Page 28 of The Backtrack
Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Mama.”
“Anyway, honey, we’re so happy to have you home.” Cathy’s expression was warm.
Sam knew that if she and Damon were together now, she’d likely be her mother-in-law. Sam had missed out on this kind of loving presence in her life in order to pursue her dream. Was it worth it?
“I’ve got vegan sliders on the table, and Humbe is making pork, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Humbe wore a pair of massive gloves as he lifted the lid off the big green egg grill. A billow of smoke rose, along with a wave of pepper and paprika. Humbe closed the lid just as quickly, then turned, clocked Sam and called out, “Oi!”
“Hey, Mr. Rocha,” Sam called back and made her way over.
Humbe removed his gloves, grabbed Sam’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “E aí, tudo certo?”
Sam’s Portuguese was rusty, but she could never forget how to respond to Humbe’s question of how she was doing. “Tudo bem,” she said.All good. A white lie.
He clapped his hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten your Portuguese. You always were the smart one.”
Damon came next to them and eyed his dad warily. “You’re not giving Sam a hard time, are you?”
“Why would I do that?” Humbe was very tall and very bald, and when he laughed his whole body shook. As he smiled, something else caught his attention, and he looked just past them. “Is that ‘Oba, Lá Vem Ela’? Turn that up,” he called out.
The volume of the samba music grew, and Sam chanced a glance at Damon. He groaned. She knew what was coming just as much as he did.
“Humbe, no dancing before dinner,” Cathy said.
But it was too late. Once Humbe had the volume turned up, there was no stopping the rhythm in his feet. He extended his hand to Cathy.
“It’s our song, meu bem,” he said.
Cathy crossed her arms and pretended to be annoyed, but very clearly was not. She eventually moved to Humbe, took his hand and they began to dance.
Damon and Sam watched them in silence, until he broke it. “Sometimes I wonder how they ended up together, and how it still works.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam replied. Humbe and Cathy had met in the Peace Corps and, despite their culinary differences, worked well together. “She’s a vegan baker, and he’s a samba-loving carnivore. They’re basically fated.”
“Stop shit-talking your mother and me and get to dancing,” Humbe said to Damon.
Damon huffed out a sigh. “You know he means I should dance with you, like old times.”
“Old times,” Sam said somewhat wistfully.
She’d learned to samba in Damon’s backyard at a barbecue much like this one. She was pretty sure this song had played, too. The samba could be tricky—a lot of fast steps, hips and floating across the floor. But Humbe and Cathy were determined teachers, so they’d learned the moves quickly.
“May I have this dance?” Damon extended his open palm to her.
She should definitelynotdance with him. But Humbe would be insistent, and maybe if they just did this one song, it would be over soon. So Sam clenched her jaw and took Damon’s hand. His grip was strong and sure, and his other hand landed on the small of her back, but this time she didn’t flinch.
He guided her across the lawn, and she watched his steps: two-two-two-four, two-two-two-four. The counting Humbe and Cathy had drilled into them came back, along with her hips circling in time with her steps. Once she remembered the footwork, Sam looked up, and Damon watched her. The tip of his tongue lingered at the corner of his mouth as he focused on her. And she knew this was all part of the samba—maintaining eye contact helped you stay in line with your partner. But then there were his fingers, which tightened and released around her hips as he spun her under his arm. Their hips met briefly as he pulled her back in, and his hot breath brushed across her neck as he brought her close.
Sam was breathless as he spun her out again. The end of the song approached, and Damon dipped her. He hovered above her and pressed his body tight with hers. Their lips were so close that his breath ghosted across her skin. They were locked in a moment, breathing with each other. She could just tilt her chin a touch up, and their lips would meet.
But then there was the squeal of the sliding glass door, followed by Marissa’s high-pitched voice. “Guess who brought prosecco!”
Sam glanced over. Marissa watched them with an open mouth, but then seemed to think better of whatever was on her mind and held the bottle up high above her head with a smile.
When Sam looked back to Damon, he was still locked on her, like he hadn’t noticed anyone else around them.
“Marissa’s here,” Sam cautiously said.
