“You sure you’re okay, Gina?” Robyn asked, inspecting my expertly concealed face for the shadows of bruises that still lingered.

“I’m sure. I need to get back to work, Robyn. The kids need me.”

The bigger truth was that I needed the kids. For once, the solitude my home offered, that my books created, did not satisfy me. In fact, it did the opposite. It drove me crazy, the quiet of it all.

Ever since Sam left, if I was honest. Since I drove him off, convincing myself it was for the best. Convincing him it was the only thing he could do.

So I’d called my boss and pretty much begged to come back to work.

Robyn was an okay boss. She could be a bit of a pain sometimes, not because she was a bad person but because she owned a kindergarten, was in charge of all the kids under her care, had two children of her own and a husband who didn’t do anything to help.

I’d met him at a BBQ Robyn had hosted last summer. I didn’t like him. Or the way he spoke to Robyn. It was familiar, and not in a good way. I hadn’t stayed long that day. Because Simon had turned up. It was a small town, so his attendance wasn’t a surprise, nor was his friendship with Bill, Robyn’s husband. But his appearance rattled me. At that point, it had only been six months since the breakup. The glue holding me together had barely dried, and it was vulnerable to breaking all over again with his mere presence.

“Is Conrad back?” I continued.

Robyn nodded. “He is. I don’t know for how long. His mother’s relatives have come into town. I’ve met them and they seem to have been oblivious to the situation their grandson was in. They look like good people.”

I frowned. Everyone looked like good people. Until they weren’t.

Heck, half the town still idolized Simon, thought I was insane for letting him go. He’d been born and bred there, star of the football team, helped around town before it had become his job.

It was only behind closed doors that he showed himself. And even if I was the kind of person to tell everyone what an asshole he really was, which I wasn’t, there was no true evidence to lay out.

That’s where he was a genius.

“Is he holding up okay?” I asked, putting my focus back where it should have been, on Conrad.

“As well as I can see. He’s resilient little guy.”

“Yeah, he is,” I agreed.

“Gina, what happened… it was horrible. If you ever want to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” I said, my voice coming out harsher than I’d intended. “I just want to get back to work, if that’s okay with you.”

Robyn regarded me. “Of course. The kids have missed you.”

I relaxed when it became apparent she wasn’t going to press for more.

Everyone pressed for more.

People I never usually talked to. People who didn’t even like me. The incident was the talk of the town. And since Wayne was friends with Simon, he was influencing opinion in his favor.

I was not popular.

But then again, I didn’t want popularity from people who would make excuses for a man who beat children and people who tried to help those children.

I just needed to focus on the things that mattered. Right now, it was getting back to my normal and pretending there was not a rock star somewhere in town, lying in wait to lay waste to my heart.

Though it had already been established that I was terrible actor.

* * *

I left the small building that the kindergarten was housed in, exhausted. I’d come back to work in search of noise, of the comfort that came with spending time with my favorite little humans. And I’d gotten it. All the noise. All the questions asking where I’d gone, what I was doing, who I was with. And then the hyper energy that they were all expending due to the excitement of having me back.

Midway through the day, I’d taken Conrad aside to try to talk to him, to make sure he was okay. He’d smiled wide at me and told me his grandma made the best cookies ever, and his grandfather had the best hugs and always had toffees in his pockets.

I hoped that meant he was happy. That these were good people. That they would nurture that little boy the best they could to try to repair whatever scars had been put there. There was no removing them. My degree in infant development told me that. Years one to five were some of the most formative in a child’s life. Yes, it was true that most people couldn’t recall those years with great detail, but that was because most people were lucky enough to have a relatively happy childhood. People who remembered were the ones who went on to have problems in their adult lives. Those who were unlucky remembered all of the bad and almost none of the good. And even if they didn’t consciously remember, the crimes done to them in infancy presented into adulthood, affecting development.

And that only saddened me deeply. I prayed Conrad would have a new loving environment that nurtured him a way he hadn’t been with his father.

I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice the presence in the parking lot until he spoke.

“What’s up, gorgeous?”

My head snapped up and my eyes locked on familiar sunglasses. A familiar man bun. Familiar tattoos.

A familiar Sam.

Immediately my body relaxed with the noise I’d been searching for since his car had roared off a week ago, the husky cadence of his voice settling my mind. As much as I hated to admit it to myself.

Though I made sure not to show it on my face.

“What are you doing here? Why haven’t you left?” I demanded, stopping and jostling the folders in my arms.

