For the Longest Time (13 page)

“Oops.”

“They're just jealous,” Jake said. He hesitated, then said, “I don't suppose you'd want to come back inside.” He didn't want to sound desperate, but his heart was still thundering in his chest, his mind full of heated images that refused to let him be.

“Sure I would,” Sam said, but before he could celebrate, she added, “But what I want to do and what I'm going to do are two different things tonight. I need to go home, Jake.”

She was still pressed against him, warm and soft and incredibly feminine. The taste of her was still on his lips, and when he looked at her, he could see that the sexual haze hadn't entirely dissipated for her, either. But he
didn't miss the determined look in her eyes, and Jake knew she'd made up her mind.

Just like that, his fantasy for the night was ground to dust beneath her stylish black heel. He sighed and tried not to sound too pathetic about it. There would be other nights, he told himself. Soon, if he had anything to do with it.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on. I'll drive you home.”

S
am had Thursday off, and she lucked into a bright, crisp day that was the best of what a Harvest Cove autumn had to offer. She rolled out of bed around eight with no plans, enjoying the fact that for once, she didn't have anything pressing to worry about. There was no rent to be paid, no evil boss to fear, no roommate who left seriously inappropriate “work-related” items in strange places around the apartment to get angry at. There was just the big, quiet house, the soft rush of the heat kicking on, and the lingering memories of Jake's mouth on hers.

It seemed silly that a single kiss could color her entire week, or that the random texts Jake sent her every day could lift the clouds that had been following her around for some time. It was dangerous, she told herself, to let him back in so quickly. She was older and wiser and ought to know better.

But there had been so much ugly in her life lately . . . was it really so wrong to take some enjoyment where she could? Maybe it was a weak justification, but it was what she had. That, and something that felt perilously close to happiness.

She wrapped up in a sweater and had her morning
coffee in one of the Adirondack chairs out back, looking out over the gentle slope of the rolling lawn to the sea. She sat that way for some time, eyes picking out the blues and grays of the sky and water, the still-vibrant green of the lawn, and of course, the trees. She tried to imagine herself with her palette, canvas in front of her, paint on her fingers. And slowly, she could envision it. Her free hand twitched while she visualized the long brush strokes she would use for the sky, the short, quicker strokes when she did the leaves . . . she could
see
it.

She was so engrossed in her daydream that she jumped at the creak of the chair next to her.

“Morning, honey. Still waking up?” Andi asked, settling in with her own coffee.

“Yeah, I guess I'm not quite there yet,” Sam replied. Her little fantasy vanished, but it left behind a lingering warmth that Sam wanted to hang on to. It made her hope. It made her want to try again. Maybe soon, she thought.
Maybe
. It was what she'd told herself for months. But this was the closest she'd come to acting on it. She wasn't sure she was ready to stand in front of that canvas again, brush in hand, and feel nothing.

It was worse than fear, worse than anger. Those things could fuel art. But the only thing that came from nothing was just that. Nothing.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for quite a while. A light breeze toyed with the pieces of hair that had come loose from Sam's braid as she tried to turn her brain off and just be in the moment for a little bit. When she breathed in, the air smelled of earth and sea. Good smells. The smells of her childhood. Sam found she savored them as much as the taste of the coffee.

“You're looking better, Sammy,” Andi said, and Sam turned her head to find her mother watching her with a soft smile. “It's good to see.”

“It's all the cookies you've been feeding me,” Sam replied. “You're obviously equating ‘better' with ‘fatter.'”

Andi chuckled. “That must be it.” She looked out over the water and sighed. “Hard to believe Halloween is just a little over a week away. The leaves are all coming down, too. Won't be long before the trees are bare again and we'll have snow.”

It
was
hard to believe, Sam thought, startled when she realized it was the sixteenth already. “I guess I'll have to buy some decent boots. It never snows that much in the city.”

“If you're nice I'll knit you a scarf and hat.”

She grinned. “Purple? I want to match the house.”

“You know it, kiddo.” Andi chuckled, then sighed contentedly before taking a sip of coffee. “It'll be good to have you here for Christmas. I've missed having both my girls for the holidays.”

