Premiere: A Love Story (20 page)

Sam remembered him avoiding her at graduation and thinking that he was simply keeping his distance to avoid the awkwardness of what happened. She would have never guessed he loved her that day or that he would want to steal her eyes.

“Why?”

She continued to question him, as he had her.

“Oh, here we go again.”

“Turn about is fair play, right? You wanted to know about the rainwater. You wouldn’t let it go.”

“I know. Fine, I love your eyes, always have. They’re brown, but like a mosaic, and they change colors, I never know what I’m going to get when I look into your eyes. I wanted to take them with me.”

“Only that part? Hmm, I noticed you didn’t take my mouth. Too complicated, this mouth?”

“You could say that, but the mouth is great too. I love the mouth too.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, pulled close, kissed her gently. A warm smile crossed his entire satisfied face.

“Are you hungry?”

“Very nice. Make love to me, show me some great pictures, and then . . . food. Yes, I’m starving, but it’s three o’clock in the morning, where are you going to get . . . oh, for a minute I forgot where I was, the city that never sleeps.”

About forty-five minutes later the delivery guy knocked at the door. Sam made sure she was out of sight, to avoid looking like a little harlot who shows up at a man’s house in the middle of the night.

Peter paid, handed the short, tired-looking, bald guy a tip and closed the door. While they opened the chicken, pitas, and tabouli, Sam asked about Bobby, the doorman. Peter told her the story of how he found this place and that Bobby had four children, all girls.

“That’s why he’s charming. In a house with five women, he has to be,” Sam said as they sat on the living room floor and ate off the coffee table.

They fed each other, laughed, and gazed at one another without the tension that previously forced them to look away. Everything felt fresh, without all of the baggage of home. Sam was not sitting with Peter from the past; she was with and loving Peter in the present. They discussed the last four years of the Oscars and the Tony Awards. They both agreed it was a disgrace that
Shrek
made it to Broadway, and Peter said they should see
Jersey Boys
while she was in town. They talked about new music and debated the virtues of iTunes. It was like she was getting to know this gorgeous man and she happened to remember what he looked like when he got his first dog. Sam realized why Peter loved being in New York. His apartment, his life, was so rich here, and he seemed so at ease. She loved it, loved him, maybe a little too much.

Peter’s home was something you see in a hip, urban magazine. Old and modern mixed together. Oak hardwood floors, exposed brick, huge windows, and a long rectangular skylight above the entry. Sam imagined that his apartment must fill with the most beautiful morning light. It then dawned on her that she would see that light, and her stomach fluttered.

After they ate, Peter showed her around the rest of the apartment with a grin on his face the whole time. He couldn’t stop smiling. She was actually here, in his world, his Sam, wrapped in his shirt.

He had dreamed about her here so many times. Her laugh filled his hall, and Peter realized in that moment he had everything he had ever wanted. She opened him up, let so much light in that it was bright. Looking at her standing barefoot in his shirt, Peter hoped to God he didn’t screw this up again because there was no way he would survive if he ever had to give her back again.

Sam walked through the house admiring Peter’s eclectic mesh of modern and cozy. There were old pictures of his parents and newer pictures of his mother and sister together in front of the Met. They must have visited him in New York too. There was a picture of him with Grady at a Yankees game. She also noticed a group picture. It looked liked a group of actors or an entire cast, with Peter in the center, holding a tattered script. He was smiling in a way she didn’t often see on Peter. He looked happy, so very happy. No wonder he left, she thought, trying to tear her eyes away from the pictures. She realized there were people here she’d never met who made him, his life, happy. It was an odd feeling, and Sam wondered if there were other women. She hadn’t thought about it before, and she wasn’t going to start now. She was being brave, moving forward, not dwelling on the past.

They walked down the hall, past a second bedroom on the right. There were more theater pictures, a couple of artistic ones that Sam appreciated, a close-up of an old stage light and one with the edges of a torn ticket. Great shots. The walls held programs of shows Peter had seen and his own
Playbill,
under a glass frame, right by the entrance to his bedroom. Sam was so glad she had jumped on that plane; no matter what happened she would never regret seeing this side of Peter, his life away from his childhood.