Teaching kindergarteners wasn’t just playing with them and teaching them ABCs. I had to write development reports, progress stats, and research on the newest techniques for formative years.

He pushed off the car he was leaning on. It wasn’t the same black one he’d been driving last week. This one was red. Blood red. And had a familiar horse on the front of it.

Of course.

If it didn’t demand attention, was it even Sam?

I wouldn’t expect anything less.

And I appreciated it almost as hungrily as I appreciated the man leaning against it.

The man who had been gone for two days and I’d convinced myself was gone forever.

“You know me, I love hanging out in the parking lot of kindergartens.” He grinned. “Though I think I might have made a few parents nervous. And this time not with my good looks and fame. Turns out a guy hanging out in a parking lot not picking up a kid can be defined as ‘creepy.’ Even an attractive famous one. They seemed to calm down a little when I told them I was waiting for my girlfriend, who is of age. I went through great pains to convince them of that.”

Without asking, he took the folders out of my hands with ease.

I glared at him. “I’m not your girlfriend,” I snapped.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “But in the future, you will be. So technically, here in the present, you are. Time is a construct, so what happens in the future already exists in the present.” He winked.

“Not now, not ever,” I said. “Give me my folders back.”

I tried to snatch them off him but he lithely moved out of my grasp, lifting them above his head and out of my reach.

“Nope. Not until you agree to let me take you out for dinner.”

“What are you, twelve?” I hissed.

“No, though I do know I have great skin for my age. I’m old enough to drink, fuck, and take a beautiful woman out for a steak dinner.”

“I’m vegetarian,” I informed him with a grin.

“Perfect, so am I,” he said without missing a beat.

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lying.”

He shrugged. “You’ll just have to come to dinner with me to find out.”

I stared at him, hating he was wearing me down so easily. The promise I’d made to myself was quickly shattering with his easy grin that had more behind it than it seemed.

As if my thought magicked it into existence, the glint of seriousness that sparkled beyond his smile took over completely. “Cards on the table, babe? I want you. Not in a way I’ve ever wanted anyone else. Not because I can’t have you or whatever you’ve dreamed up in your head, but because I like spending time with you. I like that you don’t talk a lot but when you do, you say something worth hearing. I like that you seem to be as quiet as a mouse with everyone but me, and I like that little fire you get behind your eyes when you’re pissed off with me. Though I more than like it. I’d also like to see if I can conjure some other looks from you too, not just irritation or impatience. See if I can get back those glances I was treated to before I fucked up.” He paused. “But, if after dinner with me, you still decide you don’t want to explore this, and you know this isn’t something, I’ll leave you alone. I swear it. On my signed Nirvana record.” He stepped forward, the folders he was holding brushing my bare arms. Though that wasn’t what was giving them goose bumps.

“I know you said you didn’t give second chances, and I sure as shit don’t deserve one. But I’m willing to get down on my knees and grovel, even if this dirty parking lot will ruin my favorite pair of jeans.” He glanced down, then back up. “Just dinner. No strings. Just some tofu and spinach and more of your fabulous company.”

Despite all my better judgment, despite the knowledge of the fact that it was most certainly not just dinner with no strings, I found myself nodding.

“On one condition,” I relented.

He beamed. “Anything.”

“I get to drive the car.”

* * *

“You do realize I’m quite attached to living and breathing?” Sam said, clutching the “oh shit” handle in the car as I roared around a corner.

The wheels stuck to the road and cornered smoothly, the purr of the engine humming like a kitten.

“This was your plan all along. You never intended on going to dinner with me. You’re going to kill me in a fiery crash,” he exclaimed, panic creeping into his tone as I flattened my foot.

I’d taken the long way into town, one that circled the woods and went out into the wilderness. It was an old road that no one ever used since they put the highway in to bypass the town. It was mainly for teenagers causing trouble on the weekend or the handful of people who lived in the isolated cottages peppered through the forest land.

The bypass had made it so there were a lot of hard times on the mom-and-pop stores, as way-through travelers were their bread and butter.

But the town was slowly growing again, new developments and low house prices bringing families in from the city.

“Calm down,” I muttered.

“I am calm!” he half screamed. “The Dalai fucking Lama couldn’t reproduce my zen right now.”

I grinned.

If there was one thing my father taught me how to do, it was drive. Like really drive. His one financial vice that he refused to let my mother control was the high-speed sports cars he circulated on a yearly basis.

Mom called them his midlife crisis.

