Page 15 of The Spirit of Love
“And you’re just going to leave here when you’re done with training?”
“God, I can’t wait.”
I really didn’t need to know that my knight in flooded armor is also a Jesus-level carpenter. My gaze falls on a built-in wet bar with wine bottle cubbyholes and a knotted pine shelf holding half a dozen bottles.
“You build that wet bar, fancy pants?” I ask.
“In less than a week.”
This island, this weekend, and this man continue to surprise me, to pull the floor out from under me just when I thought I knew where I stood. I’m more surprised than anyone when I turn to Sam and say, with a hint of challenge in my voice:
“Let’s see how fast you can make a highball.”
Chapter Four
“I’ll make cocktails, you makeyourself comfortable,” Sam says, nodding over my shoulder. “The bathroom’s there.”
He presses a thick terry-cloth towel and a stack of folded clean clothes into the crook of my arm, then turns away from me and tosses two logs on the fire. A glorious gush of heat fills the cabin.
Why do people ever camp?
I close myself in the bathroom and gaze into the mirror. Gorgeous? Hah. I look like the cosmos gave me a swirlie. I try to smooth my wet hair, finger-combing the chaos. My face is bare and pale, and my lips are purplish blue.
But Sam did say the word, no less than four times. The most I could get out of my ex, even on date night when I was really trying, was a tossed-off, thoughtlesshot. Sam and I are still basically strangers, but the dynamic between us has definitely shifted ever since…well, since he carried me up a cliff. I’d felt something in his arms. Is this standard S&R on the island, or is Sam going above the call of duty?
I take off my raincoat and my Moz T-shirt. I hang my viewfinder on Sam’s towel rack. I kick off my rain boots and peel offmy cutoffs and underwear. I pull the towel around me and examine the clothes I’ve been loaned.
The socks are thick gray merino wool that banish the goosebumps from my calves. The boxers are enormous and thought-provoking, printed with dogs playing poker.
The worddoggystyleflashes in my brain. I splash my face with water.
I put on the extra-large white T-shirt and reach for the thick black concert hoodie from a Taj Mahal tour. I read the dates and cities listed on the sleeve, all from twelve years ago in South America. How old would Sam have been twelve years ago? Surely not more than twelve himself. And not, I’m assuming, rocking out to the blues in Buenos Aires. He must have picked this up at a thrift store in Avalon.
When I put on the hoodie, it smells like him. How am I already familiar with his scent? It’s hickory and cloves and petrichor. It makes me want to crawl under the thickest covers and drift away to sleep. With him.
But first, sweatpants. I cinch them up as tightly as I can. I look ridiculous, like when Tom Hank’s kid-self goes home at the end ofBig, and I’m too comfortable to care.
I study the items on Sam’s bathroom counter. The bar of Irish Spring in the dish next to sink. Peppermint floss with the cap left open. I click it closed. I give his aftershave a whiff and trace the scent of cloves.
I hang my wet clothes on the shower rod, take another look in the mirror, and slip back into the main room, where the fire blazes.
“Sam?” I call, walking into the kitchen. I take in his cereal boxes—Kashi and Cocoa Krispies. I clock the single bowl and spoon in the sink.
“Your drink’s waiting on the bar,” he calls from somewhere up above. Impressed, I lift the highball off the counter and take a sip. Of course, Hunky Brewster makes a mean drink. Why would he build a custom wet bar if he sucked at making cocktails?
A moment later, Sam bounds barefoot down the stairs. He’s changed into a gray T-shirt and jeans. His dark, wavy hair is down now, loose, cut just above his chin, and tousled slightly dry.
He runs his eyes over me. “Everything fits.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I feel a lot warmer.”
“You know,” Sam says mischievously, “I work with warm people every day—”
“Shut up.” I laugh, and he does, too.
“I changed the sheets on the bed upstairs,” he says. “I’ll sleep down here. How’s your drink?”
“Inspired.”
