Young Lies (Young Series Book 1) (25 page)

“What?” she asks in confusion.

“Tom,” I clarify. “Is he your boyfriend?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but snaps it shut promptly. “Not sure that’s any of your business,” she says coolly. She shifts a bit uncomfortably. “Are you stalking me now or something?”

I blink a few times as I realize what she’s asking me. Well, fuck... “No,” I say, my brow furrowing as I wonder whether I’m lying to her already. “Well, maybe a little. But it’s not like that... Look, I’m not in town much longer and I was hoping you might consider having a cup of coffee with me. Just one cup,” I reiterate as she opens her mouth to either argue or scream for help. “If you’re uncomfortable after one cup, then walk away and you’ll never see me again.” I’m mentally crossing my fingers and muttering
please, please, please
, then vowing that when she slaps me and runs away, I’ll go back to the motel and let Leo get me drunk.

She’s not slapping me, though. And she’s not running or calling for help, or even pulling out her pepper spray. She’s biting her lip a little and I have to stifle a groan. “One cup?” she asks so quietly I’m not sure I’ve even heard her correctly.

I nod. “One cup,” I repeat just as quietly. “And we’ll even go to a place of your choosing and take separate cars, if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Okay,” she says, eyeing me warily. “One cup of coffee at a place of my choosing. Then you’ll leave me alone?”

Not sure I can guarantee that.
“That’s what I said,” I remind her.

Finally she tells me where it is we’re going. Much to my surprise there’s a tiny coffee shop a few miles outside town. I don’t ask why she doesn’t choose something a little closer to home—maybe she doesn’t want to be seen with me—and I head back to my car to follow her.

As I’m closing the door, she calls out, “Wait!”

Dammit! She’s changed her mind. Well, this is another first for me: dumped before even going on the date. Reluctantly, I get back out of the car, resting an elbow on the hood, the other on the door as I wait for her to crush me. But she’s smiling.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says shyly.

If Leo were here right now to see the ridiculous grin on my face, he’d be doubled over laughing. Good thing he’s not here... “Matt,” I tell her quietly. “My name’s Matt.”

Biting her lip, she smiles, nods, and jogs back to her truck.

-------------o-------------

Inside the little coffee shop, I’m surprisingly pleased by Samantha’s choice. It’s quaint, comfortable, and she seems completely at home here. I direct her to grab a table while I get our coffee since she’s been on her feet at work all day and there’s actually a long line at the counter. She smiles bemusedly at me and I wonder if she’d ever been in contact with a guy with actual manners before. While I wait, I can’t help but sneak a few glances at her and grin whenever I see her sneaking one right back.

I thought merely seeing her might help resolve this little problem I’ve been having over the last few days, the one where the only thing on my mind is her. The fact that I’ve never gone to such lengths to meet a girl is rather telling; normally, if there’s a girl who isn’t showing interest, I move onto the next one. Not this time apparently. Part of me is hoping she’s the most boring girl on the planet, because at least then I can get back to normal, rid my system of her. The other part of me knows almost instinctively that she is anything but boring and she’s going to be in my head for the unforeseeable future. Strangely, I like that last thought.

With two coffee cups in hand, I weave my way through the maze of tables and find Samantha in a far off daze, her chin resting on her hand, her elbow propped on the table. She looks sad again, deep in thought, and I almost don’t want to disturb her. I clear my throat softly and she shoots upright, blinking rapidly with an embarrassed expression on her face at being caught daydreaming.

“Tired?” I ask. I hand her a cup of coffee and remove my jacket before sitting down across from her.

She smiles her thanks for the coffee and proceeds to fill the remaining space of her cup with cream and sugar. I grin as I sip from my own cup. “A little,” she admits, stirring her drink.

We sit back in our chairs simply looking at one another as we try to find something to say. I want to ask her what she was thinking about, but she’d probably just tell me it’s none of my business, effectively ruining our little coffee date. “How long have you worked at Chet’s?” I ask instead.

