Heaven and Hell (28 page)

After our explorations, except when we
stayed at the fishing village, we went back, found dinner then
wandered to an open air taverna, had drinks then we wandered back
to the hotel and had a different kind of fun that wasn’t relaxing
until after its culmination.

In other words, Lake Como wasn’t heaven.

Crete was.

It was perfect.

No dramas. No rushing out of restaurants
like the fraught heroine in a romantic comedy. Just sun, beautiful
vistas, relaxing beaches, exploration, being together and
discovering each other.

The only thing that marred this was, without
a variety of things to pull our attention away from each other,
such as grieving friends, new acquaintances and the aforementioned
crises, it was beginning to unsettle me that Sam couldn’t
relax.

It was definitely part Sam being an action
man and not content to wile away the hours doing pretty much
nothing.

But it was more.

He seemed aware and alert all the time, like
he was when we had our first dinner together. He was into me,
giving me his attention, listening to me, talking to me but even as
he did this, he scanned, he observed, both our surroundings and
mostly the people in them.

I tried to tell myself this was a leftover
from being a commando, trained to be aware of every nuance of your
environment so you were not taken off-guard.

But he’d got out of the Army ages ago and we
were in Crete, not Afghanistan. Sure, there were always a variety
of dangers anywhere you were but, unless we were behind closed and
locked doors to our rooms, this was Sam’s constant state.

And I’d overheard what I overheard Sam and
Luci talking about and, try as I might, I couldn’t un-hear it. Sam
didn’t mention it. In fact, he continued to be open, honest and
communicative but… not. I freely mentioned him being an
ex-commando, usually in a teasing way, he’d grin, smile, even
laugh. But he wouldn’t share.

Maybe he thought I knew, considering I’d
internet stalked him, it would stand to reason that I’d read the
book about him (which I had).

But as our time together wore on, as I
learned more about Gordo and how deep their connection was, but
only through fun stories of what men got up to when they were
carousing, not war stories; as I learned about his brother Ben, but
only amusing stories of brothers getting up to mischief and not how
he was lost or how Sam felt about that; and absolutely nothing
about his time or activities in the Army, why he got out, anything,
it became less about him thinking I already knew (when I couldn’t
possibly) and more about him keeping things from me.

And, considering a great deal of the time we
shared included intimate moments and quiet conversations where he
guided me through stories of Cooter, what Cooter had done, how I’d
felt, why I’d made the decisions I’d made and Sam had gone to great
lengths to assure me my behavior was perfectly natural, my
decisions were rational based on my circumstances, my actions were
understandable considering they were self-preserving and I
shouldn’t beat myself up about them, it was clear he was not shying
away from deep, meaningful, revealing conversations.

They were just all about me.

On this thought with my sunglassed eyes
trained on the waters of the pool, my cell beside me rang. I picked
it up and looked at the display seeing it said “Paula Calling”.

I was surprised, it was way early at home. I
was also freaked because it was way early at home.

I flipped it open and greeted, “Hey,
honey.”

“Problem,” she announced, sounding
frustrated.

Oh man.

“What?”

“Well, the other person bidding on that unit
at The Dorchester upped their offer by ten K. Ten
freaking
K! Again! The text just came in.
Just now.
You made your
last bid two days ago and they’re texting me at the five o’clock in
the freakin’ morning!”

I closed my eyes.

I had been on the phone quite a bit since
our last full day in Lake Como. These conversations included
chatting with Celeste who was making it clear our relationship was
not going to die after I left Lake Como (for which I was thankful).
They also included chatting and texting with Luci, who was making
it clear she was intent on building her relationship with me right
along with Sam even if she and I were in different countries (again
with the thankful part). And they also included talking to and
texting Paula about The Dorchester unit.

I’d made five thousand dollars more than
asking price on my house in the end, which was awesome. I had my
deposit. Paula was sorting all the mumbo jumbo. I was ready to
roll.

