Page 275 of The Havenport Collection

Sam

I had been walking around town for a few hours, enjoying the June sunshine and the sea breeze off the harbor.

I was feeling restless, my mind and body at war over my diagnosis.

One part of me wanted to curl up in bed and never leave, and the other part…

well, the other part was chomping at the bit for some excitement, some adventure.

Sam Sullivan was never one to back down from a challenge.

And Gio’s encouragement, in addition to multiple rounds with my new punching bag, had done wonders for my outlook.

Since birth, the word “no” had sparked something in my brain. When I was told I couldn’t do something, I usually turned around and did it anyway. And so I was at a crossroads with cancer—probably the biggest, scariest challenge of my life—and my innate Sam-ness squaring off.

Could I kick its ass? Maybe. What would it cost me? It wasn’t a question of whether my body could survive it. The doctors had made it clear that this was treatable and I was looking at very positive outcomes. But emotionally? Psychologically? I wasn’t sure.

I was feeling like shit—exhausted, depressed, and totally confused.

I had spent the morning on the phone with Pascal, my boss at the Globe Bank.

He had been extremely kind and accommodating, but it was clear that things were going to change.

I was no longer looking at a three-month medical leave, but at least six, making any chance of promotion unlikely.

He also confirmed that there were openings in the DC office for me to explore when I had a timeline for my return to work.

It would be a change, moving there, but I knew a lot of people and it wouldn’t be so bad.

It would make it easier to come see my mom in Havenport.

Maybe I could convince her to move down there?

It was high time she got out of this Podunk town anyway.

She had spent her life taking care of me and then taking care of her aging parents. It was high time she lived a little.

And to make matters worse, I had confusing feelings about Gio.

He had been nothing but the most supportive and amazing friend.

He brought me my favorite ice cream, texted me funny memes, and continued to do work around my grandparents’ house.

Just yesterday he had fixed the broken step on the porch and the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom.

It was wonderful. But also terrible. Terrible because, in addition to being helpful and thoughtful, he had the audacity to be stupidly handsome too.

When he showed up to fix the step, he was wearing worn jeans that molded to his muscular legs, work boots, and a faded blue T-shirt.

It was like handyman porn come to life. He had always been handsome, but I had largely been immune to it.

But not now. Suddenly, my hormones were working overtime, admiring his broad shoulders and the way his forearm muscles clenched while he used a lathe.

It’s not like I hadn’t ever thought of him like that.

There had been a few close calls over the years, moments when I thought we would kiss, or he would say something.

Moments when that other ten percent became overwhelming and the only thing I could think about were his lips and his scent and his strong arms.

But nothing had ever happened. We had never crossed that line.

But I was curious. More curious than I had ever been, even in high school. And my emotions were all over the place. I longed to feel sexy and feminine and desired right now.

I had always told myself that if something was going to happen between Gio and me, it would have happened already. How could we be just friends for more than thirty years if we were meant to be more? And for so many years, my brain happily accepted that logic.

But now, with my hormones and emotions all over the place, with my life in turmoil, that excuse didn’t hold much water. Because being in Havenport and having him around all the time was making it harder and harder to contain the feelings he stirred up inside me.

Gio was a flirt—he always had been—but the way he looked at me sometimes left little doubt that he was curious too.

But Gio was not shy. He had always been clear about what he wanted.

If he wanted me, he would have said or done something by now.

I kept telling myself that we were just friends.

Hopefully, if I just tried hard enough, I could keep my thoughts and desires friendly.

Because I couldn’t risk losing him. I wouldn’t survive it.

So I did what I had to do to keep him. I pushed myself back into the friend zone.

“Sam Sullivan? Is that you?”

I turned around and was immediately embraced by Nora Rossi. She pulled back and looked at me. “It’s been years, girl.”

Nora looked and smelled delightful as always.

She had incredible style, which was partially why I found myself here, browsing in her store.

I had always taken pride in being a minimalist. I was low maintenance about my appearance, keeping my hair long so I could throw it in a ponytail whenever I needed, and generally favoring jeans when I wasn’t dressed up for work.

Having spent so much time in the developing world, it felt indulgent and silly to care about clothes.

I prided myself on being able to travel light, and my wash-and-wear wardrobe of mostly black had served me well over the years.

But I found myself drawn here, toward the diverse mannequins donning cute jeans and tops, flouncy sundresses, and trendy sunglasses.

I found myself yearning to feel feminine, beautiful, and desired.

It was strange and a bit unsettling. But looking at a cute yellow dress topped with a denim jacket, I found myself wanting to be that woman.

The woman who wore cute sundresses and flounced around the boardwalk, flirting and making friends.

Nora caught me touching the fabric of the yellow dress, staring at it as if it contained the secrets of the universe.

