Accidentally in Love, page 9
“How is your dad?” Kit asked, closing the refrigerator door. “Are your parents all right, being under the same roof after all this time? Quite generous of your mum to let him stay, eh?”
“Yeah, well, they’re together now, so it’s weird, but not unexpected, I guess.”
Kit’s eyes opened wide, and she grabbed two cookies, handing one to Sam, who had moved to their tiny dining room table.
“Together, as in . . .”
“Dating? I don’t know. Apparently it’s been going on for some time,” Sam explained, and then told Kit about everything that had happened that morning.
“Wow, hearing about all of this makes me so happy I rarely speak to my parents,” Kit said, taking a long drink from her tea.
“Kitty, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so unfeeling about my parents.” Sam genuinely felt for her friend. She knew Kit’s relationship with her practically aristocratic family in London was strained.
“Do not fret your pretty face, my courageous crumpet. You, Cassie, and Dana are my family now, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kit said, picking up another cookie and splitting it in two, offering Sam one half. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing—what can I do?” Sam attempted to approach this conversation with the same level-headed precision of her thoughts on the train ride in. Something about public transportation gave her clarity. “They’re grown-ups, they like each other, and they just so happen to be my parents who never got married and only dated for a hot minute right before I was born.”
“Sam, it’s a lot to take in and a big change. You can be upset or uncomfortable with it.”
“I just feel like I’m acting childish.”
“Samantha, your dad had a heart attack. Your parents have been secretly dating behind your back. You kissed Russ dressed as the Queen of Hearts,” Kit said, not doing anything to hide the satisfied smirk on her face with that last bit. “You have room to act irrationally.”
“You know about that?” Sam asked. She placed a hand on her own knee to keep her leg from bouncing into overdrive.
“Cassie, Reid, and I had to get Russ good and drunk to divulge any details,” she said, sitting up straight, looking very prim and pleased with herself. “You’ll be happy to know, however, that he was a perfect gentleman and did not tell us anything untoward.”
Kit pushed yet another cookie toward Sam, which she knew was both a peace offering and a bribe.
“I mean, I kissed him.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said, recalling those moments. “I had just gotten off the phone with my mom, and she told me my dad was going into surgery, and I was crying. Then it was like an out-of-body experience, because suddenly I was pulling away from him and climbing back down to the loft to tell you all what was going on. I barely remember it.”
Of course, Sam was lying. Sitting there in the safety of her apartment with her best friend and sugary sweetness in cookie form, Sam suddenly remembered everything.
The way it didn’t matter that she was freezing her butt off in red lingerie and a semi-sheer robe. How, even with that silly eye patch covering one of his bright brown eyes, Sam knew by the way Russ looked at her that he wanted to take the leap the two of them had been putting off for an entire year. Then, when she got that call from her mom and her tearful reaction, Russ was the perfect distraction from the fear of losing her father. When Russ’s lips finally met hers on that chilly rooftop, in the glow of the sunset and wrapped in his arms, Sam felt like she’d never be the same.
And that she wanted to kiss him again. Even though she was supposed to be annoyed with him.
Sam leaned forward with her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. Looking across from her, she saw Kit was in the same position and let out a little sigh. Sam shot back in her chair, wondering how long she had been daydreaming about that rooftop kiss. But she had no intention of letting Kit think she was overthinking it at all.
“Methinks you aren’t telling me something,” Kit prodded.
“Methinks you can mind your own business,” Sam replied, but she was smiling nonetheless.
Kit returned to the kitchen to turn on her electric kettle and took out two delicate teacups and saucers, along with a canister of black rose tea from the tea shop near Sam’s childhood home. Kit had bought loads of loose-leaf tea the last time she accompanied Sam to visit Claire. They both loved the black rose tea because it was subtly floral and delicious. Sam went to a barstool at the island, deeply breathing in the fragrant aroma.