She seems startled by the question, but wraps her hands around her coffee mug. “About six months,” she answers quietly. “How long have you been stalking girls at diners?”

I bite back a laugh. “About five days,” I answer, trying to keep my voice even. “Did you grow up around here?”

Nodding, she seems to be relaxing very slightly. “My family owns a farm at the town line,” she tells me. “So yes, I grew up around here. Where did you grow up?”

It surprises me how easy this conversation is flowing. I like how she’s not just letting me dictate the questions, but asking me questions in return, and I find it’s enjoyable. “Little bit of everywhere, I suppose,” I answer. “My dad’s in the Navy so we moved around quite a bit. California, Florida, Germany... We lived in Japan for
a while. Currently, I’m living in Upstate New York.”

Her eyes widen in excitement as I list the different places I’ve been. “That must have been fun,” she observes.

I shrug. “To the point that I got to see so much, yes,” I respond. “But moving around so frequently means not getting the chance to plant roots in any spot in particular. I met a lot of interesting people, though, and I keep in touch with one or two of them.”

She nods, that faraway look returning to her eyes. “I’d love to get out of here,” she says wistfully. “See the world a little bit. Or even just something that isn’t farms.”

Immediately I want to offer to take her somewhere. Los Angeles. Vegas. Miami. New York City. Somehow I refrain. “So why don’t you get out and see it?” I ask.

Sighing, she shifts around in her seat. “I need to be here,” she tells me resignedly. “Daddy needs help on the farm and my older brother and I are taking care of our younger sister while he does that.”

“What about your mom?” I say as though it’s the most obvious question in the world. I wince at the expression of pain that crosses her face. It’s gone so quickly I wonder if I’ve imagined it.

“My mom passed away,” she says in a wavering voice, staring down into her coffee cup. “About a year ago.”

Reflexively, I reach across and place a tentative hand on her wrist in comfort. Her eyes shoot up to mine in surprise, but since she doesn’t look as though I’m crossing a line by touching her, I keep my hand where it is. “I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I haven’t suffered the loss of a parent, but I know if I was to lose my mother, no matter when it happened, I’d be devastated.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling tightly. I recognize it as the smile of a person who’s been practicing it for far too long and I see her closing herself off from me.

“So what does your family’s farm grow?” I’m struggling to find something else to discuss, not wanting to make her linger on such a painful subject.

The look in her eyes is a mixture of surprise and gratitude for the change. “A little of everything, I suppose,” she responds. It doesn’t escape my notice that my hand is still resting on her wrist. “Corn, obviously.” I grin at the way she rolls her eyes. “We’ve got cows, a couple horses. A goat.”

“A goat?” I ask, chuckling.

She grins at me, her eyes dancing in amusement. “Yeah. We’ve had him since he was a baby. José. He’s very sweet.”

Somehow a goat named José seems a very fitting pet for this girl and I find myself wanting to meet it. “Do you have other animals as well?”

She nods. “Chickens. Horses, Dogs. A cat that seems to have taken it upon herself to keep the chickens in line.”

“That must keep you very busy,” I observe.

She shrugs. “We’ve got it all down to a science. Morning chores are usually done by eight o’clock breakfast and we all go about our daily routines. I like it.” She frowns slightly as though she doesn’t quite agree with her last statement, but doesn’t elaborate.

Our talk turns to schooling. I find out she was an honor roll student and had aspirations to leave Iowa for college, then I get the impression that the reason she didn’t do so was because of her mother’s death and I don’t press her any further on that topic. I tell her a little about my job, what’s brought me to Iowa. Obviously I can’t discuss too much with her—for one, I doubt she’d care much about the boring details, and two, the deal I’m currently in the middle of isn’t something the public is aware of and I’d really like to keep it that way. At least until the congressman calls to tell me the funding has been approved.