I called them his escape to sanity.

I didn’t blame him, looking for an escape from my mother. They weren’t his only one. I’d known that as I grew older. But they were the only one where he let me escape with him too.

I flattened my foot on the last straight before we would hit town and I would have to obey the traffic laws.

Sam cursed audibly, but it was soon lost over the roar of the engine and the euphoria of flying through the open night. I’d never driven a car this fast before. It literally felt like a plane takeoff, the motion and speed pushing me back into the seat. I breathed into it, let my instincts take over.

Then, too soon, we were approaching the beginning of town. I touched the brakes slowly, knowing the dangers of hitting them hard at a high speed. I did it just in time to pass through town in what seemed like a blur, to me at least. I yearned to continue the speed, the one that had me almost certainly in the realm of losing my license, but I wasn’t exactly well liked by town law enforcement, regardless that I didn’t have as much as a parking ticket against my name.

What I had against my name was an officer named Simon.

So I slowed and maneuvered through the town I usually dreaded venturing into. I was dreading it tenfold now.

I glanced over at Sam as I parked outside one of my favorite restaurants. Not that there were many to choose from. Especially ones that offered a half-decent vegetarian selection. Not that I went out enough to really have a favorite. Simon just never took me here, so there was that going for it.

Sam was staring at me. Intensely. In a way that reproduced the vibration of the engine under my seat despite the fact that I’d turned the engine off.

“Uh, Sam—” I began.

But then I was cut off by him unbuckling my seat belt and literally dragging me across the seat of the small interior of the car to plaster my mouth to his.

Driving fast was like a drug to me. In order to drive, my father had taught me to follow my intuition, not to overthink anything and just go. I was still in that mindset, still riding that wave. So I didn’t overthink the way I instantly melted into the kiss, the way I enthusiastically participated in it.

He yanked at my hair roughly, beautifully. There was nothing tender or soulful about the way he kissed me. It was brutal, like his life depended on it. Like he was a man presented with a buffet after dancing with starvation.

Or maybe that’s just what it felt like for me, considering I hadn’t been kissed since that night.

And I hadn’t been kissed like that ever.

He pulled back and I let him, reluctantly. Somewhere in my mind, I realized we were in a flashy car that literally screamed “look at me” on the main street of a town that was always looking for new gossip. The chubby kindergarten teacher who had just been beaten up by one of her student’s fathers making out with a rock star in his hundred-thousand-dollar car could be classified as “gossip.”

Could be sold as gossip.

That thought filled me with icy dread.

“Where in the fuck did you learn to drive like that?” he rasped.

I was unable to wrench myself back to my side of the car. The proximity to him, his touch, the soft warmth of his breath against my face was just too enticing. Even with all of my previous logical thoughts whirling through my mind.

“My dad,” I whispered. “It was kind of our thing. Open roads and empty minds.”

His eyes flashed with something. Something that didn’t disappear quickly, like the rest of his flashes. It was like he kept it there purposefully, in order to communicate to me that this moment meant something to him.

I just had to figure out what it actually meant.

“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met,” he said.

I laughed, leaning back, and he reluctantly let me go. “Now I know you’re lying. You’re a rock star who travels the world. I’m a kindergarten teacher who rarely leaves the house past 8:00 p.m. I’m likely the most boring person you’ve ever met,” I informed him.

He frowned. “Not what you do that makes you interesting, babe. It’s who you are.”

And then, laying that on me, his face returned back to his easy smile. “Now let’s eat some delicious vegetarian food.”

I couldn’t help but smile back at him at the way he said it.

“Yeah, let’s,” I agreed.

* * *

The effect of him had been apparent and immediate the second we entered the restaurant. I didn’t come here often but it was a small town, so everyone knew me and I knew most of the people scattered around the booths. It was only just after 5:00 p.m., but that was the busiest time for this place. Families and old people dined early, and they boasted about three-quarters of the population here in Hampton Springs.

The hostess, Adrienne, gasped when we walked through the double doors.

Gasped. Audibly.

As was characteristic of small-town eateries, people glanced at the door when someone new came in. People fit into two categories in small towns, or even in the big cities, or just life in general: people you wanted to talk to, or people you wanted to avoid. And that was the sport when you were out for dinner, figuring out how to avoid the people coming in the door, or waving them over for a chat to escape the monotonous dinner with a spouse you hated or children you resented.

It started with murmurs, people elbowing their tablemates and staring at Sam.

Gaping, more accurately.

