This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel) (19 page)

Lukas squeezed the bridge of his nose but it didn’t help the pain that was bursting through his head, his chest, his
heart
. He opened his glove box. Nothing but the car manual. Shit, where was a cigarette when he really needed one?

Funny, but he realized in that moment that he’d always expected her to leave Harris. Some part of him had expected her to choose him.

That was foolish, because he’d offered her nothing. He was leaving town. They would have had a brief fling at best.

He knew now she was so much more than a fling. And he’d just blown his last chance with her.

Pulling up next to the Maserati, he turned his car around, preparing to return down the long, winding driveway. Six years ago, he’d run away. Decided he wasn’t good enough and tossed in the flag. Let Harris have her.

He stopped the car and cut the ignition. Things were different now—
he
was different. He wasn’t going to turn tail and leave without talking to Sam. And he would do everything in his power not to let Harris have her again.

Harris opened the door before he could knock.

“Great to sleep in and have a lazy morning, isn’t it?” Harris said, slapping Lukas a little too hard on the back and giving a big stretch and a yawn. “Of course you probably got up early with the little guy, huh?”

“I need to speak to Sam,” Lukas said.

“She’s asleep. I think you’d better leave, Spikonos. I have no idea how long you plan to stick around here, but I want your promise that you’ll leave her be. Because after today, she’ll be mine—for good.”

“What, are you planning to elope?” Lukas asked. “I’m surprised Mom and Pop Buckhorn would approve of that plan.”

Harris patted down his right pants pocket, revealing a square bulge. “I’m going to ask her to marry me at the donor party tonight. In front of all the good citizens of Mirror Lake.” He pulled out a small box and cracked it open.

A giant solitaire sat in the middle of flowing swirls of white gold. Chic and ultramodern, and he’d definitely spent the bucks, but Sam would hate it. She loved tradition. Valued the past. Lukas’s vision for her ring would be completely different. He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at the gaudy thing anymore.

“After today,” Harris continued, “I won’t tolerate any more of your interference. I want you out of town. In fact, I’ve even found a buyer for that shambles of a lakefront property of yours. He’ll offer quadruple the price you paid.”

Lukas snorted. He’d die on that property before he’d sell it. Especially to anyone remotely connected to Harris Buckhorn. The Third.

Harris’s face had turned bully red and his breath was coming fast. Oops, Lukas must have said that out loud.

“She’s mine,” Harris said. “She always has been. And not to be crude, but last night sealed the deal, if you know what I mean. So sure hope you’ve got places to go and people to see, because if you don’t get out of Mirror Lake and stay out, I’ll take your entire career down so fast no one will remember even one of your tweenie pop singles.”

Lukas honestly didn’t give a fuck about the tweenie remark. What got him was the
she’s mine.

“Have a great day,” Harris said, slapping him again too hard on the back.

Slowly, Lukas walked to his car, got in, and drove down the driveway. He stopped at the pharmacy and bought a carton. Mentholated, the worst kind. Booze would have been nice but he didn’t want anyone to see him buying that, or next week all the tabloids would all be saying he was an alcoholic on a binge. He went home and tried to smoke one but his hands were shaking too hard to hold on. He picked up his guitar, but there was no inspiration. He even tried to do some metalwork but he ended up tossing everything—sheets of silver, tools, magnifying glasses—to the ground. Then he ripped off his nicotine patch and threw that on the pile, too.

He ran his hands through his hair. Who could he call? Ben came to mind, but he was at the zoo with the kids, and who else was there? When was there ever someone? Not that people in Mirror Lake weren’t friendly. Just that, like so many other times in his life, he felt completely alone.

“I ordered a shot of Jack, not a cheeseburger,” Lukas said as Scott MacNamara put a plate heaped with a burger and fries in front of him on the bar late that afternoon. By then, he didn’t care who saw him, he just needed a drink. Fortunately, the few other stragglers didn’t seem to notice him or care who he was.

“You’ve already had a few of those,” Scott said. “Now it’s time for food.”

Lukas scowled. “I must look desperate if you’re cutting me off.”

“That and hungry.” Scott leaned his elbows on the bar in front of Lukas. “Can I ask you something? What’s wrong?”

Lukas shrugged. Desperation loosened his tongue. And the shots. “I messed everything up with a woman and she’s gone back to her old boyfriend. I don’t know what she sees in him.”

