For the Longest Time (5 page)

His mouth curved into a small, rueful smile. “I did grow up, you know.”

“I can see that,” Sam replied, hitching her purse onto her shoulder. “Congratulations. Look, I need to—”

“I quit being the jerk kid a while back, Sam. I know you don't have any reason to take my word for it, but I'd like a chance to prove it to you.”

She stared at him, completely at a loss. Her common sense commanded her to go. Her feet refused to move. Hadn't she spent an embarrassing amount of time, years ago, imagining scenes just like this?
Let me make it up to you. . . . I was wrong. . . .
She'd even devised really excellent soundtracks to go along with his dramatic apologies, right before he swept her into his arms and things got X-rated.

Reality, as usual, didn't live up to the fantasy at all. If he tried to touch her she was just going to punch him, and the desk she might once have envisioned getting busy on was covered in the remains of Jake's brown-bagged lunch. Her mouth went dry, and she could manage only a one-word response.

“Why?”

He appeared to think that over for a moment before answering her. It wasn't like him to have to search for the right words, she thought. He'd always had them.

“Because the jerk kid screwed up and missed out on getting to know you better when he had the chance.” When she said nothing, he took a step toward her, carefully, as though approaching an animal he thought might bolt . . . or bite. “Let me take you to dinner. Just one dinner. If I'm the asshole you remember, you can tell me to go to hell. Publicly, even. No harm, no foul.”

A date? He was asking her on a date? It made so little sense that it took her a few drawn-out seconds of silence to formulate a reply. The only thing that finally got her brain to engage was her sudden certainty that she was standing here looking like a complete idiot. And that was something she'd promised she'd never do again. Not in front of him, anyway.

“Jake, we have nothing in common. That hasn't changed.”

“You don't know that,” he countered. “And hey, if nothing else, I can fill you in on what you've missed around here.”

The offer, made innocently enough, was a stark reminder that they'd grown up in two very different universes despite living in the same place. “I already know what I missed,” she said flatly. “Nothing. This place never changes.”

“You did.”

“I
left
,” Sam replied, more sharply than she'd intended.

“And now you're back.” Jake's gaze was pointed, and Sam felt incredibly exposed, as though he could see all of her failings on full display while she stood there squirming. She wasn't a lovesick, outcast teenager anymore, she reminded herself. She'd been farther and done more than most of the people in this town, Jake included. If anybody ought to be uncomfortable, it was him. He was the jerk.

Which he'd already admitted with basically no shame whatsoever.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest, leveled what she hoped was a cool stare at him, and tried to project a whole lot of confidence that she didn't feel. It was something she'd gotten pretty good at in New York. Hopefully this weird and lingering thing between the two of them hadn't neutralized her skills.

“I'm back
for now
. What if I say yes just so I can tell you off in front of a bunch of people? What if I just decide to stand you up? The chances of that are a lot higher than anything good happening, Jake.”

“We were friends once.”

“We were
something
once. Briefly. And then we weren't,” she snapped. “I don't know why you're pushing this.”

He took two more careful steps toward her. “Maybe I have a thing for mysterious blondes who look good covered in kittens.”

Sam barked out a humorless laugh. “I'm not mysterious.”

He didn't crack a smile. “Sure you are. You always were.” She barely had time to digest that before he
added, “Anyway, what if we have a good time? That's a possibility, too, you know.”

“An infinitesimally small one.”

“I'm willing to risk it. I'm the only one with a downside here. Unless you consider maybe enjoying yourself a downside.” He arched an eyebrow. “What do you say, Sam?”

She opened her mouth, fully intending to say no. But before the word could cross her lips, the common sense that had deserted her in coming here returned with a vengeance.

If you don't, you'll only look like you're running away. I thought you were done with that. Besides, you've been telling yourself for years that he doesn't matter. So prove it. Otherwise he isn't going to let this go. And neither are you.

“Fine,” Sam said, her voice as crisp and cool as a winter morning. “Saturday. Dinner.
Once
. It's not a date. And when we're sitting there with nothing to talk about, remember whose fault that is.”

