Page 12 of The Spirit of Love

Chapter Seven

“What’s the story with this guy?” Sam asks, reaching for the viewfinder I wear around my neck.

It’s after sunset on the secret beach, and there are more stars out in the sky than I have ever seen.

We’ve eaten every delicious morsel of the halibut I speared and Sam grilled, and we’ve drained the last drops of a bottle of white wine.

It feels like Sam and I have known each other all our lives, yet also like we’re just getting started.

“It’s a viewfinder,” I tell him. “You hold it up to your eye to see what the camera will see, to frame a shot in your mind before a crew takes hours setting up.” I lift the lanyard from my neck and drape it over Sam’s. “Try it.”

“Is it expensive? I don’t want to break it.”

“I got it for five dollars at a flea market. There are a million more where this one came from.”

“A million more that haven’t been touched by you.” Sam puts it to his eye and looks at me. “Oh, yeah. Great shot.”

“Don’t frame me,” I say, embarrassed, pushing gently on his hand. “Frame something artful and unexpected. Like the wine bottle we should have brought two of.”

“Nah. I don’t see anything but you.” He gets closer, close enough so I know he’s framing just my face. “I like this thing. I feel like it lets me see more somehow.”

“Yeah,” I say, understanding. “That’s it.”

Sam lowers the viewfinder from his face and reaches into his sweatshirt to pull out the chain I’d noticed him wearing earlier. “I’ve got a viewfinder, too. This one’s called an adder stone.”

He holds up the stone between his thumb and forefinger. It’s ebony black, the right size and thickness for skipping, except for an unusual hole, about the diameter of my pinkie, just off center of the stone.

“Did you find it here, on the island?”

He nods. “I’ve got this coffee table book called Stones in the cabin. I looked up this one and it says that, in Celtic legend, if you look through an adder stone, you’re supposed to be able to glimpse another world.”

I run my fingers around the stone, sandy here and smooth there. I dip my pinky in the hole, touching Sam’s palm on the other side.

“Does it work?” I ask.

“Let’s see.” Sam raises the stone toward his eye, but I put up a hand to stop him.

“Hold on,” I say. “This is directing 101. Before you try to glimpse another world, first you need to establish the one you’re in now. For comparison.”

“Good idea, director,” Sam says and smiles. He shifts on the blanket so he’s sitting cross-legged, facing me. He takes my free hand in his. He closes his fingers around mine and the adder stone.

“So right now, in this world,” he says. “I’m looking at Fenny. A cool lady I picked up yesterday on the beach. Literally.”

I groan, but Sam squeezes my hand to keep me from pulling away.

“If you’re embarrassed now, buckle up.” He laughs to himself, gently biting his lip for a moment, thinking. “So, Fenny…she’s a lot like my favorite island: a great natural beauty. Don’t groan.” He warns me. “You’re just listening right now. I’m establishing a world.”

“Maybe just get to the new one—”

“I’m getting there,” he says. “I’m taking my time.

As I was saying: Fenny. She’s a stubborn camper.

A sneaky little houseguest. Absolute zip line freak.

Spearfisher extraordinaire.” His eyes drift over me and soften in the firelight.

“I like her hair. I like those flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I like her tiny feet. She’s a great fucking kisser—”

“How would you know?”

He takes his time looking at me. “You think you’re the only one who knows things?”

All it takes is seconds for him to close the four inches between us, but the moment his lips find mine still manages to stun me.

Sam’s mouth is firm and warm, his lips are velvet soft, and his hands are huge, but as they pull me to him, they’re as gentle as a whisper.

The contradictions within this man beguile me as his teeth tug on my lips.

Heat builds between us, and I pull him close for more until it’s frenzied, hot, and both of us are gasping.

“Told you she was great,” he says, out of breath.

He softly kisses both of my cheeks and then presses his forehead to mine so the tips of our noses touch, which somehow feels even more intimate than the kiss.

“That stone is powerful,” I say in a shivery voice.

“Oh, wait!” He laughs. “I forgot about the stone. I didn’t even get to the good part yet. Shit, where’d it go? We’ve got other worlds to glimpse.”

We finally find Sam’s adder stone underneath my thigh. He closes it in his hand and refocuses on his task in a way that is sweet and funny.

“So you remember all that stuff I said before?” he asks.

“Great kisser. I remember.”

He nods. “Still true. That’s Fenny: here, now. But see, Fenny’s also got another thing going on.” Now he lifts the stone near his face, closes one beautiful eye, and with the other, he looks through. Toward me.