“This is Mirror Lake, where everyone knows everyone. Are you talking about Sam?”

Lukas shot him a glare. “Harris spent last night with her. Told me to my face.”

Scott snorted. “He’s a smack talker.”

Lukas narrowed down his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I delivered a pizza to Jess’s place last night. On my way home. The last order of the night.”

“I really don’t want to hear about your exploits, Scott.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “She was with Samantha, Lukas,” he said gently. “At midnight. They were both in their PJs. I think our boy Harris might be lying.”

Through his buzzed haze, Lukas eyed the bartender. Scott had backed up a little, had crossed his arms, and was calmly stroking his too-bushy beard, all contemplative philosopher. Looking pleased as a mother duck after her babies’ first dive into the pond.

Crazy, insane hope tore through Lukas. She’d spent the night with Jess, not Harris. She hadn’t picked Harris after all.

He stood and grabbed Scott by the front of his MacNamara’s “Best Damn Bar in Mirror Lake
”
T-shirt. Few people he’d met in the past couple of years weren’t after him for some benefit of his fame and fortune. Making friends had never come easy, and after the fame thing, he’d grown doubly untrusting.

“I love you, man.” Lukas planted a big kiss on Scott’s cheek, not his lips—he wasn’t
that
drunk.

Scott tried to pull away. “Where are you going? You’re not driving anywhere, are you?”

“A long time ago, I ran away and let things happen that shouldn’t have happened. But I’m not going to run anymore. I’m going to pull out all the stops. I’m going to tell her how I really feel.”

“Just go get the girl,” Scott said, prying Lukas’s fingers off his shirt. “And I don’t care how famous you are—don’t ever kiss me again.”

CHAPTER 15

Sam looked around nervously at the sprawling stone terrace of the Mirror Lake Art Museum, all set for tonight’s donor dinner. Long tables were set with crisp white cloths, and tall floral arrangements dramatically dotted each one with exotic orange blooms. Twinkle lights flickered in the trees and a mild breeze made the balmy night just cool enough. The band was setting up beyond the terrace, under a tent near a wooden dance floor that had been laid down on the grass. Everything was perfect.

Only nothing felt perfect.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was hobbling around in her Aircast, which looked ridiculous with her sparkly dress, but oh, well. The pain was almost gone now. Or the fact that ominous clouds were slowly moving in from the west, threatening to rain out her event. The weather app on her phone warned of showers after eleven. Hopefully it would hold off until then.

She’d tried to talk to Harris last night. Really tried. But the Red Sox were playing. And he kept getting texts. Finally they’d gotten to talking and he’d told her how proud he was of all she’d done for the theater, and she’d appreciated that, she really had.

Until he’d said, “So thank God this project is almost done and you can take a break from the philanthropy for now. At least, until my mother comes up with another high-profile project for you to get involved with.”

“You know,” she’d said, “it might have started out with your mom urging me to get involved, but it’s become personal. I’m not giving up until we get the renovation funds raised.”

Harris had sighed heavily. “I admire a good cause but personally, I’d abandon that ship before it sinks. Frankly, you may save the theater from the wrecking ball for now but that thing is going to be a money sink for generations to come. I think Mike McGuiness was right. Condos would look great in that location, with the waterfalls in the back. And young people are into downtown living now. If the money doesn’t go through, maybe we should pursue that.”

“If you really believe that, why did you tell that
Live at Five
reporter the other week that the Palace was a great jewel that should be preserved at all cost?”

He shrugged his handsome shoulders. Except at the moment, his perfectly chiseled features seemed hardened. Jaded, somehow. Were they always that way, or had she just noticed? “I’m a politician, Sam. I have to build public trust by talking the talk. My parents are supporting this project because of my future political career and because of you. Even they’ve said this is a plain case of pouring money down the drain.”

“Your parents don’t believe in what we’re doing either?”

“Honey, it’s kept you busy and they love that they can help you. But they realize just like I do that you’ve got to do a certain amount of schmoozing to get people on your side. I’m building my name, and for that reason it’s been a good thing. A great thing.”

“I—I love that theater,” she whispered.

“You’ve always been an idealist, honey, and that’s what I love about you. Good thing this project’s almost over and we’ll be moving soon. You’re getting way too emotionally attached. Let someone else take this over from now on.”

“Harris, I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, will you cut that out?”

She startled until she realized he was exclaiming about the game.