His smile was slow and warm as he leaned in and reached behind her to turn the knob on the door and see her out. “I bet we have more in common than you think.” Jake's voice was a low rumble, his breath fanning her face and smelling faintly of chocolate. There were only inches between them, and though she knew she ought to move out of the way and let the door swing open, Sam instead found her body curving into his, pulled by some invisible, irresistible force. She'd never been this close to him before. And though she was no blushing virgin anymore, the charge that sizzled between them was far stronger than anything she'd expected. Her first instinct
was to fight it. She had to, for her own sanity. Not to mention her beat-up heart.

“We have one thing in common now, anyway. I don't have any trouble walking away from you.”

She didn't know why she said it. Being this close to him was opening old wounds that shut down her common sense. Petty slaps like that wouldn't hurt him. Nothing would, coming from her. But some part of her was still looking for closure, and maybe just a little bit of payback.

And the startled expression that flickered over his face an instant before his eyes hardened and narrowed said that against all odds, she'd left a mark after all.

Rather than pull the door open, Jake went still, bracing himself with his arm and neatly boxing her in. This close, Sam could see the tiny flecks of green in his eyes. His long, dark lashes dropped, and when he sucked his lower lip in to wet it, Sam drew in a single shuddering breath. His body was so close to hers, she could feel it like electricity racing over her skin. This strange chemistry had always been there, crackling between them. But it had changed, intensified.

It had gotten so much worse.

The only sound she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. She knew she shouldn't . . . but right that second, all Sam wanted was Jake's mouth on hers. He lowered his head, just a little, then flicked his eyes back up to hers as though asking a question. Even now, he wouldn't push it with her. It would be her choice—one she didn't want to make.

Sam swallowed hard, her thoughts in complete disarray.
I want . . . No, I don't . . . No, that's bull. I really want him to . . .

His nose touched hers. “It wasn't easy,” he breathed, his voice a raspy whisper. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, trailing his thumb along her jaw. “It still isn't.”

Words tried to form, then scattered. She lifted her mouth to his, lips parted, ready to melt.

“Dr. Smith?” There was a rapid flurry of knocks along with the sharp voice, and the moment didn't so much break as shatter. Sam jumped a little, then stumbled a few steps backward, out of Jake's reach and away from the pull of whatever alchemy his nearness produced. Jake looked slightly dazed as he watched her move away. Then he took a deep breath, straightened, and pulled the door open.

“Yeah, right here, Angie.”

Sam listened with half an ear to a quickly whispered discussion with the receptionist she hadn't recognized, all while the girl shot looks at her as though she might be some sort of enemy spy. That, Sam realized, or an out-of-towner. It would have been funny if she hadn't been standing there shaking, her heart still pounding. He'd done it on purpose, she thought, torn between anger and raw desire. She'd issued a challenge, and he'd picked it right up. Worse, he'd won. Now he knew she still wanted him. And she had no idea how she was going to put her defenses back in place.

She wanted to shout at him for still being such an arrogant ass. When she saw his face, however, Sam knew she'd have to table that. Something was wrong.

“Have them pull around back. I'll be right there,” he said to Angie, and when Jake turned back to look at Sam, there was a steeliness in his expression she didn't recognize.

“The Andersens' dog, Shakes, was hit by a car. They're bringing him in now. I've got to go, but I'll call you.”

Sam nodded, understanding. He was Dr. Smith now. The change in him had been sudden and complete, shifting him into a man she didn't know at all. Well, almost.

“Saturday,” he said, pointing at her and tipping his chin down to give her a look that made it clear the date—or, rather, the not-a-date—was now, as far as he was concerned, set in stone. Then he vanished, and Sam was left wringing the strap of her purse with both hands, wondering what the hell she'd just agreed to. After a moment, she walked to his desk, found a pen, and scrawled her cell number on a sticky note with a brief message.

Let me know what time Saturday. —S

She'd miscalculated somewhere along the line. Jake wasn't supposed to be able to surprise her, which was all he'd done since she'd gotten home. But even if he was right, and a few things
had
changed since she'd been gone, there was one thing that hadn't—and it was going to get her a lot more than almost-kissed if she didn't get a handle on it.