I don’t know what’s coming, but I hold my breath and wait.

“Ah,” he says, “Now I see her in her other life, that fancy Zombie Hospital life. It’s fast. She’s paddling around Venice in her canoe.”

“Ha.”

“Very busy, all day long, beautiful people to deal with, her mind moving in a thousand directions.” He pauses, as if he really can see this.

“She’s an important person on set. The show doesn’t work without her.

” For a moment, his voice dips and he almost sounds sad, but it fades quickly, everything in him turning light again.

“She’s making—yes, I see it— art .” He draws down the stone so I can see his face. “Was I close?”

I couldn’t take anyone else seriously if they used those words to describe my work. But I actually think Sam means what he just said. Partly because of how out of the cultural-zeitgeist loop he is, and partly because somehow, he seems to see me the way I never realized I wanted to be seen.

I know the show is campy, and I know it’s also, occasionally, art.

I know I used to place the latte orders, and I know the show doesn’t work without me.

And somehow—more than any other person in my life—this guy knows it, too. That, or else the stone really does have magical powers.

But I think it’s Sam. How is it that he’s exactly what I needed this weekend? The solo camping trip I’d planned would have been peaceful, but it wouldn’t have made me feel this alive. It wouldn’t have reminded me—like Sam is doing right now—who I am. Who I want to be.

I lean forward and kiss him. He kisses back like the kiss was his idea, his hands on my back, pulling me close. His lips are tender, firm, and I love the way he smells. God, I am so attracted to this man. I could crawl into his lap and kiss him into next summer.

“You should try now,” he says, pulling millimeters away and draping his chain with the adder stone over my neck and resting his forehead against mine. He’s still wearing my viewfinder. “Maybe we trade for a while.”

I sit back, rolling the stone between my palms. “Okay, I’ll play.”

“Establish the world,” he says. “Don’t forget that part.”

“Never,” I say. “So here in front of me sits Sam.”

“Hot name. What’s he like?”

“The first thing you need to know about Sam is that he saved my life.”

“ No ,” he gasps.

“Indeed,” I say. “Almost died trying. There was lightning and a rockslide, and we lost a car and a camcorder.” I sigh.

“It was all a little touch-and-go for a minute. But then…” A smile creeps in.

“We warmed up to each other. A lot. His cabin smells good, and he makes me laugh. I usually reserve laughing with people who have known me for at least four seasons.”

“Really?” he asks. “Why hold back? You’ve got a great laugh. You should be sharing it with the world.”

“Because…” I start to say. I find that my body isn’t close enough to him, so without thinking, without even time to second-guess my boldness, I crawl into his lap.

And get instantly rewarded by strong, warm arms around me and legs that make just the right shape for me to sit within.

“That’s better,” Sam murmurs, and his breath tickles my neck.

“I agree.”

“Now, back to why you don’t laugh enough.”

“Laughter feels vulnerable. It comes easy when I feel safe,” I say, looking down at the stone in my hand. “It comes easy with Sam.”

“Are you saying he makes you feel safe?”

“I think so.” I nod. “I like his stew. I like his fireplace and his highballs. I really like his eyebrows, and what happens to this muscle”—I run my finger down the skin just below his shoulder blade—“when he does a one-armed pull-up on the porch.”

“Thank God. I was hoping you saw that.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Fenny?”

“Uh-huh.” We’re staring deep into each other’s eyes, and I’m not sure I’ll ever move.

“You forgot to mention how fucking great Sam is in bed.”

I gulp. I’m tingling with desire for this man, and I feel like he can smell it, because there’s this new look in his eyes that is primal and focused and hungry.

I slowly pull off my sweatshirt and feel his intake of breath. My T-shirt comes off next. I grab for his shirt, practically tearing the thin fabric. Our chests meet, and I can feel his heartbeat, racing like mine.

“I never do this.” My voice comes out in breathy pants.

“So you’ve said,” Sam whispers, kissing a trail down my neck.

“Oh, God,” I breathe. “I bring it up only because it’s…important…that you know…”

“Know what?” He cups my breasts, squeezing them exactly as hard as I like it.

“That this is…different. That I don’t…at other times…with other guys…that I am capable of…restraint.”

“Okay,” he says, putting his mouth to my nipple now and making me moan. His eyes and his hands run over my bare skin. Everything about this is too much to take in, and he’s still wearing his pants.

He pauses, looks up. A beat passes.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Did you want me to say that I never do this either?” Sam asks.

“Oh, no! That’s not what I meant.”