“They walked another one. Unbelievable.” He took a pull on his beer and glanced at her. “Sure, babe, what is it?”

Suddenly there, in the bottom of the seventh, amid the resounding crack of a bat in the background, she realized the truth. She didn’t love Harris. No matter how desperately she wanted a stable, traditional guy with whom she could create the kind of family she always dreamed of having. She deserved more than his inattention, his impatience, his taking for granted she would always be there waiting without question while he traveled and did whatever else he wanted. “I can’t—”

“Oh my God, can you believe that call?” Harris jumped out of his seat, waving his arms at the TV. “Come on ump, he was out. Is there no justice in the world?”

The words wedged in her throat. Tears stung her eyes as the truth hit her full force between the eyes.

Harris was worked up about the game. Showing more passion, it seemed, than he’d ever be able to muster with her. Not for the first time, Sam suspected that Harris was with her for the same reasons she was with him—they looked great on paper together. The rising political star and the docile, conformist art teacher who would enable him to reach his dreams without letting too many of her own get in the way. She quietly left the room, threw her toothbrush into her purse, and told Harris she was going to Jess’s. A man crisis, she’d said. She needed a friend. It was true, only not for Jess.

Now, across the Art Museum lawn, Harris strolled to greet her. He looked dapper and swoon-worthy in a black tux, making his brilliant blue eyes stand out even more, but he failed to make her heart race. One of the black-and-white uniformed wait staff eyed him appreciatively as she passed by with a tray of champagne. Harris winked at the girl and took two glasses, handing one to Sam.

“I sure hope Jess’s man problems are resolved, because I’m looking forward to seeing you later.”

“Harris, we have to talk.” There, she’d said it. It might be unfair to dump everything on him now, before the event, but he was finally front and center and listening. She had to at least warn him of what was coming.

He kissed her cheek. “Okay, sweetie, anything you say. I’ve missed you.”

A pang went through her. She hated hurting him. She hated being the one to hurt anybody. No matter what happened, he’d been a major part of her life for six years.

“Maybe we can leave a little early,” she said. “It’s important.”

“Okay.” Two vertical lines creased his perfect forehead but she didn’t hurry to soothe him, tell him
Nothing to worry about
or
I can’t wait to see you later, either
. As if sensing something was up, he reached out to squeeze her hand. Ironic that she finally had his attention. Too bad it was too late. He looked at her intently. “I love you, babe,” he said as he left to take his seat.

Oh, stab my heart
. Breaking up with him was going to suck, but it felt right. For the first time in a long time, she felt more peaceful. Resolved. And she couldn’t wait to tell Lukas. She was ready to take a risk. Ready to approach Lukas with an open heart. If their feelings for each other were real, they would find a way, wouldn’t they?

She pushed all these thoughts to the back of her mind and took her place at the podium. All around her the guests were seated, all snazzy and dressed up, here because they’d donated a thousand or more dollars to save the theater.

She knew nearly all of them. Her entire family sat at a long table off to her right. Effie and Alethea were finger waving and smiling broadly. She blew them a kiss. Surrounding her were the mayor, business owners, hospital staff, lawyers, teachers. Many small bunches of people had banded together to make a group donation to hit the thousand mark so they could be here tonight. Not all of them were rich, but all of them believed in their town, and in saving this gem of a landmark for their children and generations to come. Suddenly she had tears in her eyes.

The crowd quieted and all eyes fell on her. “Hi, Everyone,” she said into the microphone. “If you don’t know, I’m Samantha Rushford, head of the Palace Theater Restoration Committee. Thank you all for coming tonight. I look around and I see all my friends and family—our community—and I couldn’t be prouder to be a citizen of Mirror Lake. The way everyone has rallied together to save our beautiful theater is truly overwhelming.

“Long ago, our theater was dubbed The Jewel on Main Street. A handful of us took that phrase to heart and started the ball rolling to shine her up and restore her to her former beauty. So I’d like to thank the committee, who has worked tirelessly for the past year and a half to pursue donations.” Everyone clapped politely. “This special appreciation dinner was funded by the Buckhorn family, to thank all of you for your contributions. Let’s give a round of applause to our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Camilla and Harris Buckhorn, the Second.” Harris’s parents stood up and waved, Camilla’s wave looking an awful lot like the queen’s, but whatever. “Through county bonds, private donations, and grants, we’ve managed to raise over twenty million dollars.” There was a collective oohing and aahing. As there should be. Raising and rallying all that money hadn’t been an easy task.