Sam felt a pang of regret at the wistfulness in her mother's voice. She'd tried to make it home for at least one holiday a year, but sometimes . . . especially the last couple of years . . . it just hadn't worked out. Her solution had been to lure her mother and sister to the city, which should have been the best of both worlds.

Unfortunately, no place that had only one bathroom could ever be the best of both worlds. Especially when you had a sister who always, by some dark magic, managed to get in there first.

“You didn't like the Rockettes? Or Rockefeller Center? I loved it when you and Emma came to New York,” Sam said.

“Oh, we had a ball, Sammy. But it isn't the same as having you here. This is home. We had lots of good Christmases here. Lots of wonderful holidays.”

“Mmm. Some of which I dyed my hair to match,” Sam said.

Andi frowned a little as she thought about that. “Wasn't it brown with orange streaks for Thanksgiving one year?”

“More than one year,” Sam replied, amused at the memory. “I looked like an anime character.”

“You looked beautiful. You always did, even if you refused to listen to my opinion about that,” Andi said.

“You're my mom. You made me. Your opinion doesn't count.”

“Does so.”

“Hmph.” Sam took another sip of coffee. Her knees were tucked into her chest, and her fuzzy slippers were keeping her feet warm. The thought of being here for all of the holidays this year was strange. Not bad, just . . . different. It had been a very long time since she'd watched the leaves turn and fall, and eventually come back again. She would see that this year, she thought. With Jake? She buried the thought before it could take root. They were taking it slow.
Slow
slow. And not even thinking about the future, thank you very much.

Now if she just repeated that ten times a day, maybe she could make herself believe it.

Andi's voice was a welcome distraction.

“I thought I'd take a drive into town a little later. You interested? I've got some books to take to Jasper at the used book store—I want to pick up a few more, too—and if you're with me, I've got an excuse to have lunch out. Thought I'd swing by the animal hospital, too.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, I've been thinking. I know you're going to hog that kitten, and this house has been too empty for too long. So I'm picking one of my own. Jake brings them to work, right?” Andi asked.

“Usually.” Sam tried not to feel just a little giddy at the prospect of seeing Jake and failed miserably. She knew it had been a crazy week at work for him and hadn't expected to set eyes—okay, maybe not just her eyes—on him until this weekend. Even just a quick hello would be nice. It was just touching base, she told herself firmly. It was just a friendly, brief, not at all important visit—

Oh, screw it. If I'm going to be this pathetic, I might as well own it.

“Great,” Andi said, interrupting her thoughts with a knowing little smile. Sam bit back a groan. Was she that obvious?
Probably
.

“So what do you think? Mother-daughter day out?”

“It's a date,” Sam replied, and rose to go rinse out her mug.

* * *

Wandering downtown wasn't something she'd done in a long time, so Sam was curious about whether much had changed. At first blush, things were much the same, though some of the shops she remembered had been replaced with others.

Andi parked her car in front of Petite Treats, a cute little bakery that was one of the newer—at least to Sam—additions on the small, historic square that sat just above the harbor. Sam got out and breathed in air that smelled like spun sugar as she looked around. This time of year, Harvest Cove was at its best. The buildings on
the square, the original town center, were all incredibly old and meticulously maintained as historic buildings. Made of wood and stone, together they held more than a hint of fairy tale. Many had seasonal displays in the windows, or outside the doors—Indian corn, pumpkins and gourds, scarecrows and lanterns. And of course, there were plenty of nods to the town's history, with pointy black hats and witch's broomsticks, painted black cats and cauldrons full of everything from glitter to mysterious purple mist that rose lazily into the air. The trees here were big, many very old, and though they were still full and ablaze with color, the sidewalks and cobblestone streets were littered with leaves. Sam crunched through them, quietly delighting in the sound they made beneath her feet.

It had been a long time since she'd done this. Longer since she'd seen Harvest Cove in its prime season. The weekends would bring a lot of tourists this time of year, but today, things were fairly quiet apart from the occasional tour bus that would rumble through, full of people looking to snap pictures of an authentic New England town.

“Can we see the tree?” Sam asked on a whim.

“Sure. It's still there, same as it ever was,” Andi said, carrying a handled paper bag that she'd loaded with worn paperbacks. “Why don't we head into Jasper's first, since it's right here, and then you can go say hello.”