But even though the housing market had been
stagnant (or worse) for over a year, not only did I do well on the
sale of my house, now I was in the bidding war to end all bidding
wars to get that unit.

A unit I hadn’t even seen.

I’d finally offered asking price, thinking
that would end it. They’d countered with ten K more. At Paula’s
suggestion, I’d countered with five thousand more. Now they were
countering with ten thousand more.

That meant The Dorchester unit would go,
currently, for twenty-five thousand more than the list price.

That was insane.

But I wanted it, my house was sold, once
Paula sorted the mumbo jumbo we would close then I’d have no home,
not to mention I had the money.

I had no clue what to do.

I opened my eyes and informed Paula of this
fact in those exact same words.

“It’s all about how much you want it,” Paula
replied. “There’s nothing like The Dorchester anywhere around. The
only other condo unit is totally not as cool or well-kept as The
Dorchester and it’s all the way out on Six which is, like, at least
a fifteen minute drive from Kroger and that’s not during rush hour.
But it’s way cheaper and I know they have several units on the
market. You could go for a house but you said you don’t want to
deal with a yard. You could move out of Heartmeadow but then I’d
have to kill you. So, really, how much do you want it?”

It wasn’t just that.

Sure, I had bunches of money but if I kept
throwing it around, I wouldn’t have any at all. And I’d quit my job
before going on vacation, not because I didn’t like who I worked
with, just that I never liked what I was doing, as in,
at
all
. It bored me stiff and I had a new chance at life, so I
decided I’d go for it, whole hog. I had thoughts of going home from
my vacation and going to school, getting a degree or learning a
vocation. I just had no idea what degree I’d get or what vocation
I’d learn. I’d quit dreaming years ago, I never imagined I’d have
this opportunity and not only that, but the sky being the limit.
Heck, I could even go for a master’s degree, become a lawyer (not
that I wanted to do that), pretty much anything.

The plethora of choice I suddenly found
myself confronted with as to which life path I wanted to explore
was too much.

I was supposed to be sorting all this out on
vacation but instead I was spending all my time cavorting with a
hot guy and using all my headspace thinking about said hot guy.

Shit.

“I need to think about this,” I told Paula
but I didn’t need to think about it.

I’d never bought a house. Cooter and his
parents dealt with everything when we bought our house.

But of the things I’d learned about Sam, I
knew he had bought several.

I didn’t need to think about it, I needed to
ask someone with experience what I should do.

Paula cut into my thoughts.

“Right, think. You need to process, call.
You want to counter or back out, text. But whatever you do, don’t
do any of it for three hours. I gotta crash. This Heartmeadow real
estate heat up is draining me dry. I haven’t had a commission in
three months, now I got so much going on, I can’t keep it all
straight. I need sleep and I need to give my man a break from this
shit. When that text came in, swear, babe, I thought he was going
to throw my cell out the window. You know how Rudy likes his beauty
rest.”

Rudy didn’t like his beauty rest, Rudy
totally crashed after giving Paula the business, something Paula
referred to as Rudy needing his “beauty rest”. She’d shared this
with us (repeatedly). She thought it was adorable. Then again,
Rudy, Paula also shared (repeatedly) was energetic so after a
session he’d have to crash and, the way she described it, anyone
would.

Apparently, but not unusually, Paula had got
herself some that night.

Though, this reminder highlighted that Sam
was even more energetic than the most energetic encounters Paula
had described, he was five years older than Rudy and he was always
up before me or he fell asleep after me.

Interesting.

“Yo, babe? Are you in a Crete coma or are
you with me?” Paula called and my head twitched as I came back to
the conversation.

“Sorry, honey, I’m here and can do, three
hours, no sooner, you’ll hear from me,” I told her.

“Okay, babe, and while you think, remember
you’ll be home soon. The Dorchester isn’t the only place. Who knows
what’ll open up? We can go to viewings; you can stay with Rudy and
me or your Mom and Dad if you don’t find a place before you close
on your house.”

Hmm.

No.

Or, more accurately,
hell no.

That was not going to happen.

