorting it.”
Light was dawning.
“Are you saying I’m going to be here often enough to need a car?”
This got the head cock, eyebrow draw and narrowed eyes which was definitely scary.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Oh,” I whispered.
“You with me?” he asked.
“Um… yes,” I answered then foolishly queried, “Am, I, uh… paying –?”
I didn’t finish.
Sam cut me off with a firm, unyielding, deeply growled, “Kia.”
I pressed my lips together.
Then I ventured, “Okay, then, uh… can I point out you already have a gas guzzling utility vehicle and perhaps we should spare the environment another gas guzzling utility vehicle?”
Luckily, that made Sam grin, his hands went from my neck to become arms wrapped loosely around me and he kept grinning down at me when he replied, “You can point it out but you’re still gettin’ a Cherokee.”
This was when my brows drew together.
“Sam! I have to drive it.”
“Yeah, and it’s safe, if you don’t drive reckless and roll it. Someone hits you and you’re in a Cherokee, they may not come out breathin’ but you will.”
This point held merit so I didn’t debate it.
Sam finished with, “But you can pick the color if you want.”
Well, that was something.
I glanced through the lot and, I had to admit, the green was really cool. It was so dark, it was nearly black. And since Sam’s truck was black, they’d kind of match.
I looked back and told him, “I like the green.”
“Right,” he muttered, grinning again.
Then, I didn’t know what came over me, I blurted, “You have a garlic press.”
This only got me a head cock for which I was relieved.
“Come again?”
I said it; I had to go with it.
“You have a garlic press.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed.
“I find that surprising,” I shared.
“Why?”
Hmm. How to traverse this?
Luckily, as my mind whizzed from thought to thought Sam spoke.
“I like to cook but while doin’ it I don’t like to fuck around with shit that takes ten minutes when I can spend twenty-five dollars on something that’ll make it take ten seconds.”
Whoa. There was a lot there.
I started with the easy part.
“You spent twenty-five dollars on a garlic press?”
He grinned again and asked, “Are you not gettin’ that I like the best?”
This was true.
So I kept going, “You cook?”
His grin got bigger and he replied, “I’m thirty-five, I’m a bachelor, I’ve always been a bachelor and I was an athlete then a soldier. No one’s gonna take care of my body but me so I do but I like food. You wanna take care of your body and you like food, you learn to be creative. I learned. Before that, I was a kid with a Mom who worked full-time, sometimes she had a part-time job on top of that and I had a little brother. She put me in charge and part of bein’ in charge was gettin’ both of us fed. Canned soup and TV dinners get old real quick. You want better, you learn to make better. So, again, I learned.”
I thought this was cool and sweet.
Before I could share that with Sam, he kept talking as his loose arms got tighter, “You don’t race back to Indiana, I’ll show you what I can do in the kitchen.”
“Will it include carbs?” I asked.
That got me a full-fledged smile and a soft, “I can do carbs.”
I melted into him and replied softly back, “Then I won’t race back to Indiana.”
Yes, that was what I said. I might not have a hit out on me anymore but my entire life was still up in the air. Even so, I promised to increase my indeterminate stay in North Carolina an indeterminate amount just so Sam would have the opportunity to cook for me.
This was my dedication to my mission. I’d do anything.
“Good,” he muttered and it was then I realized I’d scored.
It wasn’t huge. But he talked about his brother, his mother and himself. He’d shared. And he’d made it clear I was going to be around awhile and back often, enough to lease a vehicle.
And that was what he did. He leased me a deep, forest green Cherokee. I drove it back to his place and even though I wasn’t used to that big of a car, I still thought it was the shit.
That evening, Sam did not thrill me with his culinary brilliance and spoil me with carbs.
He took me to Skippy’s Crab Shack.
And it was just that, a shack out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but dense trees accessed by a single-lane, dirt road. It was so dilapidated, how it stayed standing was anyone’s guess. The only part of it that had walls was the kitchen. The rest of it was a long, cement porch covered in a rickety roof that drunkenly slanted.
I also met Skippy who was the antithesis of Patrizio. And not just because Patrizio was an older man who clearly enjoyed his food but neither of these things hid he was once very good-looking and still had it and Skippy looked like his mother birthed him in the blazing hot sun and, although that blessed day was apparently one hundred and fifty years ago, he’d never been indoors since such was the weathered look of his skin, the complete absence of his hair and brawny, bulldogedness of his frame.
No, it was also because Patrizio was warm and funny and Skippy was so hard and surly, he was crusty.
I learned this immediately.
As we made it to the edge of the patio under his censorious glower, he took one look at Sam then he looked at me then he declared, “You call me Skippy even once, I’ll piss in your beer.”
I decided not to reply and spent my energy focusing on not looking freaked out or offended by this greeting.
“His mother named him that, as in, put it on his birth certificate,” Sam explained to me while grinning at Skippy. “But everyone calls him Skip.”