“Now, my darling, I have a very important question to ask you,” Kit said, setting her palms flat on the countertop between them. Sam expected her to continue to interrogate her about Russ and was ready to fire up a witty retort. “When are you coming back to burlesque class? Everyone’s been asking after you, you know.”
Sam stifled a groan. This time, when her nervous leg started bouncing, she let it go on and on, the hushed brush of her jeans rubbing against the barstool the only sound in the room aside from the gurgle of the teakettle. What could Sam say to Kit, who was biologically predisposed to be svelte?
“Not this again, Kit,” Sam replied with what she hoped sounded more like mild annoyance than anxious apprehension. “I’m on a break. You know that.”
“It’s been months, my pretty pet,” Kit said, letting out a sigh that ruffled her bangs. The kettle beeped that it was ready, and Kit prepared their little tea service. “And I didn’t say anything about performing—just class. Though I do miss my partner in crime.”
“I’m just . . . still figuring things out,” Sam said as Kit handed her the hot beverage. Sam breathed in the scent of her tea. How could she explain her body insecurities to someone who never had to worry about things fitting and always felt totally comfortable in her own body? One of the things Sam loved about dancing was when she lost herself and just moved with the music, her instincts and self-expression taking over. She wanted to get back to that, eventually. She just wasn’t sure how to do it, all things considered. “It has been a while, so . . . I’ll think about it.”
Kit squealed and scurried around the island, giving Sam a tight side hug.
“I said I’d think about it, Kitty,” Sam said, rolling her eyes but not protesting when Kit kept an arm around Sam’s shoulders.
“That’s the most I’ve gotten from you in months. I’ll take it and be excited, thank you very much,” Kit said. She dragged her teacup across the island, picked it up, and raised it to Sam, who gently clinked her dainty china cup with her roommate’s. “Cheers to us, darling.”
“Cheers to us, indeed.”
SIX
After a long run through River North, Russ pushed himself further by taking the three flights of stairs up to his apartment, though part of him still thought of it as Cassie’s place. Now that Cassie and Reid lived together a few blocks over and Russ was gainfully employed at Simone’s, he was able to live on his own. Sure, most of his furniture consisted of either castoffs from Reid and Cassie or junk from local thrift stores, but he was happy with how things turned out. And with culinary school on the horizon, he wouldn’t be there much longer anyway. Russ thought it was a sign that the end of the sublease coincided with the same week he’d leave for New York.
Living on his own wasn’t a totally new experience—Russ was used to being alone, though he was usually couch surfing or living in the spare room of an already crowded place.
Russ took his sweaty shirt off as soon as he walked through the door of the apartment, dropping it and his phone and keys on the credenza near the front door that Cassie had left behind. He was sure that when she still lived there she had framed photos or a bowl of decorative gourds or something artfully placed to greet people when they walked in. But now that he was the new occupant, it mostly just served as a place to put stuff. Walking down the short entry hallway, Russ made his way to the kitchen, taking a dubious look at the numerous piles of mail he had failed to go through sitting on the island. He knew there was likely more in the mailbox in the foyer of the building. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, Russ turned around, toying with the idea of collapsing on the couch and watching TV for a while instead of showering right away.
With his new promotion and culinary school departure date looming, Russ knew he should be responsible, meaning he should shower and then finally take some time and try to find a place to live when he did move. He chuckled softly at the current state of the apartment—a cheap gray couch from Craigslist, the scratched wooden coffee table and tufted ottoman that Cassie and Reid cast off before getting new stuff for their apartment. He knew the space was great, but he’d barely done anything with it. Now, with not much time left in the lease, he decided the mismatched furniture and thrift shop finds would have to suffice. Russ knew he should enjoy having this space while he did, though, because he’d probably end up in a studio the size of a postage stamp in NYC.
But New York was going to be his new endeavor, and, cramped living quarters or not, Russ was ready for whatever was coming next. Though he did have to admit, having a full apartment with two bedrooms was pretty clutch.
