On Saturday morning Samantha found it almost impossible to decide what to wear. The morning air was cool, but by the time they rode back to town after their picnic, the temperature was supposed to warm a good fifteen to twenty degrees. Should she wear leggings or jeans? Should she wear a top with sleeves or wear something summery and add a sweater to it? And what to do with her hair? Down or up? Baseball cap for a sporty look or bare headed?
Is this a date or two friends spending a few hours together?
She held her breath as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The question, she realized, had been swirling around in her head since he’d issued the invitation, but she hadn’t allowed it to take conscious shape until now. More troublesome was not knowing what she wanted the anticipated excursion to be. Why did it feel like something . . . more? And did she want it to be more?
“Sam,” her grandmother called up the stairs. “Nick just pulled up.”
“Be right there.”
She hurried to finish dressing, grabbing a short-brimmed baseball cap at the last second. Carrying it in her right hand, she descended the stairs. By the time she reached the entry hall, Gran was opening the front door.
Nick stood on the sidewalk at the foot of the stoop. Beside him, resting on its kickstand, was a cream-colored bicycle with accents of lime green on its step-through frame. It had upright handlebars with a bell and a silver metal basket on the front. Although obviously new, it had an antique appearance that appealed to her. Artificial flowers had been woven into the mesh of the basket, a girly-girl addition that she loved on sight. A yellow-and-cream helmet, accented with a touch of green, hung by a strap from one bar.
“What do you think?” Nick motioned to the bike with both hands.
“I like it. Is it Brooklyn’s?”
“No.” He grinned. “It’s yours.”
“Mine?” She stepped out of the house.
“Yours. It’s a gift. From me to you.”
“But, Nick, I—”
“Don’t say you can’t accept it. We’ll call it a belated birthday present if we have to.”
She shook her head. “You already gave me a birthday present. Remember? A bracelet.”
“Fine.” His smile was gone now. “Then it’s belated from a couple of years ago.”
“We weren’t together on my birthday two years ago.”
“No, we weren’t. But if we had been, maybe this is what I would have given you.” He shrugged. “Guess we’ll never know.”
What are you doing, Nick? What are we doing? But she didn’t have the courage to ask the question aloud.
He didn’t seem to be bothered by similar thoughts. “Are you ready to go?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
From behind her Gran said, “You two be careful. The country roads aren’t wide, and you have to share them with cars.”
“Don’t worry,” Nick answered. “I’ll take good care of Sam.”
“And of yourself.”
He smiled again. “And of myself.”
For some reason the brief exchange between her grandmother and Nick eased Samantha’s nerves. She dropped the baseball cap she’d carried into the basket, then put on the helmet. It fit perfectly, as if Nick knew even this detail about her. Warmth rose in her cheeks.
He gave her an approving look. “I’ll get my bike.”
She followed him with her gaze. His bike, waiting at the curb near his pickup, was black and silver. No basket on the front, but it had saddlebags on the back. No doubt that’s where their lunch was kept. While he put on his helmet, she grabbed the handlebars, pushed up the kickstand with her foot, and walked her bike toward him.
“Where’s Boomer?” she asked, looking toward the bed of the truck.
“It’s just you and me today. It doesn’t kill him to be left in his kennel every now and then.”
After waving good-bye to Gran, they rode off. Nick set a leisurely pace as they followed Sharp Street to Lewis, then turned left onto River, which would take them out of town and eventually past the Inn at Thunder Creek and Derek’s organic farm. They passed a young couple walking on the sidewalk and returned waves, even though she had no clue who they were. Did Nick know them? It seemed he did.
Beyond the town limits, he glanced at her. “If you want, we can stop to see Derek and Brooklyn on the way back. But let’s keep going for now.”
“Okay.”
He looked over his shoulder to check for traffic. “I think we’d better go single file now, in case any cars come up behind us. Want me to lead?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
Between the helmet and the self-made breeze in her face, sounds faded away. She felt the morning sun on her back. Water from irrigation sprinklers caught the sunlight and reflected it in a glittering spray. The air smelled of rich earth and growing things. No exhaust from heavy traffic here.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said, not needing to be heard, just needing to say it aloud.
Every so often, Nick glanced over his shoulder. Each time their eyes met she smiled, wanting him to know she was enjoying herself. Like the horseback ride last weekend, she wondered why she’d allowed so much time to pass without getting on a bike. Neither served a purpose other than simple, pure enjoyment. Why had she removed so many pleasures from her life in recent years? It was a part of her personality that troubled her, and something told her she wouldn’t find real peace in either her personal or professional life until she figured it out.
When Nick motioned that they were about to turn, it surprised her. She’d taken little notice of the passing time and could scarcely believe they’d arrived at their destination. And yet there it was. Nick’s soon-to-be home.
The house had looked sad to Samantha a week ago. But it didn’t look that way today. Almost as if it understood what the Sale Pending sign at the end of the driveway meant.
They left their bikes next to the garage and walked to the front entrance. Nick pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The interior of the split-entry home was cool and shadowed. Nick motioned for Samantha to precede him up the stairs, which she did.
“I had my parents sell the furniture from my old place,” he said. “At the time I didn’t think I’d need it again. I’ll have to buy quite a bit to replace it. Right now I don’t have much more than a bed, a small sofa, and a kitchen table and chairs.”