I could see a brown-skinned, leathery-faced, burly old guy with a serious attitude wishing to lose the “py” on his name. It was clear he’d never been a boy even when he was a boy so he’d not want a boy’s name when he was most definitely all man.
“I’ve never tried urine but I’m also relatively certain I don’t want to so you have my word you’re only Skip to me,” I assured him.
He didn’t give any indication he heard me speak when he continued laying down the law.
“I also don’t do substitutions and if you got a lactose intolerance, a nut allergy, you need gluten-free, you’re on some stupid-ass diet that means you can’t have ketchup or whatever, I don’t give a shit. The menu is the menu. You order, you get what it says you’ll get and you’re happy with it since I also don’t do complaints.”
“So noted,” I replied.
“And I got beer, Coke, Sprite and Diet Coke. You’re on an asinine diet, you order Diet Coke. I do not do light beer. I do not serve water. You want light beer or you wanna do something moronic like drink water with fried food, you can find another crab shack,” he announced.
“Message received,” I assure
d him.
Skip wasn’t done.
“You’re with Sam and you feel like tyin’ one on, I’ll pull out the bourbon. You’re with Luci, I’ll bring out the vodka. You become a regular and don’t get up my nose, I’ll keep a bottle a’ whatever you like in the Shack. You ever bring Hap back here; you’re eight-sixed for life, just like him. Got me?”
Hmm. Wonder what Hap did. I couldn’t see him ordering a light beer so I suspected it was something else.
I stared at Skip’s craggy face and decided to ask Sam later.
“Got you,” I told him.
He examined me head-to-toe and took his time.
So much of it, Sam asked, “Skip, Ma’s comin’ to town tomorrow. Need your approval of Kia before we have to hit the road for Raleigh. We got any prayer that’s gonna happen?”
Skip glared at Sam while he spoke and when he was done, his eyes sliced to me.
“So, Maris is comin’ to check you out?”
I bit my lip and shrugged.
“Sam was my boy, you’d get approval just because you got a great rack,” he informed me.
Jeez. Seriously. What was up with the men Sam hung out with?
“Uh… cool,” I muttered.
Skip looked at Sam and continued, “And a mouth made to be kissed.”
That was better… ish.
“Noticed that, Skip, now can we sit and eat?” Sam asked, sounding amused.
Skip looked back at me. “Two fried crab sandwiches, two beers, comin’ up.”
Then he turned and disappeared into the Shack.
Sam led me to a picnic table, one of the kinds where the seats were attached with angled boards. We mounted the seat on the same side and Sam claimed me by pulling one of my legs over one of his thighs then twisting his torso to me and resting his arm over my lap.
“Skip’s a character,” he told me.
“Got that, honey,” I muttered and Sam grinned.
Then his grin faded and he shared softly, “Fifty cents of every dollar he makes he gives to ALS research ‘cause his sister died of Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
My heart squeezed.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
“He’s a nut but he’s a nut who really fuckin’ loved his sister.”
I felt my face get soft and I looked toward the Shack.
“And when Gordo died,” Sam went on and I quickly looked back at him, “and Luci lost it, he slept on her couch for two weeks because he didn’t like her bein’ alone. He made her breakfast every morning and stood over her, makin’ her eat when she wouldn’t. He left the Shack and made her lunch. And he left it again to make her dinner. He can be an ass, he’s hard to take and that’s why he never got married, never had kids. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t adopted a number of them along the way. He adopts you, as you can tell, he’s still an ass and hard to take but he’s good people.”
“Never judge a book by their cover or talking books that tell you two minutes after you’ve met them that you’ve got a great rack,” I said quietly and Sam grinned again.
Then he agreed, “Yeah.”
“What did Hap do?”
Sam’s grin got bigger before he stated, “Hap’s in the Army.”
“Right…” I drew it out on a prompt.
“And, before Skippy started his crab shack, he was in the Navy.”
“Ah,” I murmured, nodding my head.
“One night, Skip broke out the bourbon and Hap had too much, didn’t shut up, there was a discussion, it got heated, it veered to the Army Navy game the previous season which Army just happened to win. Hap rubbed it in and Skip blew a gasket. Eighty-sixed Hap for life and meant it. Hap’s tried twice to come back. Skip got out his shotgun and fired buckshot at him twice. Hap’s not a big fan of bein’ fired on in the line of duty and really not a big fan of bein’ fired on when he’s just lookin’ for dinner. So Hap hasn’t attempted a third time.”
“This is probably wise,” I stated.
“Definitely wise,” Sam agreed.
I held his eyes and told him, “Celeste said that you can tell a lot by the company a man keeps.”
Sam burst out laughing. I smiled and watched.
When he controlled his laughter, he remarked, “Great. Not sure that’s good, baby.”
My smile died and I whispered, “I am.”
Sam’s eyes got intense, his face got intense and I held my breath.
Then he leaned into me, opening his mouth to speak just when two bottles of beer thudded loudly on the wood beside us.
