Page 108 of Scandalous Lover

“Fran told me that they always invite you to come on their little trips and you always say no.”

I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts in. “And don’t say it’s because you have to work or the resort needs you. I know firsthand that you can take a day off if you want. And it’s not amoney thing, unless you’re hiding a secret gambling problem or something. You have a damn good job.”

I laugh softly, turning my gaze back to the screwdriver. “I just like doing less things.”

“That’s not the impression I got last night,” Naomi teases me.

Her little joke does a lot to set me at ease. “I grew up in a different world than those guys, but I spent most of my time with them. Something I noticed pretty quickly was that nothing was special. In the life I had with my mom, things were really special. We went to Frank’s Waffle Castle for my birthday every year, for instance. She has an album with a picture of us together there each and every year. She’s holding up fingers for how old I am in every shot, until I got too old and had to hold up mine as well.”

I smile to myself at the memory. “It was special because it was the birthday place. She made it special by never going there any other time, even though we loved it. Even though I begged.”

“So you never go on vacation because you want the one vacation you take to be special.”

I nod my head side-to-side, finishing with the light switch cover and standing up, stretching my legs. “I go on vacation twice every year. Once, for around a month, when the resort closes for the season. It’s the hottest time of the year here, and I choose somewhere I’ve never been before. Somewhere that’s at its best in July.”

“Where are you going this year?”

“Florence.”

“Okay. What’s your other vacation?”

“Every year, I rent a house in Sag Harbor for the week after Christmas. Me and my mom go up together and do puzzles.”

Naomi laughs out loud, but recovers quickly at my raised eyebrows. “That is so perfectly, amazingly, Sam.”

She’s grinning at me, and I can’t help but drop my eyes to the floor, feeling very exposed. “My mom went there on a weekend trip in college, and I grew up hearing stories about Sag Harbor. It became this place of legend. The most perfect, storybook town, where everyone is solving mysteries and waiting for their fisherman husbands to come home. We never had the money to go when I was a kid, but as soon as I could afford it, I surprised her with a holiday trip. Now we go every year.”

“Let me guess. You go to the same little cottage you did the first time, even though you’re now a baller resort owner and could afford something much nicer?”

I grin at the utility cover in front of me, securing the little screw in the threads. “That was true for about a decade, but then the owner sold it and the property got developed. We walked the beach that last year and chose the perfect house to keep up the tradition, so now we rent that one.”

Naomi is practically glowing. She grins down at me, white paintbrush in hand. “That is the most adorably amazing story I’ve ever heard. I want to spend the rest of my life inside that story.”

I smile, but I’m not sure she gets it. “And yet, hopping in a helicopter and flying off to some fabulous resort every weekend is the ideal lifestyle. Even you were questioning why I don’t go.”

“I was questioning. I’m not questioning anymore. I’m fully converted. I’m going to spend my time doing yard work, eating ramen, and enjoying the hell out of my week at the seaside each December. It’s my new ten-year plan.”

“She would adore you.” The words just slip out. Luckily, they’re quiet enough that I’m not sure Naomi hears.

“Who?”

No such luck.

“My mom.”

“Oh.”

There’s a heavy pause where we both focus on our projects. I know I should say something to break the tension, but my brain isn't coming up with any rational thoughts.

The woman just proclaimed my quiet, simple life as her ten-year plan. The idea of her living here, working on the house with me, hanging the sheets, driving to the beach to watch the sunset after dinner, sharing a mug of cocoa or tea as we pray for a green flash.

Hanging out with my mom in Sag Harbor every December.

“I didn’t mean…” Naomi apparently decides to try to take it back, to tell me I misunderstood, and I brace myself for it. “I just meant…”

“I know.”

“Sam.”

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