Page 6 of The Spirit of Love
“Thisseason had my name all over it, Rich. I have a contract—”
“Full of clauses allowing precisely this to transpire,” Adele, the lawyer-producer adds with a frown. “I’m afraid it’s all completely aboveboard.”
“Which board?” I say and stand up. “People use that phrase all the time, but I’ve never seen the board everything is always above. Have you, Adele?”
I knock over my chair, stumble over its legs.
“Fenny—” Adele says.
“Could it be,” I continue, “that no one has seen this board that every backstabbing lie isabovebecause the board is buried under a million miles of fake smiles and broken dreams?”
“Wow,” Rich says. “I wish I’d recorded that.”
Suddenly, the only thing I can think to do is run out of this office, away from all these people, and hopefully backward in time.
So that this whole conversation didn’t happen. So that I’m still on the brink of living my dream. So that maybe I’m still back in Sam’s cabin.
“Dude!” Rich says, rising from his chair, too, his arms spread wide. “Just in time! Get that trailer all set up?”
I look up from my chair leg tangle and see the dude Rich is addressing.
He’s in profile, tall, thin, mid-thirties, with tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, very short dark brown hair, and a well-groomed beard. He’s handsome enough that he might be an actor, but he’s wearing a suit, which no one does on this set.
And then he turns and his eyes meet mine. My world goes quiet. I stare at him. He stares at me. His eyes are deep brown, slightly downturned at the corners, and familiar, set beneath a remarkable pair of brows.
As we lock ourselves inside this gaze, my entire stomach drops into my feet and then seeps into the core of the earth, cracking open the planet and splitting it down the middle. I’m not one for hyperbole…but today, all this feels like an understatement. Because…
This guy is…Sam? My Sam. From the cabin. From this weekend. From the storm. From my heart.
I trace his features with my eyes. I’m not sure…but then I’msosure.
No.
Yes?
How can this be?
He looks different. He looks older. He buzzed his hair and lost his tan and quite a bit of the muscles I so enjoyed exploring. And nothing makes sense, but I know a few things with absolute diamond clarity:
I kissed those lips yesterday morning.
I felt that nose nuzzle my neck.
Those hands were all over my body for at least four different orgasms.
From the look on this dude’s face, I’m not crazy. He’s thinking about it, too.
“Fenster,” Rich says over my shoulder.
“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”
“Allow me to introduce—”
“What are you doing here?” I demand of Sam, my voice a shivery whisper.
Rich’s hands come around my shoulders. “Excuse her, man, she’s had a bit of a shock this morning.”
“What’s with the suit? And the glasses?” I ask Sam, shaking off Rich’s paws and walking toward Sam. I squint at his chin. “Is that a stick-on beard?”