With both of them standing near the living room window, she turned to look at him. “Do you miss it, Nick?” she asked impulsively.
“What?”
“The life you had before?”
He seemed to consider her question before answering, “Not the house, if that’s what you’re asking. I definitely miss my students. That was the hardest part to give up. It hurt knowing I couldn’t go back to teaching.”
“Maybe someday you’ll be able to.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “There’s a verse in Philippians that’s helped me come to terms with it. It’s the one where Paul said that he’d learned to be content, whether he had an abundance or was suffering a need. I’ve learned to be content with the way things are. Or at least I’m in the process of learning to be.”
It was her turn to pause and consider. Then she said, “I believe that’s true about you, Nick.”
Scarcely aware of what he was about to do, Nick leaned toward Samantha and kissed her. It was a little like coming home, but also new and unexpected. Somehow he resisted the urge to pull her into a close embrace, to deepen the kiss, to force her to remain where she was even one moment longer than she wished.
When she drew her head back, her gaze met his, and he saw a host of emotions in her green eyes, all of them unreadable. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? Was she glad he’d kissed her? Was she unhappy about it? What would she think if he—
His brain turned fuzzy. Uncertainty flared in his chest. He took a step back and looked around the room, forcing his breathing to remain even and regular. The threatening panic receded as his thoughts cleared. But the episode, brief as it had been, left him chilled. Drawing a quick breath, he faced Samantha again. “Sorry. Maybe we should forget I did that.”
She didn’t reply.
Derek’s advice whispered in his mind: “If you care for Sam, don’t you think she should have something to say about it too?”
He should explain. He should tell her what just happened, why he’d reacted the way he had.
“Yes. Let’s forget it.” He saw her mouth the words more than he heard them. Hurt flickered in her eyes.
“Sam?”
“What?”
“Don’t misunderstand why I said I was sorry.”
Her eyes widened a fraction.
“I wanted to kiss you. You can’t know how much I wanted it. But . . . but I don’t think I should have given in to what I wanted. It isn’t fair to you.” Frustration welled. He could curse himself for ruining what had been a perfect day up until then. And on the heels of that thought came the need to curse himself for ruining what might have been before that ill-fated trip to Colorado. He’d hurt her. He shouldn’t risk hurting her again.
“Just friends,” she said. “Right?”
It made him want to take her in his arms again. Instead, he nodded.
Her shoulders rose and fell as she drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “Well, friend.” She emphasized the word. “I guess you’d better show me the rest of the house. I’m starting to get hungry, and you promised me lunch beside the creek.”
“You’re right.” He tried to sound lighthearted. He was anything but. “Come with me to the kitchen.”
Twenty minutes later, after completing a tour of the house, Nick led the way down a path to the creek. The water was clear enough to see the smooth stones, large and small, that lined the bottom. Someone had built a wooden deck amidst the cottonwoods, complete with picnic table and benches and a railing on three sides. The red stain had long ago faded, and a board or two needed replacing. But all things considered, it wasn’t in bad shape.
Nick set the saddlebags he carried on the table and pulled out sandwiches, chips, cans of diet soda, a bag of cookies, and some paper towels. He slid one of the sandwiches in Samantha’s direction. “Chicken salad.”
“Thanks.”
He’d remembered that she liked chicken-salad sandwiches. That’s why he’d made them. But he kept that information to himself. There’d been an awkwardness between them ever since the kiss, an awkwardness all his own fault, and he didn’t want it to worsen.
With the sun directly overhead, warming the deck, Samantha removed the light sweater she’d worn all morning. A breeze caused wisps of hair to dance against the sides of her face. He wished he had the freedom to reach out and brush them back. Instead, he unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite.
“If you care for Sam, don’t you think she should have something to say about it too?”
He should explain. Instead, he kept silent. For her sake, he told himself. He did it for her sake.
Although neither Nick nor Samantha spoke as they ate, the day was not silent. Leaves rustled and the creek gurgled and splashed. On the neighboring farm, hidden from view by the trees lining the stream, a cow mooed and a calf bawled an answer. Nick imagined himself relaxing in this spot at the end of a workday, throwing the Frisbee for Boomer or reading a book or the newspaper, cooled by the flowing water.
But when he imagined the scene, he pictured Samantha with him.
The feel of Nick’s lips on hers had lingered while he gave Samantha a tour of the house, while they’d eaten their picnic lunch in silence, and during the bike ride home again. The feel of the kiss lingered still as she lay in bed that night, sleepless, staring upward in the darkness.
“Maybe we should forget I did that.”
She couldn’t forget it. How could she? She felt like a drowning woman getting her first gasp of air after an eternity. She hadn’t known how much she’d longed for a kiss—how much she’d longed for his kiss—until it happened.
“I wanted to kiss you. You can’t know how much I wanted it.”
Couldn’t she know? Was it as much as her own longing?
“I don’t think I should have given into what I wanted.”
Why not?
“Because we’re only friends,” she answered herself aloud. “That’s why.”
Then he answered in her memory. “It isn’t fair to you.”
Nick was right, of course. It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Once upon a time there had been the possibility they could find long-term love. That time had passed.
She touched her lips with her fingertips. Warm, as if the kiss had just ended.
Maybe the time hadn’t passed. Perhaps it wasn’t an impossibility. Maybe she could change his mind.
Maybe . . .