Sam touched her lips lightly with her fingertips, wondering. Then she rolled her eyes to the heavens, muttered a few curses, and walked out the door.

W
hen one of his days went to hell, which they did on a regular basis, Jake relied on the only surefire method he'd found of clearing his head and salvaging his sanity. He went home, threw on his sneakers, put Tucker's leash on him, and headed out for a run. No matter the season, sun or clouds, rain or snow, there was always someplace he could go to clear the day's debris out of his head. Today, he needed it.

Shakes had hung on all afternoon, but in the end, it had been clear that the kindest thing was to let the sweet old retriever go. He'd done what was needed, been the calm, concerned, competent doctor as he'd administered the injections that would take away Shakes's pain and bring Steve and Ginny Andersen oceans of it. He'd been sympathetic while they'd stroked their four-legged friend's fur and cried. And inside, he'd grappled with the same helpless fury he always did when an animal was lost to a human's cruelty or stupidity. A cable guy who couldn't be bothered to look behind him and see the old dog curled up asleep in the driveway counted as the latter . . . but he'd seen so much of both. It wore on him sometimes, threatening to outweigh the good he knew he did.

So he went home, hugged his mutt, laced up, and found some peace where he could.

Tucker, happy just to be jogging along by his person in the fading light, was always a nice reminder that every day had some good in it if you could manage to be in the moment and get your brain to shut up for a while.

Jake settled into his rhythm, feeling his muscles warm as he headed down his street and hung a right, toward the park. The sky was a vibrant canvas of reds and pinks, striking against the bold hues of the leaves. He breathed deeply, savoring the rich scents of earth and wood smoke that could only be fall, and let his mind empty. Everything fell away as his feet hit the pavement.

His whole Zen running thing lasted all of three minutes before he was back to replaying his meeting with Sam over and over again. Since that was by far the least traumatic part of his day, though, Jake figured it was okay.

He couldn't get past her expression, so soft and unguarded, in the moment when he'd realized that not only was he about to kiss her, but that she wanted him to. Still. Even after all this time. He wondered if she was pissed about it now. Probably, he thought, his mouth curving. That seemed to be her comfort zone with him, though she kept slipping. Like when she'd agreed to dinner.

Not a date, his ass.

His smile faded as doubt tried to creep in. What if she was right and they just sat there staring awkwardly at each other?
It's just a dinner, damn it. She's still beautiful, you're still interested, so now you get to see what happens. You used to talk. So you'll do it again. No big deal.

But he couldn't remember the longing on her face without thinking that on some level, it was a big deal.
Maybe a really big deal. Part of him had been hoping that time would have made her seem less interesting, that he could ditch the weird combination of guilt and fantasy labeled “Sam Henry” that he'd been lugging around and finally shake her.

No dice. She was the same enigma who'd haunted him off and on for ten years now, except she'd piled on a few layers of some very adult sex appeal in the meantime. It shouldn't have made him nervous. Women didn't make him nervous anymore, damn it.

And he could tell himself that until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't change the fact that this one did.

“So what are a hick vet and a cultured artist going to talk about at dinner, Tuck? You tell me.”

Tucker looked up at him, his tongue lolling out as he panted, brown eyes full of simple joy. That look said it all: I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT HUMAN BUT I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE OUTSIDE AND ISN'T THIS GREAT I LOVE RUNNING YAY I'M A DOG!

“Thanks, man,” Jake said. “That's deep.”

“Hey, Smith, wait up!”

He slowed, recognizing the voice, as well as the footfalls that sounded more like a Clydesdale was pursuing him than a man. Soon enough, there was a familiar six foot ten inches of solid human next to him. Jake didn't spare Shane Sullivan more than a glance. He wasn't really in the mood for company, but if he couldn't avoid it, Shane was as good as it got.

They'd been friends since the fourth grade, when an attempt to kick each other's asses had resulted in both a stalemate and a joint trip to the principal's office. Shane was bigger, but Jake was faster, and they'd quickly
discovered that they were more effective at everything from sports to chasing girls, and later women, as a unit. Their punishments had been fleeting. The friendship had stuck.

