So she opened a shop in Kingston.
Obviously, considering her fashion connections and good taste, it was a hit. And I helped her out, working part-time which mostly meant hanging out with Luci, gossiping, giggling, trying on (and, often, taking home) gorgeous clothes and sometimes waiting on customers or tidying racks and shelves. But mostly I spent my time cleaning the house, grocery shopping, cooking when Sam wasn’t in the mood (my man did most of the cooking, what could I say? – he liked it and he was good at it), taking my dog for walks, going to sporting events with Sam and arranging fund-raisers so the kids in the sports program could have kickass shit.
I was particularly pleased with the volleyball outfits the girls would have this year. They were top of the line, the brand Olympians wore. They cost a blooming fortune but the carnival made a killing. And they were worth every penny. Freaking phenomenal. The girls were in fits of glee.
See? Told you I had a knack for it.
Sam had also taken on another project, something he shared with me in bed one night not long after we got home from England. It was something he shared with me he’d been kicking around for years, even before he quit playing pro ball.
He wanted to do a summer football camp for underprivileged boys like the boys he’d grown up with, like the boy he used to be. A minimal number of slots, the boys had to apply but they wouldn’t pay, not even for travel. Three weeks of training and not just in football. It would be a kind of football boot camp. Part sports training, part military training. It wasn’t just going to be about physical fitness and learning to play the game. It was about dedication, loyalty, team, honor, reaching inside and finding that part of you that you could latch onto to pull yourself out of the circumstances life thrust you in and find something better.
I loved this idea. Loved it enough that I gave three million dollars to help endow it. Sam put in the rest. Then he recruited buddies in the game as well as buddies from the military who not only helped process the applications to select which boys would get to go but also to run the camp.
And, last July, using Kingston High as their base, Sam and a bunch of NFL and Army badasses inaugurated the Sampson and Kia Cooper Football Camp. I was against my name being added but Sam did it anyway.
There it was. Sam made a decision, acted on it and, really, there wasn’t anything to complain about. So I didn’t.
This also caused an outpouring of love for Sam and the men who gave their time. Sam ignored it. The NFL players involved didn’t and their agents got them a lot of play in the media for it. This was good seeing as donations started coming in. So Sam and I started a fund, got not-for-profit status and we got so much money, next year, we were going to be able to take twice as many boys. Not to mention, younger NFL players heard about it, dug the idea and approached Sam about being involved.
It was cool.
This also, since I managed the administrative part of it, took my time.
I finished with the tray, picked it up and took it out to the deck. There were tables set up against the screened porch, all groaning with food. I’d learned last year that high school football players really didn’t care if the potato salad, macaroni salad and brownies were homemade. They’d eat anything, lots of it and think it was the bomb.
So, except for forming a gazillion hamburger patties, slicing veggies and laying stuff out, the work was done. In other words, it wasn’t as much work as last year.
I didn’t tell Sam this. If he knew, I might not be able to call in reinforcements next year and I liked our beach house filled with family.
I put the tray down and turned my eyes to Sam who was standing with Hap and a couple of his boys at the grill. My gaze moved to one of the boys because he had Memphis in his arms, a Memphis was wriggling and licking. Memphis, not that it was a surprise, totally loved Sam’s team. She also liked to go to the games with me. This meant she could run around the field after the games were over, chasing the boys while they played with her.
Memphis’s version of heaven.
The boy holding my dog, Wes, was a senior, he was an excellent running back, he had a steady girl and he clearly didn’t care that liking a King Charles spaniel might mean a hit to his street cred. Then again, none of the boys did. This was likely because Sam didn’t and his kids, every one, thought he walked on water.
He couldn’t walk on water. But he could do everything else.
I grinned at Wes then my eyes moved to Sam to see his on me.
So I grinned at him.
I watched his face get soft and his eyes get warm and intense.
Then he grinned back.
Beautiful.
Never, not ever, would I get used to his beauty. I knew this and this made me happy.
Then I felt fingers clamp on my arm and my head turned to see Luci had hold of me. She looked serious, she looked kind of pissed and she looked like she was on a mission.
Oh man.