During the past year she had made the journey between New York and Friday Harbor countless times, and Sam had traveled to see her just as often. But this trip, unlike all the others, wouldn’t end in good-bye.
Lucy had returned to the island two days earlier than she had originally planned. After a year of living apart, she couldn’t stay away from Sam any longer.
They had mastered the art of the long-distance relationship. They had lived by the calendar, scheduling calls and plane flights. They had sent cards, texted, e-mailed, and Skyped. “Do you think we’ll talk this much when we’re actually together in person?” Lucy had asked, and Sam’s reply had been a distinctly lecherous “No.”
If there was such a thing as changing together while living apart, Lucy thought they had done it. And the effort required in maintaining a long-distance relationship had made her realize that too many people took the time they spent with someone they loved for granted. Every precious minute together was something they had earned.
During her time as the Mitchell Art Center’s artist in residence, Lucy had joined other artists to create conceptual works with techniques such as vitreous painting—applying a mixture of ground glass and pigment to the glass—or layering mixed-media pieces with glass fragments. Her main work, of course, was with stained-glass windows, using natural motifs and experimenting with ways to manipulate color with light and refraction. A respected art critic had written that Lucy’s stained-glass work was a “revelation of light, animating glass images with exhilarating color and tangible energy.” Near the end of her tenure, Lucy had been offered commissions to create stained-glass windows for public buildings and churches, and she had even received a request to design theater sets and costumes for a production of the Pacific Northwest Ballet.
In the meantime, Sam’s vineyard had flourished to the point that he had reached his target yield of two tons of grapes per acre at least a year earlier than he had expected. The fruit quality, he had told Lucy, promised to be even better than he could have hoped for. Later in the summer, Rainshadow Vineyard would hold its first on-site bottling process.
“Nice place,” the taxi driver commented as they turned onto Rainshadow Road and approached the vineyard lit with orange and gold.
“Yes, it is,” Lucy murmured, drinking in the sight of the sunset-colored house, the gables and balustrades gilded with light, the shrub roses and white hydrangeas spilling over with profusions of blossoms. And the vineyard rows, lush with fruit. The air rushing through the car windows was sweet and cool, ocean breezes filtering through healthy young vines.
Although Lucy could have asked Justine or Zoл to pick her up at the airport, she hadn’t wanted to spend time talking with anyone—she wanted to see Sam as soon as possible.
Of course, she thought with a self-deprecating grin, since Sam wasn’t expecting her, he might not have been home. However, as they pulled up to the house, she saw Sam’s familiar form as he walked back from the vineyard with a couple of his crew. A smile tugged at her lips as Sam saw the taxi and went still.
By the time the vehicle stopped, Sam had already reached it and wrenched open the door. Before Lucy could say a word he had pulled her from the taxi. He was sweaty from working outside, all testosterone and masculine heat as his mouth covered hers in a devouring kiss. In the past few weeks he had put on a few pounds of new muscle, and his tan was so deep that his blue-green eyes were startlingly vivid by contrast.
“You’re early,” Sam said, kissing her cheeks and chin and the tip of her nose.
“You’re scratchy,” Lucy replied with a breathless laugh, setting her palm against his bristly face.
“I was going to get cleaned up for you,” Sam said.
“I’ll help you shower.” Standing on her toes, Lucy said near his ear, “I’ll even take care of your hard-to-reach places.”
Sam let go of her just long enough to pay the cabdriver. In another few minutes, he had said good-bye to his grinning crew and informed them not to show up before noon the next day.
After carrying Lucy’s suitcase into the house, Sam took her hand in his and led her upstairs. “Any particular reason you’re here two days early?”
“I managed to wind things up and pack a little faster than I’d expected. And then when I called the airline about changing my flight, they waived the change fee because I told them it was an emergency.”
“What emergency?”
“I told them my boyfriend had promised to propose to me as soon as I reached Friday Harbor.”
“That’s not an emergency,” he said.
“An emergency is an occasion requiring immediate action,” she informed him.
Sam paused at the second landing and kissed her again.
“So are you going to?” Lucy persisted.
“Propose to you?” His lips curved against hers. “Not before I take a shower.”
* * *
In the early hours of the morning Lucy awakened with her head nestled against a hard masculine shoulder, her nose tickled by the light mat of hair on his chest. Sam’s warm hands drifted over her, raising gooseflesh.
“Lucy,” he whispered, “I don’t think I can let you leave me again. You’ll have to take me with you.”
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered back. Her palm slid to the center of his chest, the morning light catching the sparkle of an engagement ring and causing brilliant flecks to dance on the wall. “I know where I belong.”
As she rested against Sam, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her hand, she felt as if they were a pair of far-flung stars, caught in each other’s orbit by a force stronger than luck or fate or even love. There was no word for it, this feeling … but there should have been.
As Lucy lay there steeped in happiness, pondering nameless wonders, the panes of a nearby window slowly pulled from their wooden framing, their edges curling, the glass turning luminous blue.
And if any passersby had happened to glance in the direction of the bay at that early hour, they would have seen a stream of butterflies dancing into the sky, from the white Victorian house at the end of Rainshadow Road.
