I swallowed hard. 'Of course.' I leaned down to kiss him on his forehead, and then, as my mother used to, placed a kiss on each eye, saying, 'Close your eyes, left then right. Good night, starlight.'
Sunday morning I checked on Patrick as soon as I awakened. He didn't remember the events of last night-l asked him directly. A few minutes later, Emily came into his room and chatted about what they were going to do together that day. When Patrick realized that it was my day off and I wouldn't be spending it with him, he put up a fuss. Emily's mouth drooped, her feelings hurt. Patrick's fuss turned into a tantrum, and I exited quickly, knowing he would keep it up as long as I was there.
I had planned to show Adrian the writing on the blackboard, but he wasn't available. Uncertain about how Emily would react, I decided to talk to Adrian alone when I returned. I didn't want the others to see the board-they might be inspired with new ways to upset Patrick-so I wiped the slate clean before leaving Mason's Choice.
At Amelia's bed-and-breakfast I had seen an ad for Tea Leaves, a bakery and cafe on High Street. I drove into town and parked at the top of the street, where I found two spaces together, making it easier for me to slip in from the 'wrong' side of the road. As I walked down the town's main street, my heart grew lighter than it had been since I'd arrived at Mason's Choice. Everything was so normal and cheerful.
People walked dogs and carried fat Sunday newspapers under their arms. On the steps of a church, families poured out, adults and children bursting to talk, their breath making clouds in the cold air. Shops were closed, so pedestrians strolled the sidewalks like patrons at an outdoor museum, pausing at store windows to see what they framed.
As I neared the cafe, I caught sight of a familiar figure across the street. Trent stood at the door of an old hotel, the Queen Victoria, talking with a woman dressed in a businesslike red suit-the hotel manager, I thought, the one Robyn deemed beneath Westbrook standards. The woman and Trent were so intent in their conversation, they didn't notice me. I studied them as I walked, my head turned sideways.
'Umph!' My ear banged against somebody's chest.
'You walk worse than you drive,' Sam said.
I stepped back quickly. 'Sorry. You might have stepped out of the way,' I added.
'And let you crash into that tree?'
I glanced at the sycamore behind him, part of the row that lined the brick walk.
'Okay, next time,' he said agreeably, then gestured toward the cafe. 'They make the best doughnuts in the world. You should try some, Kate.'
It was the first time he had called me by my name. I heard the way he said it-and I felt it, too, somehow.
'That's where I was going,' I said, taking a step toward the door.
'Me too.'
I hesitated and he laughed.
I think there is room enough in there for both of us,' he said, 'even if you can't stand me.'
That wasn't why I'd hesitated. Now that he had been nice to Patrick, it was doubly dangerous to be around him. I didn't want to meet his dark eyes and nurture this lunacy inside me.
He reached for the door and held it open, waiting for me to go through.
I can open my own door.'
He walked through and let it slam in my face.
I took a deep breath and entered. There was a mob around the glass cases, so I didn't have to stand next to him. He took a number, then I took a number. We went to opposite ends of the bakery shelves, but both of us gravitated toward the center, to a seductive tray labeled 'cheese pastries.' There were six left.
I hope there are more of those in the back,' Sam said, glancing sideways at me.
'How many do you eat?'
'Six.'
When his turn came he bought all six, then turned around and offered me three. ' 'Thanks, but I prefer doughnuts,' I lied.
1 saw the twitch of his mouth and the light in his eyes. I looked away, annoyed. I was doing my best to be prickly and off-putting, and he found it entertaining.
I ordered cinnamon doughnuts to go, paid, and headed for the door, looking neither left nor right. It was a relief to step into the brisk air. I turned toward the riverfront, then heard footsteps behind me.
Sam strolled next to me, chewing a pastry.
'What are you doing?' I asked.
'Eating. Walking. Being friendly. I would have left with you, but I was waiting for you to do your door thing,' he explained. 'Trade you a cheese Danish for a doughnut.'
'No thanks.' I wasn't going to be seduced. 'But you may have a doughnut.'
His hand dove into the bag. 'Do you act like a cactus with everyone?'
I didn't respond. We crossed the street and continued down another block.
'Maybe you kind of like me and are just pretending.'
'That's an interesting theory,' I replied.
'So, where's the short guy today?'
'Patrick? With his mother and headed for a concert. It's my day off.'
'I owe him an apology,' Sam said, 'but since I don't think he realizes it, I'll apologize to you. I'm sorry I was a jerk. It's stupid to judge people by their parents. It's not like we get a choice.'
We walked on silently, he seeming much more at ease than 1.
'So,' Sam said, 'can Patrick and you come to the play-off game next Saturday?'
'We're planning to. It will be good for him.'
'And for you?'
'It's entertaining,' I said.
We had reached the public dock, a large wooden platform that jutted over the river, with pilings for temporary docking. On a cold day like this, it was deserted. I sat down on a bench facing the river and Sam sat next to me. Maybe it was just the roughness of the water and the way the wind came off it and wrapped around us, but I was very aware of Sam's closeness and warmth. Part of me wanted to move even closer to him; part of me wanted to move away.
He was staring at me again.
'Didn't your mother teach you not to stare at people?'
'She tried, but it didn't take,' he said. I don't pretend, Kate. I look where I want to look, except when I'm playing hockey. Don't your ears get cold?'
'Because my hair is short? No colder than yours.'
'They're bright red. You look like you've got a rose stuck on either side of your head.'
I covered my ears with my hands. 'You have such a way with words.'
He took a wool hat out of his pocket and put it on my head, pulling it down too far, then adjusting it, carefully rolling back the edge around my face. His big hands were surprisingly gentle. His thumb brushed my cheek. It felt warm where he touched me.
What was happening to me? How could I find a guy who said my eyes looked like green pop bottles and my ears poked out like roses in any way romantic?
His dark eyes swept my face. That was how.
I couldn't think of anything to say. I turned my face away from his, pulled my shoulders in, and folded my arms in front of me, as if I were cold. Out of the comer of my eye, I could see him smiling, as if he guessed I wasn't doing that to stay warm.
'So how old were you when you learned to play hockey?' I asked.
He tilted his head slightly, perhaps trying to decide whether I was truly interested or simply making polite conversation.
'I started skating when I was four. My dad taught me. He had grown up near a rink in Brooklyn and loved to skate.' Sam's voice grew warm. 'When we moved here from New York, they had just built the rink at Chase-it's an
