“Thanks. So do you, Hardy.”
He scoffed. “Liar. I’m wearing what I wore to PT.” He should’ve gone home to change but instead he had knocked around town, visited the Kids Theater, and run into his old friend, Luke Stebbins. They’d had coffee at Ella’s until it was time for Sam to pick up Chloe. He’d brushed his teeth in the men’s room before heading out. Smart men always carried a portable toothbrush and toothpaste.
“So where to, Hardy?”
“How about Angelo’s?” He held the door for her as she stepped from the house into the night. “We can walk.”
“Are you sure? What about your knee?”
“It’s not far and walking will do me good. Just don’t go too fast.”
She offered her arm in an exaggerated move. “You can lean on me, Hardy.”
The way her offer floated over him, he wanted to believe it. Really believe it. Dive in deep and drown himself in it.
They walked the short distance down Red Oak to First Avenue then to Angelo’s, Sam waving at people who passed, gawking, whispering. “Is that really Sam Hardy?” A couple of cars honked as they passed. “Titan-up!” He waved to acknowledge the cheer and call to get in the game.
A man about a decade younger than Sam approached them at Angelo’s front door. “Hi, Mr. Hardy. Kofi Smith. I’m a big fan.” He stuck out his hand. Sam shook it with a blushing glance at Chloe.
“Thanks, keep watching. This is going to be a great season.”
After a few more praises from Kofi, Sam reached for Angelo’s door. “I didn’t set that up, you know, to impress you.”
She laughed, a sound he liked. Had always liked it. “I’m impressed you’d think you need to impress me.”
He regarded her intently. “Don’t I?”
“No,” she said, so pure and simple. “Never have, never will.”
He liked her more and more. Holding the door for her, they stepped into a warm, old-world Italian atmosphere with romantic candles flickering on the tables and soft classical music playing over the speakers.
The maître d’ escorted them to a red-checked tablecloth booth in the corner. Sam ordered a bottle of wine to come out with their garlic knots.
“So…you didn’t ask me to dinner to counterbalance the tweets from Curvy Carla, did you?”
She knew. Well, what did he expect? “No. She’s making it all up. I saw her at a party, she was drunk, and I drove her home. Didn’t even get out of my car.” He should record this story and just play it for folks each time they asked. “She’s an NFL groupie, hanging around one of the other players. I didn’t know…” Sigh. “But given my past, my choice to drive her home was incredibly stupid.”
Chloe stretched her arms across the table and took his hand in hers. “You’re a nice man, Sam, and I mean that with the most admiration and regards. Not the cliché nice guy routine, but a genuinely nice man. A good man.”
Darn if she wasn’t making him choke up. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “You remember the old Sam from high school.”
“I know about your party life. Remember, Jean-Marc was a big fan. Also, the ‘Sam from high school’ wasn’t always so nice.”
“Oh, to the heart.” He slapped his hand over his chest. “What did I do to you in high school?”
“That night at the fair with Missy Byrnes, Cole Danner, and Tammy Eason.” She looked away. Now she looked embarrassed. “Never mind. It was a long time ago.”
“According to Dr. Morgan, things from a long time ago can still hurt.” He reached for her hands this time. “We’d gone to the Fry Hut together.” She’d looked at him with this sparkle in her eyes, an anticipation of a fun evening, their first group date. Then he’d…been a jerk. What could he say?
“Here we are…” The server arrived with their wine and garlic knots and interrupted their conversation.
After a garlic knot and glass of wine, Sam had to return to the situation of Curvy Carla.
“She’s just playing off who I was, Chloe. Curvy Carla.”
“Is there a but coming?”
“No but. One day I woke up and—” He wasn’t sure he wanted to confess everything here and now. That he wanted a real relationship, real love, a real woman. “And decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore.”