I choked back growling my frustration when I turned to the bottles to see Skip had deposited them so forcefully both of them were foaming over. Then my eyes tipped up to look at him.
“Beer,” he grunted the obvious then stalked off.
Sam chuckled, grabbed a beer, reached out to a napkin dispenser, yanked some out and wiped one down before he handed it to me.
The moment was lost.
I decided to let it go and find my time to make another one.
Not long after, our meals were served.
I was an experimental eater, I would try practically everything. That said, the operative word in that was “practically”. And it had to be said that I was willing to try a fried crab sandwich but was still apprehensive about it. After meeting Skip, learning about him and seeing the many picnic tables filled with people and the steady coming and going of cars picking up takeaway orders, I felt better about this. After actually eating it and the mound of homemade, spiced by hand, thin fries that were fried to crispy perfection and covered in ketchup, I knew why Sam was a regular.
After Skippy’s, we headed home and finished the evening on the couch, snuggled together, Sam watching a game. I knew he’d cuddle even while watching a game and I was happy to have this verified.
Then bed, great sex, sleep and now I found myself waiting for Sam’s mother to show and check me out.
He’d shared and he’d even done it deeply about Marisela Cooper. He loved his mother. I knew this.
So I also knew if I stood a chance of making the man I loved love me, I had to make Marisela Cooper do the same.
But of anyone, she knew his many nuances. She’d created both Sampson Cooper and Sam. She knew Sampson Cooper could have anyone and should settle for nothing but the best. And she knew Sam Cooper deserved the best of the best.
And I had to convince her that was me.
And I was scared to death.
“Kia, look at me,” I heard Sam call gently and my eyes, which were staring unfocused at his shoulder, lifted to his. When they did, his face got close. “I know you’re worried and it sucks that you’re worried but I gotta say, I love that you care enough to be worried.”
My body softened into his and I whispered, “Baby.”
His eyes moved over my face then locked to mine and he kept speaking gently, this time soft and sweet, when he said, “You’re beautiful always but you make a little dress and high heels look fuckin’ spectacular and when your face looks just… like… that, honey, you take my breath away.”
God, God, God, I loved this man.
And I had to let him know without letting him know.
So I went up on toes, my hands slid up his chest to his neck and I pressed my lips to his for a hard, closed-mouth kiss.
Even though it was a certainty people were looking and a possibility someone had at least a camera phone, Sam didn’t hesitate with slanting his head, his arms going tight around me and he took my hard, closed-mouth kiss straight to a hard, deep, wet, open-mouthed kiss.
Suffice it to say, my body softened even more into his and both my hands slid up to cup the back of his head.
The kiss was awesome, it was hot, it was sweet and it was very ill-timed.
“Sam, honey?” a velvety female voice called from close and Sam ended the kiss and lifted his head an inch as he turned it.
I turned mine too, slowly.
And there stood Marisela Cooper.
Damn.
Ther
e was a reason Sam and his brother were handsome. I didn’t know what his father looked like but his mother’s beautiful skin, beautiful eyes and now, seeing her beautiful, blinding white smile, she gave him the best of her and her best was the best.
She had long, thick, shining black hair pulled back at the tops and sides. At her age, which I was guessing in the mid-fifties, it was likely dyed but either she was very fortunate or she went to an awesome stylist because there was not a gray hair to be found and it didn’t look fake. She was wearing a pair of stylish, loose-fitting, white linen trousers, a pair of stylish, strappy, black high heels and a black, loose-fitting, linen man-style shirt over a white camisole. She’d added a tangle of some interesting silver necklaces that sat perfectly on her still-smooth, beautiful brown-skinned chest like they’d been arranged by a production assistant during a photo shoot.
Thank God. I was not overdressed.
I knew from Sam that she (very cool at her age back then, I thought) went to college when her son hit the big time and got herself a business degree. While doing this she’d opened her own high-class, beach boutique in Malibu which she still ran that Sam told me was very popular and turned a good profit.
And it was clear she was sporting her wares and they were evidence of why her boutique was popular. She looked fantastic.
Celeste would love her and so would my Mom.
She was perfect.
I was screwed.
“Ma,” Sam muttered, my eyes slid to him as his arms slid from around me and I saw him smiling his mother’s smile right back at her.
I watched him fold her in his arms then I watched her eyes close and my breath stuck when I saw her face get warm, soft and intense just like her son’s as her arms stole around Sam.
“Sammy,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.
Sammy.
Oh man.
She loved her boy. Really loved him.
That was beautiful.
I was totally screwed.
Sam moved away but not far. His hands went to her waist as hers shifted to his biceps and he asked, “Flight good?”
“It was long and it is over. Why you don’t move back to California so I don’t have to fly five hours to see you, I will never know,” she answered.
“Yeah, you say that then you hit the deck with a rum and coke and stop bitchin’,” Sam returned on a grin.