Page 55 of Begin Again
“I’m not hungry yet,” I tell Sam. “But you can get something if you want. I’m going to go jump in the pool for a second before I sit out here in the sun so I don’t get too hot.”
“Want me to help with your sunscreen?” he asks as I pull off my shirt. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he’s checking me out, and for some reason, I don’t mind. Lately, I’ve avoided any man looking in my direction, but I watch as he takes me in. When his eyes meet mine again, there’s a reverent sort of look in them, like he can’t believe that I let him look at me that way.
“Sure,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. I slip off my shorts and turn around for him to get my shoulders and my back. His fingers are soft and his touch is gentle as he starts to rub on the sunscreen. I nearly lean into his touch, it feels so good. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to not do anything drastic—like turn around and kiss him like my life depended on it. Because that’s really what I want to do with his hands all over my back.
Once he’s done, I do my face and arms. When I drop the bottle on my seat, I can feel his eyes on me again.
“Can I help you?” I ask in a joking voice.
“Your tattoo.” He points to my exposed hip bone. I didn’t realize how low these bottoms sit on my body until now. But my tiny tattoo is peeking out over the waistband.
“What about it?” I ask. I know why he’s asking, it’s the sun. Thesame sunfrom the ring he gave me all those years ago. And he calls me sunshine, he’s the only one that calls me sunshine.
He looks at me, his eyes wild. I’ve never seen him like this.
“It’s just a tattoo,” I say, trying to brush it off. Maybe I should tell him about it, but maybe I want him to wonder about it a little more.
“Right,” he says, his voice gruff. “It’s just a tattoo.”
I nod, satisfied that I’ve got him so discombobulated. Join the club my friend. “I’ll be back in a few,” I say and then I head toward the pool. After I jump in and look over to our spot, I can tell that he is still in the same position that I left him in.
This makes me smile.
When I get back to our chairs, his eyes are closed. He still has his shirt off and I allow myself ten seconds to look at him. He’s as beautiful as he’s always been.
By the time he opens his eyes again, I’m back in my shirt and shorts. How could I have forgotten that he didn’t know about the tattoo? I’m still not ready to talk about it. Not with Sam.
Not yet.
“You hungry?” Sam sits up and stretches and I have to avert my gaze as I feel myself grow warm remembering this morning. I want to close my eyes and forget those gorgeous abs. And my silly Greek god comment.
“I could eat,” I say.
“A lady was just talking about some good pancakes at a place across the street from the food trucks. We could go if you’re up for a walk.”
“Sure.”
Really though, I just keep waiting for the urge to run to hit me. I know it’s going to come because that’s what always happens to me. When things get too real or too deep, I run. I did it with Sam when we were younger. I did it when I ran away from my life in Colorado to start culinary school, even though Mom didn’t want me to. I tried when I was with Mitch, but he didn’t let me. And then I let him control so many parts of me for so long, that I’m only now starting to find myself again. I kept telling myself, when I got back to Colorado six months ago, that I was going to be different, that it was the last time I ran. That I could finally face my feelings and the harder things in life.
The real things.
But now that Sam is sitting beside, real as ever in that Greek god body of his and saying all sorts of things that confuse my brain and staring at my tattoo like he remembers that cheap ring he got me years ago...I feel like I should want to run.
And I do, but straight into his arms. I want this to be real between us. A real relationship for the first time ever, and a real marriage instead of one of convenience. And I don’t have any idea what that means.
The pancake place is to die for. Sam orders a pineapple pancake ensemble and I order their original pancakes with hashbrowns and eggs on the side. “We’ll have to bring Noah and Tally here tomorrow morning,” I say after I take my first bite.
“It is really good,” he says. “Can I try yours? Mine are way too sweet.”
We end up trading pancakes, because I love his and he prefers the normal ones.
“So, more pool time after this?”
“For sure.” He grins and it’s a glorious sight, I ignore the voice in my head that tells me I shouldn’t get attached, that I shouldn't let his smile affect me so much. But part of me—the part that is so tired from running—wants to do more to stay close to him, to see what could happen between us if I let my real feelings show, for the first time ever, between us.
31
ANNIE
