Stick in the Mud Meets Spontaneity (Meet Your Match, book 3) (15 page)

Sam turned her face away from the glow, wishing she’d thought to come out here earlier, before the stars had disappeared. Then maybe she would have been able to check “Sleep under the stars” off her bucket list. Perhaps she still could. The stars were glittering somewhere in the vast universe even if they weren’t visible.

“Sam,” a gentle voice cooed, bringing Sam back from a world of elephant-sized chirping birds and miniature sheep wearing Stetsons. Warm hands grasped her shoulders, giving her a little shake. Her eyes drifted open to see her mother staring down at her.

“What are you doing out here?”

Sam stretched and yawned, then snuggled into the hammock once more. “Trying to sleep. Go away.”

“How long have you been out here?”

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

Noon. Oh good. At least she’d gotten a few hours of sleep, though her body still cried out for more.

“Honey, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve texted, called, finally found your phone but not you. Couldn’t you have at least left a note, a clue, something?”

“I left the back door unlocked,” Sam murmured, grateful for the shade her mother’s body provided. The cooler air felt wonderful.

“Honey.” Another shake of Sam’s shoulders, and her eyes reopened. “Seriously, why are you out here? You only sleep somewhere else when something’s bothering you. And the entire left side of your face and arms are red. You need to get out of the sun.”

Red? Sam’s palms flew to her face, feeling the difference in temperature between her cheeks. Squirming to a sitting position, she inspected her nearly hot pink arms.

“Fabulous,” she groaned. Not even her good concealer could cover up a solid sunburn. No wonder most people preferred to sleep under the stars instead of under the sun. The stars were kinder.

Her body rolled from the hammock and she trotted inside, going straight to the half bath next to the kitchen. She groaned again. Her face looked like the flag of Indonesia turned on its side.

Are you kidding me?
she thought.

“Why can’t my skin just tan?” she grumbled as she glared at her reflection. It would be easy to return to the hammock and let the right side of her body catch up to her left. But having been cursed with pale, tanless skin, her entire face would turn red.

Maybe if she put some ice on it…

Sam dashed past her mother to the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen peas. Pressing them against the left side of her face, she noticed her mother watching her with an expectant
Well? I’m waiting
.

Sam dropped down on a barstool and propped her arm up on the table. “I couldn’t sleep, so around five I went out back to read and fell asleep in the hammock. Sorry I didn’t leave any clues other than an unlocked back door.”

“Is there a reason you couldn’t sleep?”

Sam bit her lower lip, wishing she could trust her mother to be impartial. But her mother wasn’t impartial. She was pro Sam-folding-in-her-wings and staying put in Colorado. And that made her the last person Sam wanted to talk to about this.

“I think there was a pea under my mattress,” she finally said.

“And now there’s a bag of peas next to your face.”

Sam considered the frozen vegetable. What would happen if she mashed the peas into a gooey mush and applied it to her face as a mask? Maybe she would discover that the tiny vegetables were really an unknown natural remedy that could draw the red out of sunburns. Sam could design an attractive label for it, market it, become a millionaire, and not have to worry about sticking to her career goals any longer.

Problem solved.

Her mother sighed. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t force it out of you. But I’m always here for you if you need to talk. And I mean that in a figurative way because I have to run to meet a client right now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“My face is half red. What do you think?”

Her mom let out a breath before grabbing her purse and withdrawing her keys. “You sound normal to me. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

“I hope peas aren’t on the menu. You might not have any left by then.”

Her mother paused by the garage door. “I was thinking of grabbing some take-out since I probably won’t have time to cook anything.”

Sam brightened. “I can cook dinner.” She’d tried to help out a few times since she’d been home, but her sweet, amazing cook of a mother couldn’t help but take over when Sam wasn’t doing it just right. Her demotion from assistant chef to gopher always happened in a matter of minutes.

Tonight, though, she could be head chef.

Her mother didn’t look sold on the idea. “Are you sure? Take-out is fine with me tonight.”

“Positive. I’ll even whip up some lemon meringue pie for dessert.”

“But you’ve never made lemon meringue.”

Oh, but Sam had. Or at least tried. Her roommate had once wanted a lemon meringue pie for her birthday, and Sam had decided it make it herself. It had come out of the oven looking like an overcooked squash. Poor thing.

“I’ll learn,” said Sam. Tonight would be her chance for redemption. She’d watch several YouTube videos before she even attempted to whip those egg whites. And when she pulled that pie out of the oven later today with all of its stiff, majestic peaks, she could cross yet another thing off her bucket list. Even with a half red face and a few hours of sleep, the rest of the day wasn’t looking so bad.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He went to the gym with Kevin. Should be back soon, assuming he can still walk.”

Sam smiled and gave her mother a dismissive wave. “Off you go, then. I’ve got peas to defrost, a menu to plan, shopping to do, and a large white chef hat to find.”

“Don’t forget the apron.” Her mother blew a kiss her way. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Freshly invigorated, Sam shoved the bag of peas into the freezer and jogged upstairs to get ready for the day. She blew her hair dry and tried her best to tone down the red with foundation, but it made her look like an Oompa Loompa, so she washed it off.

Giving up, she grabbed her phone to search for recipes and found eight new text messages instead.

Five were from her mother.

Where are you?

Your car is still here. Did you go to Emma’s?

You’re not at Emma’s. I just called. Did you fall asleep in your car?

Not in your car, not on the couch. Not in the bathroom. My, you’re quiet as a mouse.

Really, where are you?

Two were from Cassie.

11:03 AM:
Want to come to a matinee with the girls and me? Adi’s DYING to see you. Starts at 12:30.

