Page 28 of The Spirit of Love
“Let’s see.” Sam raises the stone toward his eye, but I put up a hand to stop him.
“Hold on,” I say. “This is directing 101. Before you try to glimpse another world, first you need to establish the one you’re in now. For comparison.”
“Good idea, director,” Sam says and smiles. He shifts on the blanket so he’s sitting cross-legged, facing me. He takes my free hand in his. He closes his fingers around mine and the adder stone.
“So right now, in this world,” he says. “I’m looking at Fenny. A cool lady I picked up yesterday on the beach. Literally.”
I groan, but Sam squeezes my hand to keep me from pulling away.
“If you’re embarrassed now, buckle up.” He laughs to himself, gently biting his lip for a moment, thinking. “So, Fenny…she’s a lot like my favorite island: a great natural beauty. Don’t groan.” He warns me. “You’re just listening right now. I’m establishing a world.”
“Maybe just get to the new one—”
“I’m getting there,” he says. “I’m taking my time. As I was saying: Fenny. She’s a stubborn camper. A sneaky little houseguest. Absolute zip line freak. Spearfisher extraordinaire.” His eyes drift over me and soften in the firelight. “I like her hair. I like those flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I like her tiny feet. She’s a great fucking kisser—”
“How would you know?”
He takes his time looking at me. “You think you’re the only one who knows things?”
All it takes is seconds for him to close the four inches between us, but the moment his lips find mine still manages to stun me.
Sam’s mouth is firm and warm, his lips are velvet soft, and his hands are huge, but as they pull me to him, they’re as gentle as a whisper. The contradictions within this man beguile me as his teeth tug on my lips. Heat builds between us, and I pull him close for more until it’s frenzied, hot, and both of us are gasping.
“Told you she was great,” he says, out of breath.
He softly kisses both of my cheeks and then presses hisforehead to mine so the tips of our noses touch, which somehow feels even more intimate than the kiss.
“That stone is powerful,” I say in a shivery voice.
“Oh, wait!” He laughs. “I forgot about the stone. I didn’t even get to the good part yet. Shit, where’d it go? We’ve got other worlds to glimpse.”
We finally find Sam’s adder stone underneath my thigh. He closes it in his hand and refocuses on his task in a way that is sweet and funny.
“So you remember all that stuff I said before?” he asks.
“Great kisser. I remember.”
He nods. “Still true. That’s Fenny: here, now. But see, Fenny’s also got another thing going on.” Now he lifts the stone near his face, closes one beautiful eye, and with the other, he looks through. Toward me.
I don’t know what’s coming, but I hold my breath and wait.
“Ah,” he says, “Now I see her in herotherlife, that fancyZombie Hospitallife. It’s fast. She’s paddling around Venice in her canoe.”
“Ha.”
“Very busy, all day long, beautiful people to deal with, her mind moving in a thousand directions.” He pauses, as if he really can see this. “She’s an important person on set. The show doesn’t work without her.” For a moment, his voice dips and he almost sounds sad, but it fades quickly, everything in him turning light again. “She’s making—yes, I see it—art.” He draws down the stone so I can see his face. “Was I close?”
I couldn’t take anyone else seriously if they used those wordsto describe my work. But I actually think Sam means what he just said. Partly because of how out of the cultural-zeitgeist loop he is, and partly because somehow, he seems to see me the way I never realized I wanted to be seen.
I know the show is campy,andI know it’s also, occasionally, art.
I know I used to place the latte orders,andI know the show doesn’t work without me.
And somehow—more than any other person in my life—this guy knows it, too. That, or else the stone really does have magical powers.
But I think it’s Sam. How is it that he’s exactly what I needed this weekend? The solo camping trip I’d planned would have been peaceful, but it wouldn’t have made me feel this alive. It wouldn’t have reminded me—like Sam is doing right now—who I am. Who I want to be.
I lean forward and kiss him. He kisses back like the kiss was his idea, his hands on my back, pulling me close. His lips are tender, firm, and I love the way he smells. God, I amsoattracted to this man. I could crawl into his lap and kiss him into next summer.