Sam snorted softly. “I want to see it, not have a conversation with it.” Still, seeing it meant more to her than she wanted to say. The Witch Tree was sort of the town mascot, emblazoned on the little flags that hung from the wrought-iron lampposts, on posters for town functions, worked into several of the stores' logos, and had been
photographed in all its glory for a number of national magazines. More importantly, it had been a refuge for her, an old and silent friend when she'd needed one most.

Of all the things in Harvest Cove, that was one piece that truly felt like hers.

They headed a few doors down into Jasper's Used Books, where Andi dropped off what she'd read before engaging in an animated discussion with Jasper Reed about a mystery series they'd both been enjoying. Sam found a couple of books for evening reading: an urban fantasy and a British mystery Jasper had recommended.

“This one,” he said, putting it into her hands with a knowing gleam in his friendly brown eyes, “is best read with a blanket and a cup of tea. You'll love it.” His own British accent had been tempered by the many years he'd been in the States, but it was still recognizable, and lovely to Sam's ears. He was in his early sixties, lanky, with hawkish features and thinning gray hair that he always wore in a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. A small diamond glittered in one ear. He'd aged since the last time she'd seen him, Sam realized, dismayed at the obvious passage of time etched on his face. Still, there was a roguish charm about him that was the same as ever.

When they finally strolled out, Sam was laughing. “I need to introduce him to Zoe, if she hasn't met him yet. They can compare notes on tea. Maybe then she'll stop harassing me about it.”

“More likely they'll gang up on you,” Andi said. “You have to watch out for the tea people. They'll push it on you until you crack, and all of a sudden you're down to your last five bucks with a cupboard full of exotic leaves and a nasty scone habit on the side.”

She flashed a wicked grin and gently swung the handled bag, now full of a completely different set of books, as she walked. She looked good today, Sam thought, in one of her long skirts and a thick sweater that negated the need for a jacket. Her ubiquitous braid was rolled into a knot at the crown of her head, and her cheeks were pink with good humor and the chill air.

Happy, Sam thought. Her mother really was happy in the Cove. For a long time, Sam had assumed that Andi stayed only because of the house, and because it was where she'd lost a husband and raised her children. That wasn't the case, though. Andi had found things to love here.

“Mom? Why do you like it here so much?” she asked. It was out of the blue enough that Andi looked surprised by the question.

“What's not to like?” Andi asked. “Take a look around. If you're into history, you couldn't ask for a more perfect place.”

It was a fair point, Sam thought, looking around again. This time of year, the Cove looked like Halloween incarnate. But looks, as she well knew, weren't everything.

“Okay,” Sam said. “I'll give you that, but you know that people . . . say things. About us. About you.”

Andi only shrugged. “Honey,
some
people. People with nothing better to do. And that's nowhere near everyone in this town. Now, I'm never going be a part of the moneyed social set here, even though I have more money than most of them put together and the best piece of land on the Crescent. I knew that almost from the beginning. Your dad was supposed to marry local, preferably a local with the right pedigree. Instead, he went to Vermont and found me working at the ski resort
where he was staying. He knocked my socks off.” She winked. “Among other things.”

Sam groaned. “
Mom
. My ears. I need brain bleach. Come
on
.”

“Oh, you're no fun. How do you think you got here? Anyway, he told me what to expect.”

“And you came anyway?” She wrinkled her nose. “That's love, I guess.”

“Definitely love,” Andi laughed. “But that's not what got me comfortable here. The biggest thing in any new place is to find yourself a few allies. Doesn't need to be many. Two or three, or even just one will do. But people who have staying power. People who'll be there to laugh with, cry with, occasionally drink too much with. They're not always easy to find, but when you do, it can make a place home.” She gave a little shrug and a smile. “Worked for me, anyway. When I found Clare and Joanne, the Cove got a whole lot brighter. And one margarita night with them is worth a thousand of those stupid Christmas parties at Mary and Bob Harding's.” She gave Sam a meaningful look. “When your father was alive, we went every damned year. The invitations stopping is about the only silver lining I can think of in his passing. Those Nordic-looking Christmas sweaters with the reindeer on them still give me the creeps.”