“Holy fuck, is that Sam Kennedy?”

“With that kindergarten teacher, what’s her name? Jasmine?”

My face flamed, and the pleasant feeling of before dissipated in two point five seconds. Sam was oblivious to the attention, probably because this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. In fact, I was sure it was a common occurrence. We were a culture that worshipped at the altar of celebrity, so this was a god in person for most of these people.

Even if you hated their music, their movies or their political stance, the proximity of celebrities made you forget your own opinion and just be star struck.

Sam was used to having people look at him. I was not. It would’ve been okay if they were just looking at Sam, but that’s not how it worked.

He had grasped my hand naturally when we’d gotten out of the car. I hadn’t protested because it felt… right. Easy.

Now it was the harbinger of the sinking feeling rapidly approaching as people glimpsed at our intertwined hands.

I was now an attachment to Sam, and therefore up for inspection. I already knew I’d be found lacking, that people would be questioning what the heck Sam was doing with me.

I was questioning what the heck he was doing with me.

I tried to yank my hand out of his grasp, but Sam’s grip tightened in response.

“Your finest booth, please,” Sam requested. “Private, if possible,” he added with a wink.

“Yo-you’re Sam Kennedy,” Adrienne breathed.

“That’s what they keep telling me.” He grinned. “And I’m a very hungry Sam Kennedy.”

She gaped at him for a second more and then snatched two menus from the hostess booth, extending her hand. “Please follow me. I’ll give you the best table in the house.”

Sam gave her a grin and a nod in thanks. “Appreciate it,” he murmured, following her.

That meant I was also following her, since Sam was making sure it was physically impossible for me to detach myself from him without causing a scene. Or more of a scene.

I didn’t know if Adrienne designed it that way, but “the best table in the house” led us right past every other table in the house. It was as if she was treating the other diners to a moving zoo exhibition—"watch Sam Kennedy walk through your dinner, then discuss what he’s doing with the plain girl whose name we’ve just gone and forgotten.”

I idly wondered if she’d get more tips for orchestrating the spectacle.

“Here we are,” she said, holding out her hand like before, as if she was presenting us with our solid gold table overlooking Mount Everest.

Sam, the charmer that he was, treated it as such, grinning widely.

“Thank you”—he looked down at her nametag—“Adrienne.”

She beamed at him, as if he hadn’t read her name from a blatantly readable tag but plucked it out of his head.

He didn’t notice, too busy focusing back on me to lay a chaste but very effing public kiss on my head. “This good, baby?” he murmured against my forehead.

I yanked away and sat down in the chair, wishing in the year that had passed that I’d managed to figure out how to fully dissolve into one. Since I hadn’t, I had to settle for scooting as far over to the edge of the wall as I could.

Adrienne had given us the “most private” booth in the place. Pity the restaurant was well lit and open plan, with most of the tables scattered around the middle of the room. Ours was way in the back, slightly obscured by a pole and some fake trees, but we were still on display for pretty much the whole room that seemed to contain the entire town—with the exception of Simon, thankfully.

To my utter mortification, Sam didn’t sit across from me in the booth. He scooted in next to me. Right next to me.

These booths were designed for four people to sit comfortably, I was sure. But Sam was tall, his limbs long and bulky with muscle. He took up a lot of space. I was not tall, but I was wide. Therefore, I also took up a lot of space.

“Sam,” I hissed under my breath. “People usually sit across from each other when there are only two.”

I tried to make my voice as quiet and forceful as possible, since Adrienne was still standing there staring, as was the rest of the room. Some were trying to do it covertly, over their menus, but most were just flat out gaping.

Sam fastened his hand on my thigh and grinned, oblivious to the audience, looking at me like we were the only two people in the room. Which would’ve been sweet if we actually were the only two people in the room. “So?” he said.

“So sit on the other side of the booth,” I snapped.

Instead of frowning in the face of my snippy order, his grin widened. “Why would I want to be so far away from you? Here, I get to touch you whenever I want.” He squeezed my thigh. “Kiss you whenever I want.” He laid a small kiss on my nose. “And just be close to you.”

I did not melt at his words and actions, no matter how sweet they were. Sam may have been able to melt the spectators away in his mind but I couldn’t.

“Everyone’s watching,” I told him under my breath.

