“A little?” I asked and Sam’s huge grin turned into a blinding smile.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “A little. A guy checks the box marked ‘friendly’ on a job application for bodyguard, he’s not gonna get much work.”
This made sense.
“Right,” I muttered.
Sam kept smiling at me then he looked to the counter at my list and back at me. “You ready to hit the grocery store?”
“I will be when I ascertain if there’s anything in my cooking arsenal you won’t feel forced to eat.”
“I don’t have a cast iron skillet, baby, and shortening is not an acceptable addition to my pantry. That help?”
“Yes, but barely.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he murmured.
Yes, we damn well would and I knew this because I was on a mission to make it so.
“Um… if Deaver comes with, he’s not going to attack any grocery store patrons for looking at us funny, seeing as you’re famous and all, and leave bite marks, is he?” I asked.
He pulled me closer and told me, “Good part of bein’ home, in Kingston, people are used to me. Unless it’s new folk or tourists, they leave me be.”
This was good.
“Excellent,” I replied.
Sam smiled again. Then he bent his head and touched his mouth to mine, let me go and muttered, “Shower then store.”
“Gotcha,” I muttered back.
He moved to the stairs. I turned to my list.
I was scratching out the word “shortening” when I heard, “Kia?”
I turned and looked over my shoulder to see Sam at the wall by the base of the stairs.
“Yeah, honey?”
His head cocked slightly to the side and his eyes moved over me. I held my breath because they’d gone that super intense and I suspected he was seeing something, feeling something, something I didn’t understand, while looking at me in his kitchen.
But he didn’t share.
Instead he said, “Won’t be long.”
“Okay,” I replied softly.
He tipped up his chin and disappeared.
I took in a breath and went back to my list.
*
It was night, the moon lit the ocean, the sound of waves crashing on the beach shifted lazily toward the deck – those, a nice dinner and a good day spent with Sam lulling me into a relaxation I hadn’t felt in years.
Years.
It felt good.
The grocery store mission was successful. I got what I wanted and Sam got what he wanted. I paid close attention to what Sam got which gave me ideas for dinner and, after we left the grocery, we hit the liquor store then we went home.
And Deaver, who I noted trailing us twice, didn’t attack anyone.
A plus.
I put chicken breasts in to marinade and Sam and I took Memphis for a long walk on the beach. Then Sam and I came back and he took me upstairs for a long, energetic session in his bed.
We emerged from Sam’s bed late afternoon and I met Aziz. Sam was right, he was friendlier if not less scary. He was Arabic, had less bulk than Deaver but not less muscle, though his was lean. He had more height and when he departed he did not share his wish I didn’t get dead. He gave me a look that promised I wouldn’t (thus him being not less scary).
The only thing that semi-marred our day was that twice Sam got calls where he looked at the display on his phone then took them elsewhere. This was not exactly unusual, he had a lot of calls at home where he did that and I suspected they were discussions with Ozzie or his crew of badasses. So I didn’t think anything of it, in Indiana or in North Carolina.
That was until, during the second call, I headed upstairs on bare feet to see to unpacking and I did this while he was in his office on the phone.
The door was open and I heard him say, “Like I said before, tell them I’m considering it but I haven’t made a decision.” He paused, I debated the merits of eavesdropping and before I made a decision, he went on, “They’re impatient for an answer then the answer is no. They can keep their shit then they can wait for me to fuckin’ consider it.”
It was then, considering his tone sounded frustrated and the conversation was clearly not about my safety, not to mention, I had some anxiety about what it was about, harking way back to the conversation I overheard Sam have with Luci, I moved swiftly to the bedroom. For the first five minutes of unpacking, I made way more noise than I needed to. Firstly, I did this to drown out hearing anything Sam was saying. Secondly, I did this because I wanted Sam to know my whereabouts.
When he came into his bedroom, he was no longer on the phone and he was also in his usual not in a sharing mood.
I knew this when he came up behind me as I was bent over my suitcase by the bed, he hooked me around the waist, leaned into me and said quietly in my ear, “Meant it yesterday, honey, make yourself at home. You need to move shit, move it. I’ll stow your bags when you’re done.”
Then he kissed my neck and moved away.
That was nice, very nice and I definitely liked it. But it still wasn’t Sam sharing.
And, it should be noted, Sam didn’t grab his bag and unpack his own stuff.
Whatever.