“Yeah, I’m fine.” Samantha forced a small smile and shoved the piece of waffle into her mouth. “Just tired.”
Mrs. Montgomery grinned, but only half-heartedly. “I hope Renee didn’t keep you up all night with her coughing. I’m afraid this trip hasn’t been much fun for you, has it?”
Samantha shook her head. “Oh no, it’s been great.” She swallowed her food. “And it wasn’t Renee. I was up late…” She cleared her throat. “Reading.”
Tristan made a small sound from across the table, but Samantha ignored him, not daring to look up for fear everyone would see her blushing.
Mrs. Montgomery turned to say something to Mr. Montgomery, never seeming to notice her discomfort, and eventually went back to reading her newspaper.
The plan had been to leave right after breakfast, and Samantha couldn’t wait for it. She was anxious for the departure, anxious to be back at the Montgomerys’ so she could talk to Renee privately. She needed to tell her what happened. To confess—and clear her dirty conscience of the kiss she couldn’t stop thinking about. But she couldn’t do it here, not knowing they’d be stuck in a car for five hours back to LA. She’d tell her when they got home, as soon as she got her alone, no matter how difficult it was.
A creak sounded from the other side of the room and Samantha turned around. Renee stood on the very top of the staircase, her hair a tangled and unbrushed mess, held high by a yellow scrunchy on top of her head.
“Well if it isn’t my little ball of sunshine!” Mr. Montgomery shouted. “It’s good to see you out of bed and alive.”
Renee croaked out a word that sounded something like “morning,” then came down the steps, and crossed the distance to pull out a chair next to Samantha.
“How do you feel, honey?” Mrs. Montgomery asked, as Renee sat beside her.
“Better,” she answered, reaching across the table for the platter of waffles. “Do we have any orange juice?”
Everyone began passing plates and pitchers. Chatting about everything and nothing, as Samantha stuffed her face with maple-covered waffles and bacon. She hoped that if she kept her mouth full for long enough, everyone would forget she was there and not ask questions.
The plan almost worked. Until she excused herself to the kitchen. She entered the tiny room, placed her plate into the sink, then braced her hands on either side of the counter, her eyes fixed on the dark, ominous sky that had rolled in overnight. It was like a message from God, punishing her for all her wrongdoings. “I see you, God. I know what you’re up to, and I don’t like it!”
“What was that?”
Samantha whipped around, finding Tristan standing in the doorway with an empty plate. He moved toward her, deposited his dish in the full sink, then rested his hip on the counter beside her. Although he said nothing, there was heaviness between them that told her there was much on his mind. He looked at her, his mouth still, but his eyes full of questions. Questions that both scared and excited her. Questions she wasn’t sure she could answer.
She turned back toward the window, unable to face him any longer, and picked up a kitchen rag and began twisting it between her fingers. “About last night,” she began. “I’m going to tell Renee everything.” She nodded. “As soon as we get home.”
He adjusted his stance, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could tell he wasn’t happy. “It’s none of her business, Sam.”
She closed her eyes, opening them a second later to shake her head. “But it is. You’re her brother and I’m her best friend. Renee and I tell each other everything, and it’s killing me she doesn’t know.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” She turned to face him, her heart pounding.
“Yeah.”
His eyes softened, and she immediately stepped backward. “What does that mean?”
“It means if you want to tell her, that’s fine with me.”
She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him into the pantry. “Why?” she whispered. “You’ve known me for nine years, yet last night was the first time you ever noticed me. Why?”
His brows furrowed and he looked into her eyes. “I’ve always noticed you, Sam.”
She swallowed, her hands flat against his chest, her back straining against the shelf that held all the canned goods, but all she could think about was kissing him again.
He chuckled, deep and coarse, but with a hint of something she didn’t understand. The action caused the dimple on his left side to sink into his cheek—and somehow make him look more handsome. His hands rested on the top of her arms, moving up and down in a way that made her lose her breath.
“You’re crazy,” he finally said. “All this time I thought you were this cute, nerdy girl who spent too much time reading.”
She licked her lips. “You thought I was cute?”
“Yes.” He laughed again. “Look, as much as I like being close to you, sooner or later someone’s going to come in here and find us in the pantry.”
Her eyes bulged and she turned to peek through the crack in the door. He was right. If Renee found her in the pantry with Tristan, there would be no explaining it. Nothing left to do but tell her the honest-to-God truth right there in the kitchen. She pushed him out the double doors, intending to follow right after him, but Mrs. Montgomery walked into the kitchen at that moment.
“Oh, there you are,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “Have you seen Samantha?”
Tristan laced his hands behind his head and shrugged. “Nope.” But it was not convincing. Not one tiny bit.
Mrs. Montgomery’s brows furrowed, and she looked over his shoulder. She turned back and tilted her head to the side as though she knew something was up. “Your father’s packing up the van and wanted to know if your suitcase was ready to be loaded.”
Tristan stepped forward and placed his arm around his mother’s shoulder. “Not yet, but I’ll do that right now.”
She looked up at him and smiled a knowing smile. “Son, why do you look so guilty?”
He laughed, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling before escorting her from the kitchen. “That’s just my face, Mom.”
“Uh, huh.” She laughed, but a moment later they were both gone, walking arm in arm into the living room.
Samantha pulled in a much-needed breath and slouched against the pantry shelves. She needed to get out of there before she was caught, but it was another few minutes before she felt comfortable enough to make the first step. She quickly checked her reflection in the kitchen window, hoping she didn’t look too flustered, and walked out to the dining room as quickly as she could.
Tristan was standing by the couch folding his clothes, but stopped as soon as he saw her. She reluctantly walked toward him, aware someone could walk into the room at any moment. “Don’t tell, okay?” she whispered without stopping. It was a juvenile request, but it was the best she had, given her time constraints.
He grinned slightly, making her heart squeeze with uncertainty. Because she was at his mercy, he held all the cards, and she was simply the joker in his pocket.
“It’s our little secret,” he replied, picking up the last folded shirt and placing it on top of his clothes in the suitcase before zipping it shut. He grabbed hold of the handle and threw it up to his shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered, but before she reached the top of the stairs, she turned around and looked back to the living room. He still had his suitcase lifted to the top of his shoulder, his hair shining from the sunlight that came in through the opened door, and she thought he might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.
Present day
“What are you writing?” Tristan asked, his voice breaking through the silence of the Mustang.
Samantha’s heart lurched in her chest and she slapped the laptop closed. She turned to face him, panic in her face as she tried to comprehend his words. “What was that?” She put her feet on the floor, wishing the top was still down so she could stand and clear her head, but she was trapped. Trapped with the only other man she’d ever kissed besides Steven.