He didn’t even glance away from me. “So? Let the fuckers watch. Every single one of them, guys and girls, can be jealous of my date for the whole night. And if I’m sitting all the way over there”—he nodded to the other side of the booth—“I won’t be able to cock-punch anyone who comes up to try and talk to you.” He smiled, then directed his attention to Adrienne, who still hadn’t moved. She was clutching the menus, somewhat frozen in her place. Sam glanced at them, then waved his hand. “Oh, we won’t need those,” he said.

I frowned. I didn’t think it was possible for my entire body to stiffen more, but it did with what he said. Simon ordered for me. Every single time we were out together. At first I’d gritted through it, because I thought it was because he knew food better than I did and it was his way of showing affection, of taking care of me.

I was also very deluded.

As with all the rest of the changes, the food orders became a weapon he could use against my self-esteem. We’d be out with his friends and their wives, or just his friends—Wayne was there on a multitude of occasions—and he’d order me a garden salad, no dressing, with grilled chicken. Nothing else. Most people got appetizers, desserts, while I just picked at my salad with a flaming face and tears in my eyes.

I’d been too upset to call him on it the first few times. But then it got too much, too mortifying, so I’d stood up for myself.

Or tried to.

I wished I could say that was the beginning of the end.

It wasn’t.

I put up with that crap for seven more months. And I’d cursed myself for doing that. But regret did nothing to the past. It could ensure that it didn’t repeat itself, however.

Hence me glaring at Sam and opening my mouth to rip him a new one, no longer caring about the audience.

“We’ll have one of everything that doesn’t contain meat,” he said. Then he turned to me. “Wait, what’s your favorite dish?” he asked.

I blinked at him. “The veggie stack with a side of grits,” I said automatically, immediately forgetting the Simon past when presented with the Sam future.

He looked back to Adrienne. “So we’ll have two of those, one of everything else.”

She gaped at him, that time in something else other than star-struck amazement, though there was a lot of that sprinkled in too. “You do know that our menu is rather… large,” she said.

He nodded. “I’m in Texas, and I would be disappointed if that wasn’t the case.” I watched him wink. “I’m a Libra, we stink at making decisions. I’m not going to be buried behind a menu, stressing over tofu or veggie burger, wasting time that could be spent talking to this lady. You see?”

Adrienne gave me a once-over, as if she’d only just realized I was there. Her expression told me, as a woman who was well-versed in such looks, that she indeed did not see. But she beamed at Sam.

“Of course,” she chirped. “To drink?”

He glanced at me. “I know you don’t like the hard stuff, so you a tea or soda girl?”

Once again, I blinked in confusion, no doubt giving Sam and everyone in the room the impression that I was suffering a series of strokes. As before, I answered on autopilot. “Um, tea. Iced. Sweet.” I said them all, like we weren’t in Texas, where all tea was served sweeter than sweet and colder than Simon’s heart.

He nodded. “Two teas. Thank you so much.”

And then, having served her purpose, Adrienne was dismissed. It wasn’t cruel, but it was purposeful.

Sam gave me his entire attention, and I did my best Adrienne impression, gaping at him.

At some point she wandered away.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I spluttered.

He stroked my hand absently. “What? Ordered a tea that didn’t have Long Island in front of it?” he asked. “Me neither. I will say it’s a first for me. Such things are normally necessary when eating in a fish bowl.”

That was the first inclination that he noticed the situation, and his slightly chilly tone told me he didn’t bathe or revel in it like he made everyone believe.

The hand that was stroking now grasped mine. “But you don’t drink. And not only would it be incredibly rude for me to suck down drinks while you sip tea, despite my monster tolerance, but I want to be stone-cold sober for this night. No mind-altering substances. You’ve already got me turned all kinds of upside down.” Another squeeze. “And I like it, babe. But I want to talk to you. To know you. Just be with you. Maybe pretend we’re on a date and I hadn’t majorly fucked anything up?” he asked hopefully.

I wished it was that easy. More than I wished to magically lose twenty pounds or not crave chocolate-covered… anything.

Watching his face, which was filled with childlike hope and manly determination, I thought maybe, just perhaps it could be that easy.

“Ordering everything on the menu was a little excessive,” I said with a small grin.

He grinned too. And it wasn’t small. It was wide and triumphant. “And two of your favorite dish,” he added, as if I would’ve forgotten.

“Yeah, excessive,” I repeated.

“Life is meant to be lived in excess, babe. Or else it’s not even fun.”

I stared at him. Then did the only thing I could do at that moment. The only logical thing I could. I leaned forward and kissed him, pretending we were just us and the past, future, and multitude of eyes on us didn’t exist.