“Many times.”
“And you haven’t grown warts or anything? Mr. Henson practices voodoo and stuff in his back room. Turns out when the Clintons’ cat Molly went missing, someone saw her wander into Mr. Henson’s store, and I kid you not, Molly came out as a pit bull dog. Even answered to the name and all. It’s freaky.”
Chuckling, I said, “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Heck yeah I do. I’m surprised you didn’t come out with a third eye or something after going into that place.”
“Oh, I did. I’m just really good with makeup.”
He chuckled. “You make me laugh, Elizabeth. I like that about you.” His eyes locked with mine, and he gave me a longing stare. Oh no…
I broke our stare and pointed to someone else. “What about them? What’s their story?”
He didn’t get a chance to tell me, because Sherriff Johnson was walking up to the stage.
The moment Sherriff Johnson stepped up to the microphone to speak about the town fair I knew I owed Tristan ten dollars. Right on cue, Sam leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You know, I was thinking maybe we can go to the fish fry after this. It’s real good and there’s a lot of dancing and stuff that goes on. It’s a great time.”
I smiled. I wasn’t sure how to turn him down. He looked so hopeful. “Well…” His eyes widened with a sparkle of excitement. “I would love that.”
He took his baseball cap off his head and slapped it against his knee. “Woo! Awesome, awesome, awesome!”
Sam couldn’t stop smiling wide and I couldn’t stop feeling as if going with him was a major mistake. Plus, I was out ten bucks, which sucked.
Sam and I sat in two chairs watching everyone else dance around drunkenly and freely as he told me the backstory of each and every person in the room. He turned to face me and said, “I hope you’re having fun.”
“I am.” I smiled.
“Maybe we can go on another date at some point?”
My jaw tightened. “Sam, you’re a wonderful person, but I don’t really think I’m in a place to be dating. You know what I mean? My life is currently a mess.”
He released a nervous chuckle and nodded in understanding. “I get it. I just…” He placed his hands on his knees and our gazes met. “I had to try. Just had to put myself out there.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“So you said you’re not ready to date? Are you sure it has nothing to do with your feelings for Tristan?” he asked.
“What?”
A smile found his lips. “I read people, remember? I saw the way you looked at him at your house. He makes you happy. I think that’s nice.”
“We’re just friends,” I argued.
He kept smiling, but didn’t say another word about it.
I nudged him in the shoulder and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to get out there and dance?”
He wringed his fingers together and looked at the ground. “I ain’t much of a dancer. I’m more of a watcher.”
“Come on,” I said, holding my hand out toward him. “It will be fun.”
Sam hesitated for a while longer before he reached out and took my hand. We walked to the dance floor and I watched as his nerves built up more and more. His stare was trained on his tennis shoes and I could see him counting his steps in his head.
One.
Two.
Three.
One.
Two.
Three.
“Eye contact helps,” I offered. He didn’t comment. He just kept counting, as his face got more and more flushed with nerves. “You know what, I could really go for some water,” I said. Sam’s eyes met mine and he gave me a smirk.
“I can get some for you,” he said, thankful that he wouldn’t have to dance anymore. I returned to my seat, and when he came back with the water, he handed it to me and sat. “This is nice, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
He cleared his throat and pointed out to someone else on the dance floor. “That over there is Susie. I guess she was the hot dog eating champion for years at the town fair. And over there is—”
“What about you, Sam? Tell me something about you.”
There was hesitation in his eyes before he blinked and shrugged his shoulders. “There’s not much to me.”
“I’m sure that’s a lie,” I offered. “Why are you working at the café if your dad offered you a full time spot at his business?” He studied my face, and I stared at his. His eyes were so handsome, but I could tell he was uncomfortable for some reason.
He broke the eye contact. “My dad wants me to take over the family business, but it’s not what I want.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Be a chef,” he said. “I figured working at the café would be a start to learning a bit more about it until I could save up for school, but I’m never allowed back by the kitchen, so it’s kind of a bust.”