“Thought I felt the earth shaking.” Jake quickened his pace again, knowing Shane would keep up.

“Nah, that's just your body getting ready to give out because of how much it sucks.”

“Huh. I must be confused about which of us is sweating, then.” Jake snorted. “So what's up? I haven't seen you out running in a couple of months. Speaking of sucking.”

“I thought of you and it motivated me to be a better, more active person. You're my hero, Jake.” Shane fluttered his eyelids.

“Jesus. Another groupie.”

“Yeah, we're getting T-shirts made. Seriously, though, I heard you were holed up in your office today with some hot blonde. Like, an actual human female. That part sounded suspicious to me, so I had to check it out and make sure you weren't just bringing your blow-up doll to work again.”

“Bite me. This is interesting enough for you to chase me down, like, the second you got home?”

Shane shrugged. “I've been home for an hour. There was nothing good on TV.”

Jake exhaled loudly and looked at the sky. This was the part about small-town living that was both blessing and curse. “What the hell? I just got home!”

Shane's voice was smug. “Yeah, well, Angie left the office before you did, and you know she and Stump are just about living together. She told him, he called me, and now I need to know where you found a babe like
Angie described in the Cove, because if she has friends and you're holding out, this is not okay. You know I have no life right now.”

A quick look at Shane, whose face was now only slightly less red than his short, wavy hair, told Jake that his friend was only half joking. Maybe less than half. And also seriously out of shape, even if his tall, athletic frame wasn't showing it yet. It sure as hell would by the end of football season, after the months of chili dogs and beer they'd all be consuming.

“You want a life, then get one,” Jake said. “You're an attorney. If you weren't such an asshole, you'd be a catch around here.”

“I like being an asshole,” Shane panted. “And I don't want to be caught by anything around here. You know what the Tavern looks like on Friday nights. Same old. Maybe I should have moved to Boston.”

Jake shook his head as they rounded a bend in the path, listening to his friend's labored breathing. “Shane, go home. I don't want to be responsible for you having a massive heart attack.”

Not that Jake didn't have some sympathy for him. Right now Shane was paying every due Jim Sullivan thought he ought to for the privilege of being his firstborn son and chosen successor, the eventual inheritor of Sullivan Associates. Shane never really complained, but he never seemed very enthusiastic, either. A lot of the happiness seemed to have gone out of him since the days when he'd been the life of every party, and Jake often wondered if maybe Shane really
should
have gone to Boston and gotten away. The Cove could be a haven, if you wanted it. But like any small town, it could also be quicksand.

He knew that was how Sam felt about it. And she'd
made it clear that the move home wouldn't be permanent, if she had any say in the matter. On some level it was hard to blame her. On another, it was irritating that her mind was made up about the Cove before she'd even gotten started.

Shane's deceptively mellow baritone pulled Jake out of his thoughts. “So Angie thought your mystery hook-up was local, but that can't be right. Said Cass knew her. From college, maybe?”

“She wasn't a hook-up, and she's very local,” Jake replied. “You remember Sam Henry?”

Shane's burst of disbelieving laughter wasn't exactly unexpected, but it put him on the defensive in a way he wasn't used to.

“Sam Henry? Freak show?
No
. No
way
. Wasn't she into animal sacrifice or something? I remember lots of black eyeliner, black lipstick, hair in the face . . . I mean, she was cute if you could get past the weird, I guess, but . . .” He trailed off, frowning as he continued to jog along, then snapped and pointed at Jake, eyes lighting up. “Hey, remember when she had a crush on you? I almost forgot about that. Man, that was sad. You telling me she actually managed to grow up hot?”

Jake flexed his hands, stunned by the flash of temper that nearly overrode his self-control. He had an overwhelming urge to punch the delighted grin off of Shane's face. Why did it figure he'd remember the one day Jake really wanted to forget? Maybe he'd been stupid for not expecting this. Sam had been gone a long time. She was going to be preceded by her reputation, fair or not, until people sized her up again.