They went back to the couch, talked more, nestled in each other’s arms, and watched the last half of
The Philadelphia Story.
Peter was aware of Sam’s warm body, his arms wrapped around her. She had let him in, her heart beat in concert with his own. As he watched, her eyes drifted closed and she sighed. He felt this strange pull and recognized what she had given him. He had a second chance, one he vowed to cherish.

Chapter Twenty-One

S
am woke to the smell of bacon and the feel of cotton sheets. It took her a minute to figure out where she was and then she sank into a smile. It wasn’t a dream. Peter had carried her from the couch in the early morning, taken her to his bed, and made love to her again. This time it was slow and achingly tender. The urgency was replaced by soft and total adoration. The warmth of the love they shared surrounded her as she reached out to touch the side Peter slept on. He had obviously gotten up to make the bacon that filled the house with its aroma along with the sound of the Police.
Good Lord, did anyone still listen to the Police?
Not even the alluring sounds of Sting, but old-school Police. Sam came around the corner wearing Peter’s shirt and trying to fluff her bedhead into something appealing. Many women would go in the bathroom, brush their teeth or their hair. Some supercrazy women might even put on makeup before walking out to see a lover. Sam decided she wasn’t most women. She wanted to be with Peter more than she cared about her hair.

Peter turned, spatula in hand, as she walked into the kitchen, and the corner of his mouth turned up, making him look like a devilish little boy. Feeling quite sexy and fueled by that look, Sam said nothing. She kissed him slowly. Peter dropped the spatula and wrapped his arms around her. She pulled away and said: “Good morning.”

Peter was in the jeans he’d worn the night before, not quite buttoned all the way, and a worn T-shirt. His hair was all over the place and he had at least two days of stubble as he stood in his bare feet with the morning light spilling into the kitchen. Sam sauntered over to the coffee machine feeling playful.

Peter’s eyes hung on her as he bent to pick up the spatula.

“Good morning to you too. That is officially my favorite shirt.”

Sam laughed and poured some coffee. He took the bacon off the stove and stood behind her at the counter.

“I can’t get enough,” he whispered into her neck.

“I know.”

His hands traveled up her body.

“I keep thinking someone’s going to tell me this is all some kind of mistake or a dream.”

Peter spread the top part of her shirt open and kissed her neck.

“If it’s a dream, it is the best dream I’ve ever had . . .”

He took her earlobe in his teeth and warmed it with his tongue.

“And I’d . . . be perfectly fine never waking up again.”

Peter’s new favorite shirt fell to the kitchen floor. His hands ran down Sam’s bare back, and, with that touch, breakfast would have to wait. They had let so many things get in the way, even if they’d yet to figure out the details, they both needed each other in the most desperate way.

They eventually ate breakfast, took a shower, and dressed for their day in New York. Peter called it “Playing Tourist for a Day.” They were going to take in all the tourist spots, some of which neither of them had ever seen despite Sam’s having been to New York several times and Peter being a local now. They hailed cabs and gladly waited in lines. The Empire State Building line was insane, but it was a great place to people watch, and they honestly didn’t care as long as they were together. Sam and Peter held hands, looked in windows, and gawked at the landmarks that made New York such a famous city. It was fun being a tourist and time truly stood still. It was as if they were two young lovers on vacation, isolated and suspended.

They split a pastrami sandwich at Katz’s Deli and walked for miles in Central Park. The weather was warm, and they sat on a bench to talk like they had done their entire lives. It was a perfect day, and even though she knew it made no sense, Sam never wanted to go home. Home was complicated. Her relationship with Peter was complicated, and there were still things that would crop up and get in their way, but in New York they were off to a brilliant start.

Later that evening, they were at the Drama Desk Awards. That afternoon Sam had found a great Elie Saab dress. It was sheer black, and she bought a pair of strappy heels to go with it. She wore her hair loosely back, exposing her neck. She felt sexy and sophisticated, inspired by the city and by being with Peter in his element. Sam met new people and was so proud of the things they were saying about Peter and his work. He was well respected and so humble. Sam was relieved to be off her feet as soon as the driver closed the door to the car. Peter pulled her legs onto his lap.