Russ had rarely spent time in his new abode anyway. Especially during the week following Cassie and Reid’s engagement party, Russ decided that the only way to keep his mind off everything going on with Sam—and the confusing fact that their first kiss happened moments after she found out her father had had a heart attack—was to work himself to the bone. He had his shifts tending bar, but he also took on extra hours as a line cook, food runner, and even as host when their regulars were running late. Russ, Gabby, and James had discussed the budget for the food truck reno as well, so there were contractor calls to be made and décor decisions to be finalized. Thankfully all of these tasks occupied his time.
But nothing had really helped distract him, because Russ felt like all he could think about were red mesh hearts, silky fabric, dark brown eyes, and soft lips against his.
So when extra work wasn’t cutting it, he ran through the streets of River North until his lungs burned.
After a quick shower, Russ was about to warm up leftover pizza to take with him into the second bedroom (he called it his office, but it was really just a room with an old IKEA desk and a folding chair), when he got a text from his brother.
REID
At Simone’s and thinking about staying for dinner. Want to join? James promises he won’t make you work if you come in.
RUSS
Sure, I’ll be there in 15.
Russ put his pizza back in the fridge and was about to head out in a T-shirt and ratty old jeans, but he stopped and decided to change in case Sam was there.
He hadn’t heard from her since the engagement party, and he didn’t want to be a bother while she was at home taking care of her family. He knew she was close with her mom, and while he didn’t know much more than what Sam had explained to him about the situation with her dad, Russ saw how upset Sam was to learn that her dad had had a heart attack—a frightening experience in every way. He wondered briefly if he’d feel that way if his dad was in the hospital . . . He wasn’t sure how to unpack those complicated feelings.
What he did know, though, was that if Sam was there tonight, he wanted to look good. The kiss she gave him before leaving the rooftop of the BB studio was seared into his brain. It’s what he thought about while he was wiping down the bar at work each night and what he replayed over and over in his head while he jogged through the side streets of the neighborhood.
Russ also knew he wanted to do it again before he went to New York. Multiple times.
Sam had let down her sarcastic guard for a few fleeting moments and told him they should make the most of the months they had left together. They had the summer. An incredible Chicago summer to bask in each other’s company. After months of almost getting together, maybe something could happen between them.
And he intended to make it fun.
Putting on a Henley his brother would tell him was a size too small and changing into nicer jeans, Russ set out to walk the few long blocks to Simone’s.
He made his way up to the rooftop bar, which had become a city hotspot because it was open year-round. James had outfitted the open-air dining area with plenty of heating lamps—within code, of course—tall plexiglass partitions that went up to block the wind once colder temps came to town, and complimentary hand warmers to keep people toasty in the middle of winter. Luckily, the end of spring was settling in comfortably, and the need for parkas and sweaters was long gone.
Cassie, Reid, and James were sitting at one of the high-top corner tables overlooking the streets below. The rooftop was up high enough that the sounds of traffic weren’t distracting, but also not so high that you couldn’t properly people watch.
James Campbell, Russ’s boss and mentor, and Reid’s best friend, always looked so at ease in his restaurant. He was tall, with gleaming brown skin and closely cropped black hair that he always said he was considering growing into locs, but he never could commit to it. Aside from opening and running Simone’s, James didn’t commit to much—especially when it came to women.
“Cassie, what do you think about resurrecting the networking mixers we used to do here, but with artists?” James was asking as Russ sat down. He shook Russ’s hand almost like they hadn’t seen each other the day before during Russ’s shift at the bar. Reid nodded his salutation, and Cassie gave Russ a sideways squeeze when he sat down on the bench next to her.
“I think that’s a great idea, but it’d have to be cool, offbeat. The other networking events you’ve done in the past have been fine, but with the artist-slash-influencer set, you have to impress us,” she replied, dipping a carrot in hummus. She pushed the appetizer plate toward Russ and he gladly dug in.