It would be fine, he told himself. She didn't need him to defend her.

“She grew up. Aren't we supposed to be past all this shit? It was ten years ago,” Jake said. He turned his head to glare incredulously at Shane. “Animal sacrifice? Seriously? She was
artsy
, not a psychopath.”

Okay, so she might not need the defense, but he couldn't quite help giving it anyway.

Shane's brows shot up at the snap in his voice. “Jake, granted, I didn't pay a ton of attention to her class—I mean, apart from the hot girls and the guys we played sports with—but Sam kind of stuck out, and not in a good way. Don't get all bent out of shape. You just surprised me. It's not like you were all about her back then. Actually, I have this distinct memory of her pegging you in the head with some crumpled-up paper when you finally told her to take off.”

“Yeah. I remember.” He said it quietly, his temper subsiding as quickly as it had risen, and his shoulders slumped a little.

After making a noncommittal sound, Shane lapsed into silence, though he kept running alongside Jake as the evening deepened around them. There was no sound but their breathing, the jingle of Tucker's collar, and the pounding of their sneakers on the pavement. Jake knew he wouldn't have to wait long for Shane to lose his patience with the silence.

“So forget high school. Was this just some kind of kinky one-off thing? I thought she lived in New York or something now.”

Yep, typical Shane.
Jake couldn't keep his lips from curving before he relented and answered.

“She just moved back home from the city. Actually, she was at the office to see the kitten she's adopting. Not kinky, but I did talk her into dinner this Saturday.”

“Huh,” Shane said, looking vaguely amused by the idea. “Well . . . I'll have to keep an eye out for her. Even if I can't picture her being this blond goddess Angie described, like, at all.” Though Shane still looked puzzled, at least he'd pulled back a little from being actively insulting. Jake didn't feel like fighting with him. They hadn't been at odds over anything bigger than what kind of hoagie to get at RJ Grinders in years. Maybe because they had a routine, and they stuck to it. What was to argue about?

The thought gave him pause. There was a fine line between being comfortable and being in a rut. He'd been walking the line for a while now, and he knew it. Life was good, mostly. The job was fulfilling. But his house was still kind of big and fairly empty, and he hadn't dated anyone interesting in at least a year—despite his friends' constant and increasingly annoying efforts to set him up.

Well, no one in their right mind would have set him and Sam up. That alone made it promising.

“Hey,” Shane said, a little breathless now from the exertion but brightening at once. “Max said he was going to call you about movie night this Saturday. You're supposed to bring beer.” He frowned. “Oh. You've got the big date with the, ah, Sam.” Jake heard the hesitation before her name, and he knew Shane had been about to call her something other than her name. An ugly memory surfaced, of Thea Hanover's narrowed eyes in her eighteen-year-old face as she watched Sam hurrying across the cafeteria, head down.

“Look at that freak. I don't even know why she bothers to come to school. It's not like she has any friends.”

The disdain had been reflexive back then. Hell, he'd been guilty of it too, before he'd noticed that the shadow
with the sketchbook was an actual human being. Not that the revelation had changed things, in the end. He'd still been embarrassed to be seen with her.

I can make up for that, at least.

Why did it figure that Sam would be the movie cliché that never seemed to happen in real life, the odd duck who returned as a swan? She'd gone from shy alt-girl to edgy Nordic goddess. Though he had to admit that even if she'd shown up with pink hair and facial piercings, he'd still be chasing her around. The woman pushed all of his damned buttons. All of them at once.

“If dinner goes well, maybe I'll bring Sam with me. We don't usually get the movie in before nine anyway.”

Shane gave him a strange look. “Yeah, sure,” he said with a soft, incredulous laugh. “That won't be awkward.”

Jake arched an eyebrow. “It won't be if you don't
make
it awkward.”

“Jake, I'm not going to make it anything. But movie nights are kind of our
thing
, you know? It works. Toss in artsy awkward loner girl who nobody liked and it's just going to mess up the night. I mean, what are we supposed to talk to her about? The good old days? Impressionism versus modernism?”