“You are breathtaking tonight. I mean I know that’s overused, but there were times I looked across the room at you and actually couldn’t take a breath.”

“And you were brilliant. Cute too, but brilliant. You belong here and your play, well now that you know I saw it, I can honestly say it is relevant, touching work, Peter.”

“Didn’t win.”

He started rubbing her feet.

“Oh, poor baby. What’s that they say about just being nominated?”

Peter laughed.

“Did you have a good time?”

“I had a great time. I always have a great time . . .”

He leaned in to kiss her, had to taste her. Peter touched the soft skin of her neck, and Sam felt like she was falling into a deep well. She knew he would catch her, knew he loved her, but what if he didn’t, couldn’t catch her? She pulled her legs off his lap and put her shoes back on.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I, I needed to sit up. My head was spinning and I was . . .”

“Happy?”

She tried to smile.

“Yes, of course I’m happy. I really need to be careful. We were going to take it slow, remember?”

“Sam, be happy. We will still be happy back in Pasadena. I’m not letting go. I promised.”

“I know, and it’s really not bothering me, it feels, it feels like we could just live this way forever, but . . .”

“Why can’t we? Haven’t we wasted enough time, Sam? This, this is so right.”

“It is, but it feels like a storm, too strong sometimes. I try to keep everything where I can control it. I like control these days, you know? I find myself needing you desperately and that’s hard to control.”

Peter took her hand.

“I need you too. It’s a good storm, Sam. Whatever is up ahead, we will be fine.”

Peter could feel her fear, see it when she didn’t think he was looking. It killed him every time, but all he could do was keep moving forward, show her their future.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Peter closed the door as she tossed her purse on the table. They were just like any other couple coming home after a night out.

Peter turned Sam in the entry and kissed her. It became more as he pulled the few pins out of her hair that held it slightly off her neck. He touched her shoulder, caressing her with only the tips of his fingers, and then found her lips again. They backed out of the entry, still tangled in touching, and hit a wall. Sam’s hands climbed into Peter’s hair. Peter pulled back from the kiss, looked deep into her eyes, and began to understand what Sam meant by a storm. He saw it in her face.

“Sam.”

“I . . . I need . . .” fell out of her mouth.

“I know.”

He ran his hands up her back and, as her dress hit the floor, Sam stood there in nothing but La Perla and Ferragamo. Peter touched the delicate lace of her bra. Slowly.

“You are so . . . oh, Christ.”

Sam knew the feeling. Peter lifted her gently, she wrapped him in her legs and the need. They simply drowned in the need.

Exhausted they collapsed down the wall. Sam laughed and Peter opened one eye.

“What? Are you seriously laughing after that? That was a world-rocking, heart racing, up against the wall explosion and you, you’re giggling?”

She covered her mouth.

“Sorry. I was just wondering if this tops the black dress I wore the night you rescued me from Harrison?”

His head fell back, still hoping for a full breath, and he tried to imagine seventeen-year-old Peter.

“Thank God you saved this for our adult life. I would have gone up in flames back then.”

Sam kissed him, still laughing, and then untangled herself.

“Are those shoes, by any chance, comfortable? Because it would be all right if you never took them off. You know like jeans and those shoes, sweatpants and the shoes, or hell, only those pieces of lace and the shoes, forever.”

“I think that would get old.”

She smiled and made sure to bend slowly when she reached for and slipped into his jacket.

“I don’t think it would get old. Ever.”

Peter zipped his pants, ran his hands over his face, and looked at Sam standing in his tuxedo jacket.

“That’s a great look too.”

“For that, I’m going to cook for you in the shoes. Follow me.”

She pulled on his pant loop having the very best time being the sexy siren. Sam felt powerful and so comfortable.

She made omelets that they ate in bed. Sam fell asleep curled into Peter as the sun began to peek over the skyline. As Peter watched her slide into sleep, he kissed her forehead and knew he would never see anything more beautiful for the rest of his life. She was it for him, and his heart felt as if it rolled in his chest.