I loved Paula and Rudy and they had a
kickass guest room but they were semi-newlyweds that acted like
newly-newlyweds. It was cute, in small doses. Being a bedroom over,
probably not so much.

And I loved my Mom and Dad but if I was
under my mother’s roof, she would insist on feeding me. I’d been a
married woman with my own house for seven years and I had not once
provided Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners for my family. This was
Mom’s domain. She taught me how to cook but she was not only a
taskmaster and drill sergeant, she usually ended up shoving you out
of the way and taking over, especially if you did something she
thought was crazy, like, say, drain the grease from browned
hamburger before dumping in the spaghetti sauce. She went ballistic
when I did that, shouting, “That’s where all the flavor is!” I had
a hot guy who was
way
into my body the way it was, I didn’t
need to gain seventy-five pounds and lose him.

Obviously, I didn’t tell Paula this.

Instead I said, “Thanks, sweetie. Sleep well
and we’ll talk later.”

“Gotcha,” Paula replied then, “Can’t wait
for you to be home, babe. Hear all your stories. Look at your
pictures. And just have you home.”

I totally loved my girl Paula.

And she was totally going to
freak
when she heard my stories and saw my pictures because, the last few
days on Crete, more than once I’d asked a passerby to take one of
Sam and me. I had at least a dozen.

And all of them were
awesome.

We said our good-byes and rung off, I looked
at the time on the display of my cell and calculated it.

Sam was either taking a shower or going to
arrive back at the room imminently to do so. Therefore, instead of
talking to him about something as important as my future home while
kids were squealing doing cannonballs in the pool or bunches of
people were squealing while doing water sports in the
Mediterranean, the cool, quiet confines of our room was a better
place to have the conversation.

I got up, tied my sarong around my bikini
bottoms, gathered my stuff then hoofed it up to our room.

The hotel was built into the side of a steep
hill. It was also exclusive. This was partly because it wasn’t so
much rooms as pretty, white-walled, terracotta tile-roofed, little
bungalows dotting the hill with meandering paths between. There
were some which had two rooms in the unit. But Sam and mine didn’t.
When we checked in, he upgraded my reservation so our room wasn’t a
room with bathroom and balcony attached to someone else’s room with
bathroom and balcony. It was a room with a lounge, bedroom,
bathroom and veranda that was all ours.

It was also awesome.

But it was close to the top, private and a
heck of a climb.

Sam ran it on the days he ran.

I did not. Ever.

I made it to the top, pleased with myself
that I was only breathing kind of heavy rather than wheezing (like
the first time I took the trek). In the cool, shadowed, covered
entryway, I shoved my sunglasses back on my head and was putting my
key in the lock when the door was flung open.

My body jolted in surprise then it went
solid when, before I could get my wits about me, Sam’s long fingers
curled on my upper arm and he yanked me into our room.

Not gently.

Not rough in an “I’m gonna pick you up,
throw you on the bed and ravish you” way.

No.

He just
yanked
me into the room.

Then he slammed the door, pulled my kickass,
wood handled, straw beach bag out of my hand and tossed it on the
couch.

I blinked at the couch then automatically
started backing up when Sam’s big body was suddenly in my space and
advancing.

My head jerked to him and I saw he had his
phone to his ear. He was sweaty, in workout clothes and he had a
face like thunder.

I stopped breathing.

With his furious eyes locked to mine, Sam
stopped advancing but I didn’t stop retreating. I went back five
more steps until I ran into a chair.

That was when I stopped.

But, even moving, I didn’t… no,
couldn’t
tear my eyes from the fury in his.

And vaguely I realized that he’d not only
yanked me roughly into the room, he’d also made it so he was
between me and the door, a big, powerfully built obstacle I had no
prayer of breaching.

My heart stopped beating.

What was happening?

“Yeah,” he bit off into his phone. “No
comment. I don’t comment on that shit. You know I don’t ever
comment on that shit.” Pause then his eyes went from sweltering to
scorching, “I’ll talk to her.”