Page 27 of And Then Came You

This would be one of those times.

“I’ll see you later, Sam.”

Sam hangs his head, looking defeated. “You don’t have to leave, Lexi.”

My gaze volleys between the two of them, a resigned shrug my only answer.

I hope he’ll stop me as I walk downstairs, telling me how much he prefers me to the willowy blonde bombshell. That’s how it plays out in the romance novels, right? Unfortunately, reality doesn’t adhere to my romantic ideals.

Bad luck all around. For me, at least.

I offer a wave to Fakira as I pass the living room, before closing the front door and heading toward my car.

I don’t regret the drive up here, or that my tight literary deadline is now way tighter.

But I hate that Sam didn’t stand up for me. His silence spoke volumes about his genuine feelings regarding me. That knowledge hurts, even if I know a man like Sam would never fall for a woman like me.

I’m not knocking myself, either. Not by any means. I’m pretty, successful, and smart. I make a damn good living and I’m kindhearted. I’m a catch, but I’m no supermodel. No urban jet-setter. I lack the glamour and glitz of the women prancing through Sam’s life.

I know this. I’ve always known it… except in those few moments when I rested my head against Sam’s chest and felt his heart beating. For that brief interlude, I convinced myself that the racing of his heart was because of me. I know mine was because of him.

I’m not prepared for these unexpected feelings swirling in my gut. All I know is I need to put some serious distance between me and Sam.

Get my head on straight.

Get back in the friend zone.

Get laid, for God’s sake.

“Lexi, please wait.”

I turn to see Fakira hurrying toward me, a box in her arms. “What do you have there?”

“Curtis had so many pictures and stories, but you know more of them than I do. Definitely more than my son.” She glances toward the house, as raised voices carry through the open bedroom window. “I don’t like her, Lexi.”

“Sam likes her. That’s what matters.”

She nods, a resigned look on her face. “I like you.”

“I like you, too, but Sam and I are strictly friends. One hundred percent platonic.”

“I really hoped he might meet a wonderful woman one day. Then when I met you…”

Squeezing her arm, I force a smile. “He will. Just, hopefully not that one.” I motion toward the window, earning a smirk from Fakira.

“Let’s hope not. Take these photos. Maybe you, as a storyteller, can make sense of Curtis’s story.”

My hands tremble as I accept her offering. This is not a handkerchief or a piece of jewelry. This is Curtis’s life, scattered among the yellowing photos and fraying letters. I realize this is his greatest treasure, and they have tasked me with bringing him back to life through his correspondence.

A hefty challenge, to be sure, but one I’ll gladly take on. “I’ll do my best.”

“When will I see you again? Please don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll be by soon. Promise.” With a final kiss on the cheek, I slide behind the wheel, Curtis’s life story by my side.

I chance a last glance at the bedroom window before I leave, catching sight of Sam standing there, his face forlorn.

He doesn’t need more stress. What he needs is kindness and understanding. Let’s hope Sveta realizes that once I’ve gone.

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