12:28PM:
Guess we’ll catch you another time. Have a great day. I want to hear all about your date.

Sam wrote a quick reply.

Sorry! Didn’t get your message until now. Give the girls a kiss from me and bring everyone to dinner tonight. I’m cooking.

The last one was from Colton. Sam’s stomach flopped and flipped when she saw his name.

Want to go country dancing tonight?

Sam smiled. Then frowned. Then bit her lip. The thought of spending the evening tucked away in Colton’s arms sent a host of happy ripples through her body, but what would another night with him do to those unchangeable, concrete career goals of hers?

It wouldn’t touch them. They were unalterable, irreversible, permanent. They
were
.

Still, maybe it would be better not to go. Sam had crossed country dancing off her list the night she and Kajsa had learned a line dance from YouTube anyway.

Undecided, her thumb hovered over the Reply button for a moment before she switched to the internet browser, going straight to her mother’s favorite recipe site. She began scrolling through one recipe idea after another, all of them blurring into something resembling mashed potatoes. Her thoughts were too fixated on Colton to concentrate on anything else.

Without even waiting a day, he’d asked her out again. That had to mean he had a great time too. Perhaps even a possible-life-altering good time like she’d had?

No. Guys weren’t nearly as dramatic.

Should I? Shouldn’t I? Should I? Shouldn’t I?

Where was a daisy when she needed one? A Magic 8 ball would work too.

Argh. What was she thinking? Sam had a brain. She was an adult. She could weigh the pros and cons, along with the possible risks, and make this decision on her own.

Maybe she should start a list.

No! No more lists! Enough with the lists!

Her eyes drifted from her phone to her bookcase. On the second shelf, three books from the left, rested her journal.

That
was the problem. Right there. Why she couldn’t focus. Why she couldn’t sleep. Why her brain was a whirling twister. She needed to get away from it.

Be gone, journal,
Sam thought as she scampered into the hall.
Be gone
.

She jogged down the stairs, still clutching her phone, and found her father with a large red bowl filled to the brim with Frosted Flakes and milk.

He wrapped an arm protectively around it and pulled it closer to him. “I worked out,” he said. “This kind of food is allowed after what Kevin just put me through.”

“Don’t worry. Mom’s not here.” Sam picked up the half empty cereal box. “I didn’t know she bought sugar cereal anymore. Where did you find this?”

“I picked it up on my way home, along with some other contraband.” He nodded toward a grocery sack on the chair next to him. “Want some?”

Realizing she hadn’t eaten all morning, Sam nodded. “Don’t mind if I do.” She filled a regular-sized bowl and took a seat next to her father.

He continued to munch on his cereal as he eyed her. “What are you doing home? You’re usually off gallivanting around the ranch or with Kajsa and Adi.

“Guess all of that ‘gallivanting’ finally caught up to me because I slept in. But guess what? Mom agreed to let me make dinner tonight. Any suggestions?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “She didn’t give you any restrictions on food, the color of vegetables required, or a maximum number of calories allowed?”

“She was in a hurry.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a devious smile. “In that case, pasta with the creamiest sauce you can find. The more butter and cream the better. Oh, and French bread too, slathered in butter and garlic and Parmesan cheese.”

Sam nodded, thinking about a yummy white sauce her roommate used to make with yogurt. When it came to her father’s health, she was okay with letting a few “contraband” items sneak past, but there was a limit to what she’d do for her dad. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice or would chalk it up to Sam’s subpar cooking abilities.

“Pasta and white sauce it is.”

“Oh, and dessert.”

“I’m making lemon meringue.”

“Perfect.” He shoved another spoon of sugar-coated flakes in his mouth. “What am I going to do when you leave me for New York?”

Sam took a small bite of her own cereal and studied her father. “You’re okay with me going, right? I mean, you wouldn’t really want me to turn down the job to stay here, would you?”

“Are you kidding? Opportunities like that don’t come along every day. I know your mother gives you a hard time about leaving, but that’s only because she’s going to miss you.
We’re
going to miss you. But
we’re
excited for you too. In fact, I’ve already caught her looking at airline tickets to New York.”

“Really?” That was news to Sam. Great news. It meant that her mother had faith that her daughter really would stick to her career convictions despite a certain distraction named Colton McCoy.

If only Sam had as much faith in herself.

“Have the time of your life in New York,” said her dad. “Work hard for Jason Brecken, go to as many shows as you can, see the sights, and enjoy the adventure of it all. Just keep making good choices and don’t forget who you are.”

“Never.”

“I know. But parents are obligated to say that every once in a while.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Sam finished her cereal and rinsed her bowl in the sink. Then she turned around, leaned her hip against the sink, and folded her arms. “Dad, can I get your advice about something?”

“Considering I’m the wisest person I know, you should always get my advice.”

She shifted positions, digging her toes into the rug on the floor in front of the sink. “Well, I’m going to New York, right? I mean,
going
. As in there’s-absolutely-no-way-I’d-ever-change-my-mind going.”

“I didn’t realize I was trying to change your mind.”

“I know. It’s just that Colton…” This was harder to explain than Sam thought.

“
Colton’s
trying to change your mind?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “We haven’t talked about the future yet. I mean, who has a DTR after only one date?”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s that list—that
stupid
list Mom made me start when I was sixteen. It’s messing with my head and making me think about things I shouldn’t be thinking about yet. One date, Dad! One! Well, possibly two if I go dancing with him tonight. Which is exactly the problem because I don’t know if it should be two even though I really want it to be. And Colton—well, he’s special and different enough to make me worry that maybe it shouldn’t be two because it might mess with everything. You know? And now I have no idea what to do.”