I sit quietly and patiently, trying not to dwell on what Sam might have to say. Is it good or bad? Why am I stressing? We’re casual as proven by his recent aloof behavior. This is what I want. He’s not pushing like I feared in my backyard. I feared he wanted more and I couldn’t give it to him, and now I’m afraid I’ll never be able to give him that.
18
OLIVIA
“You didn’t answer me.” Reluctantly, I finally break our comfortable silence. “You never explained why you didn’t text back this week.”
He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, sheepish. “I lost my phone. It’s likely somewhere in the Vancouver airport.”
“What?” I shudder. Losing my phone would be like losing my life. “Are you serious?”
“Yup. I was in Vancouver this past week looking at potential restaurant locations. Last time I had my phone, I was in the airport.”
For a fleeting moment, my heart sinks at his news. A restaurant in Vancouver? I loved the idea ofhis new restaurant being in Toronto. It would be a reason to be in my city. To see me. If he opens on the West Coast, this—whatever this is between us—will fizzle out quickly.
“What are you going to do?” I’m anxious at the idea ofboth his missing phone and his new venture being across the country. “I mean, I’d be freaking. I texted you five days ago. You’ve been without a phone that long?”
“I’m using Bas’s right now, mostly for business. I was hoping to find it, but now I’m thinking I’ll have to break down and buy a new one.”
“Oh.” I don’t like knowing he did in fact have a phone. It means he could have contacted me but didn’t. Confusion and sadness set in.
“Hey, let’s get out of here.” Shutting his laptop, he strides over and takes my hand. As we walk out, he adds, as if reading my mind, “I had no way of reaching you. I feel like a failure, but I don’t have your number memorized. I should’ve attempted to get your number, but…” He pauses, hesitant.
“But what?” My stomach churns.
“Let’s get to my place and then we’ll talk, I promise.”
Not fully calm or comforted, I force myself not to dwell on whatever it is he has to tell me. Whatever it is, even if it’s something I don’t want to hear, I’ll deal.
His place is a few blocks from Mon Petit Chou, a refurbished loft on the waterfront. For me, it’s a design mecca with its wide-plank wood floors, exposed fieldstone walls, ceilings that seem to go on forever, and windows big enough to drink in the entire view. It’s beautifully minimal, every piece of furniture deliberate, giving the architecture room to breathe.
“This is fantastic.” I’m unable to rest my eyes on any one feature.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t you have people over?” My random question stops him as his steady gaze now lands on me. “What I mean is, your bed’s just out in plain view. Don’t you…?” I trail off, weak-kneed at the dawning of his sexy smile.
“You worried about who sees my bed, Olivia?” he teases, seeminglike the Sam I’m used to.
Blushing, I look away and chuckle. “Never mind.”
He links his arm through mine and guides us to the sofa, settling us side by side. “I’m sorry about this week. Really. I wanted to call, but…what I have to say shouldn’t be said over the phone.” Alarm bells sound in my mind.
My stomach dips.Thatline never ends well.
I force a smile and my pulse quickens. Maybe this is what I’ve been dreading—him ending things. Maybe coming here was a mistake.
Still, a traitorous part of me clings to the hope that it isn’t. Because if I’m being honest, I don’twantto end this. I like Sam—more than I should. I’ve been telling myself this thing between us is casual, easy. But sitting here beside him, the tension coiling tight in the air, I can’t ignore the truth creeping in around the edges.
Maybe walking away now would hurt less.
Maybe it’s smarter to get out before he gets close enough to break my heart.
“I’ve been distracted. My… Bas is sick. He has cancer.” Inhaling a jagged breath, the following words rush out of him like he needs to be rid of them. “At first, it was in his lungs, but it’s spread and there’s nothing we can do. The treatment is only buying him time.”
His bitter, resigned words slice through me. I selfishly have a fleeting moment of relief that we aren’t over. Despite my concerns, my fears, I’m not ready to walk away, and feeling that after hearing what Sam is dealing with only proves that I care for this man.
I want nothing more than to comfort him, make it all better, but I can only do so much. This—cancer—is so much uglier and bigger than we are.