“I can grab this dress for you if you want to try it on,” she said softly, breaking me out of my daze.

I looked at her, tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just a mess right now.”

She took my elbow and steered me toward the back area of the store, gesturing for me to have a seat on a hot-pink velvet sofa. “Can I tempt you with caffeine?”

The espresso machine sitting up on a raised bar was a work of art. The type of hewn copper mastery usually at home in Roman cafés and Parisian salons. “Damn. That’s beautiful,” I said, momentarily stunned.

She tipped an imaginary hat. “Why thank you. What’ll it be?”

After a few minutes, she handed me a latte and sat down next to me. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

I nodded. I had assumed my news would get around town.

I had specifically asked my mother to spread the word to avoid having to go through all the details all the time.

Pitying looks were better than endless questions, speculation, and rumors.

Getting in front of it seemed like the most painless course of action.

Plus, my mother actually paid attention at the doctor’s office, making her far more qualified to discuss my conditions with Havenport’s concerned citizens.

“Tell me how I can help?”

I looked up at her friendly face and perfectly applied makeup. I had known Nora since she was in diapers—the perpetual little sister, now a mogul in her own right, all grown-up.

“I don’t know why I came in here. For the first time in my life, I’m actually interested in clothes. I feel like I’ve taken myself for granted for forty years. Now, I suddenly want to look pretty and feminine. But what’s the point? My body is going to change soon.”

Nora shook her head. “All the more reason to celebrate it now. You are gorgeous, and no amount of cancer will ever change that. But if you want to feel glam and sexy right now, if you want to flaunt what you’ve got for the time being, then you have come to the right place, my friend.”

I shook my head, feeling ashamed. “It’s stupid. So superficial. But I just worry I won’t feel like a woman, you know, after.”

Nora squeezed my hand. “I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through. I wish I had the right words. But I can make you look fabulous.”

I laughed. I had no doubt about that.

“And you know what? Have some fun. You are losing your breast and that’s horrible. But let’s send it off with a bang, you know? Dress you up and make you the baddest bitch ever to walk the streets of Havenport. Enjoy it all while you have it, you know?”

That made strange sense. What if, instead of grieving the loss of my breast and potentially my hair…

what if I lived it up, made some memories, and had a blast?

There would be plenty of time to mourn after my surgery and treatment.

Plenty of years to dwell on what could have been.

Why not, as Nora put it, go out with a bang?

I took a sip of my delicious latte and wiped my tears. “Okay. I’m in. Dress me up, Nora. I’m going to live it up while I’ve still got it. Get me your sexy dresses and shirts, because I’m going to show these ladies off for as long as I can.”

Nora jumped up. “That is the spirit. I am so proud of you. Hold on.” She reached across the coffee bar for her phone and immediately began texting as I started to browse.

“You know,” she said, draping some tops over her arm, “if you’re not doing anything, you should come out with me tonight. My friends—we call ourselves the coven—we usually meet up for happy hour at the Tipsy Whale on Thursday nights.”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t intrude.”

“I insist. You know most of us. Violet is always there and usually Rose and Yael, though I don’t think they are coming tonight. Some configuration of my brothers too.” She winked at me and I blushed, unable to hide my response to one brother in particular.

“And Maggie and Cece Leary, our new friend Astrid, who you will love, and Emily Stewart. We have so much fun. Please come with us?”

I had known Nora Rossi almost all her life, and I was pretty sure I had never said no to her before. Even as a toddler she could command a room. I shrugged. “Why not?”

I needed to get out of the house, and I needed to start living again.

Nora instantly reached for her phone, her fingers flying over the keys.

“Dante says come to the salon immediately after you’re done here. He’s giving you the works, full pampering, in celebration of your new wardrobe and attitude.”

I blushed. God, everyone was being so kind to me. So different than growing up, when I had felt like an outsider, the person who didn’t belong in this shiny, happy town. The poor kid with her teen mom, both of us desperate to prove ourselves and our worth.

Now, I felt supported and embraced by this weird and wonderful place.

I walked out of the salon a new woman. Dante had made sure every inch of my body had been waxed, exfoliated, and moisturized to perfection.

My hair had been cut and was styled in loose waves falling around my face, and he had insisted on waxing my brows and giving me eyelash extensions, which I was convinced were made of magical fairy dust that made me look amazing with no mascara.

All afternoon, Nora’s words rang in my head. I didn’t know what the future held. I didn’t know how this diagnosis would change me. But I had right now. Maybe it was time to live in the moment and celebrate what I had and who I was.

As I sat, being pampered and polished, a plan began to take shape. I would go after what I wanted, live the way I wanted to live, and deal with whatever changes came my way.

Sam Sullivan would not go down without a fight.