“You should all have a glass of champagne in front of you.” She picked up her own glass and held it out. “I’d like us all to raise our glasses now in a toast of thanks, and a hopeful wish that we successfully achieve our goal in the weeks to come. So enjoy your amazing meal, and the amazing cake in the shape of a Wurlitzer organ, compliments of Ted Lawrence of Mona’s Bakery—thanks, Teddy.” She waved to Ted, who was sitting near the back. “And let’s say cheers to saving our beautiful Jewel on Main—”

Sam stopped midsentence. Past the patio, on the lawn, a man made his way around the tables. He had longish dark hair and a lean, tall form. Was it . . . no, it couldn’t be. But then she saw people turning their heads. It was like watching a wave. First a few, then others. The crowd began to buzz. Lukas Spikonos was here.

Lukas strode across the grassy art museum lawn to the area near the stone patio where people were eating dinner. A few people turned to stare at him, more because it was unusual for a solitary figure to be walking alone than because they recognized him. The band was set up under a tent on the lawn, on an elevated platform that functioned as a small stage. Nearby a wooden dance floor had been laid down on the lawn just for tonight.

“Hey, man,” Lukas said to the guitar player.

“Holy shit,” the guy said, his eyes bugging out a little when he recognized him. He turned to his band mates. “Adam! Bruce! Hey guys, look who’s here.” Lukas flashed them a wry smile. “How about we cut the Lawrence Welk and get into the twenty-first century?” They’d just finished playing something that had made his skin crawl. Elevator music. Who was ever going to get on the dance floor with those outdated tunes and that slow, sluggish beat?

“Can’t help it, man,” Guitar Guy said. “The Buckhorn lady’s calling all the shots tonight.”

A familiar voice sounded out from the podium on the terrace. Sam was making a speech, thanking everyone for coming. Her hair was down, soft and wavy around her face, and even from where he stood beyond the crowd he could make out her lipstick-red lips and a sparkly silver dress. He was always stunned by her everyday beauty but to see her dressed up like this—well, she was a vision. He noted her command of the microphone, her confident delivery, how she made everyone laugh. He was so proud of her and what she’d accomplished.

No one had ever made him feel like she did. He’d screwed things up in the past but he had to show her he’d changed. He’d do anything to have a chance with her.

Then that bastard Harris walked up to the podium with his parents. His father started saying something about the theater. It would be just like Harris to make a public spectacle of asking Sam to marry him. Lukas was not going to let that happen. He just had to figure out how.

A young wide-eyed waitress handed him a glass of champagne. And her phone number. He gave her a quick, not-too-encouraging smile and passed on both.

Suddenly an idea bloomed in his brain. A brilliant, once-in-a-lifetime idea.

He’d come here to let Sam know how he felt, but he sucked at talking about his emotions. Yet he was in his element singing about them.

He turned to the band. “When I say go, can you guys give me a cadence in D, moderate tempo. Upbeat. I’ll lead, you follow.” The guys were in, and excited, too.

Just as Lukas stepped onto the stage and took hold of an acoustic guitar, a voice boomed out from the main podium.

“Let’s hear it for Samantha Rushford, my beautiful girlfriend and a very special woman,” Harris said, stepping to the side and making a big sweeping gesture toward Sam. “I’m one lucky guy. Very, very lucky. In fact, I have a special announcement I’d like to share with all of you.”

Lukas adjusted his guitar and quickly grabbed the mic. “Harris, you’re right.” Harris right? About what? My God, what was he saying? He ignored the gasps from the crowd and kept talking so that Harris couldn’t. “You’re right that we—um—all want to thank you and the Buckhorn family for everything you’ve done. And Sam is a wonderful woman.” He looked directly at her as she sat, looking a little stunned, at the head table near the podium. “In honor of our beautiful jewel of a theater, I want to sing you all my brand-new single that hasn’t been released yet.” Oohs and aahs emanated from the crowd. “I have to tell you the song is for Samantha Rushford. I wrote it myself, Sam. Not just the music. The words, too. It’s called ‘The Girl I Can’t Forget.’ Would you all like to hear it?”

Before Harris could respond, Lukas turned to the band. “One, two, one, two, three, four . . . ,” and he sang, loud and steady and clear.

Long ago I made you mine