“Maybe we could make slideshows of some of their artwork, have them submit photos through social media to be on-screen so people have something to look at while they mingle,” James said, brainstorming ideas.
“Well, a PowerPoint presentation on all the TVs is about as advanced as I could go. But you know who the best person to talk to about something like that and any other theme ideas would be . . .” Cassie said between bites of the buffalo mac and cheese with blackened shrimp that had just been delivered. Russ loved everything on the menu at Simone’s. It was classic comfort food with a twist. He hoped he’d be able to learn how to formulate his own menu plan at some point. “It’s Sam. She’s always coming up with great ideas for our events and photo shoot sets, and she can handle technology and timing, too. She single-handedly set up our engagement party in a few hours that morning, went home to change, and came back looking like a snack.” Russ noticed the knowing look that passed among the three of them, but none of them expanded on that night.
“Sam definitely provides an interesting outlook on things,” James agreed. “When she and Kit did their burlesque show together, it was off-kilter enough to keep everyone in the audience intrigued, but also on edge and laughing, too.”
“What do you mean ‘when’ they did burlesque?” Russ asked a little too eagerly. He grabbed a French fry off his brother’s plate. “They aren’t doing it anymore?”
“Kit—I mean, ‘Champagne Blonde’—still does, but her sidekick, ‘Whiskey Sour,’ is no more. She doesn’t dance as much,” Cassie answered. “Though, really, since that show in February, Kit hasn’t had time for a proper show, either.”
“I wonder what happened,” Russ said, trying to take another fry, but his brother punched him in the shoulder a little too hard.
“My sweet summer child, what do you know of fear?” Cassie said. All three men stared back at her, confused. “Never mind, clearly none of you are familiar with Game of Thrones.”
“Okay . . . Care to explain about Sam?”
“It’s not my story to tell, least of all to you,” Cassie said. “Talk to Sam.”
“She has seemed stressed, more than usual,” Reid said, nudging Cassie. “And you did dump the photobooth bus project on her for the summer.”
Before Russ could comment, their server came back and Russ placed an order for his own dinner, pasta primavera with chicken. It wasn’t too heavy, and he knew there’d be enough to take leftovers home for lunch the next day.
“Kit said she’s back from her parents’ house, you know,” James said. Russ figured James knowing the whereabouts of Sam, Kit’s roommate, meant that in their ever-changing on-again, off-again situation, he and Kit were on again.
“Maybe I’ll text her when I get back to Cassie’s,” Russ said.
“It’s your place now, baby boy,” Cassie said sipping her cocktail, then smiling at Reid. Clearly they enjoyed living together, and Russ was reaping the benefits of Cassie’s empty apartment. “Enjoy it.”
As they settled into eating their food, Russ thought about how grateful he was to Cassie, his brother, and James for all of the things they had done for him over the past several months. He had a sense of family with them. Reid had always been an elusive older brother. He was ten when Russ was born and barely wanted anything to do with him growing up. And when Russ was old enough not to be an annoying kid anymore in Reid’s eyes, he was out of the house and in college, then moving across the country, trying to jump-start his photography career. Reid had been both a role model and a deterrent to the appeal of having a close-knit family.
Last year, after he got into money trouble while he was playing in an underground poker league—in Colorado of all places—Russ’s next grand plan of coming home to the southern Chicago suburbs and trying to go to college fell through. He had underestimated how badly their dad would dupe him into taking over the hefty mortgage and utility payments on their childhood house, and how hard it was to find a decent job with a spotty and varied work history. Russ was in over his head, but he was trying to do things the “right way” and give himself a fresh start. Reid had been a last resort, and in the final hour, before Russ had lost almost everything to his name, the person who had come through for him was Reid—not his mother, the free spirit he clung to as a boy, or the deceitful father who popped in and out of their lives whenever he felt like it. Reid had adapted well to his life and relished his independence, but Russ had always craved something more.