Three cups of coffee later, I don’t even remember half the things we talked about, let alone how we got onto such random tangents of conversation. Samantha is easy to talk to. She’s intelligent and funny and witty, and the complete opposite of every other woman I’ve dated. She fascinates me and unless I’m completely blind, I think I fascinate her as well.

“Dammit,” she hisses, looking at her watch. “It’s past midnight.”

I look down at my own watch in shock. She’s right. We’ve been sitting here talking for going on four hours and it feels like no time at all as passed. Looking around, I see the coffee shop employees starting their closing routine and realize we’re the last ones here. With utmost reluctance, we drain our coffee cups, apologize to the employees for staying so late, and head out into the parking lot. This is it. The last I’m going to see of this girl. And that thought is enough to depress me. I walk her to her truck, my hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, trying to find some way to delay the inevitable. Judging by her very unhurried pace, so is she.

“Well,” I say quietly as she leans against the truck door. “Thank you for having more than one cup of coffee with me. I hope I didn’t frighten you too much.”

She smiles shyly, biting her lip as she reflexively reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not too much,” she teases. “Thank you for convincing me to have coffee with you.”

“My pleasure,” I tell her sincerely. Normally this would be the point at which I lean in and kiss her, possibly pressing her against her truck door, then somehow getting her somewhere private so we can continue. Not this time, though. Not with this girl. She deserves better treatment than that.

After an awkward, reluctant goodbye, I start back towards my car. I’m trying to think of anything that would let me have just another minute of conversation with her. I spin around on my heel and stop her before she closes her door. “Samantha!” I call. She looks up with what looks to be relief and hope. “You never answered my question.”

Her brow furrows. “What question?”

“Is Tom your boyfriend?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh,” she says, smiling slowly. “No, he’s not my boyfriend. Just a good friend.”

I grin. “Do you
have
a boyfriend?” I’m suddenly very certain of her answer. And pleased. Very pleased.

“No.”

I walk back over to her, reaching into my wallet, then the pocket inside my jacket for a pen. “Well, in that case,” I say, turning around my business card and writing down my cell and private email address before handing it to her. She looks at it in surprise, smiling. “Let me know if you want to have another cup of coffee. Or four.”

She tucks the business card into the back pocket of her jeans. I’ve never been more jealous of a business card in my life. Reaching into her truck, I hear her rip a piece of paper from something. She turns around to face me again, taking my pen right out of my hand. I grin. “In case you want another plate of Chet’s roast beef or apple crumble.”

I look at the slip of paper, my grin widening at her neat, even handwriting.
Sam.
She didn’t write Samantha. She wrote Sam. Very fitting. “I’ll keep that in mind, Sam,” I say softly. She seems pleased that I’m using her nickname and I have the sudden urge to kiss her. I only hesitate until I see her eyes darting to my lips and make my decision and press my lips gently against hers. They’re soft and seem to mold to mine immediately. She tastes of coffee and strawberries and something else I can’t identify. Not really a taste I would normally consider alluring, but everything about Sam seems to be going against my norm. When we part, her eyes are wide, as are mine, and she seems to be in shock. Running the backs of my fingers down her cheek, I peck her lips one last time. “Goodnight, Sam. Sleep well.”

She nods dazedly. “You too,” she says breathily.

With that, I turn away and return to my car, carefully tucking her phone number into my wallet.

Yeah, there is no chance that she’s going to be out of my system any time soon. Now I just have to figure out how to get her in further.

-------------o-------------

Present day. Location classified.

There haven’t been many moments in my life that I’ve considered to be truly surreal. My marriage to Sam. The birth of our son. It’s a very short, yet very significant list. I always thought that something one might consider to be surreal had to be a good thing, one that makes you so happy your heart tries to burst from your ribcage. This is not one of those moments. It’s surreal, there’s no doubt about that, but it is not a happy moment and it sure as hell isn’t making me smile.