Sam made the smallest possible sound against her mouth and slid his hand into her hair, warm and strong and confident, just as he'd always been. The spark that they'd always had flared to life again, shining through Lola and sending shivers over her body. They broke apart, both breathless and both aware the taxi driver was trying not to grin into the rear-view mirror, but Lola, blushing with happiness, didn't really care. Sam brushed his nose against hers. "And here I was trying to be a gentleman."
"You always were. And I, according to your mother, am a wanton gold-digging hussy with a heart of stone, so be warned."
"My mother must have been looking in a mirror when she said that." Sam tucked her close against his side again, and Lola closed her eyes, smiling as they drove out of town. It was only a few minutes out to his house, but she floated through them, quietly joyful, until the car pulled up to the house.
She took a breath, steeling herself to see it again, opened her eyes, and blurted, "You repainted the windows!" They'd been dark with black shutters, last she'd seen them, and she'd never thought the colors went well with the old red brick house. Now they were white, and the shutters a deep forest green that contrasted nicely.
Sam chuckled. "New roof, too. And the floors have been redone. Ithasbeen fifty years."
Lola sat straight up, horrified. "You didn't get rid of that old original hardwood, did you?"
"God, no. I should have said refinished, not redone."
"Oh, thank goodness. Those floors were beautiful. There were always dog claw marks on them, though, so probably refinishing them was necessary."
"Not dog claws," Sam said half under his breath as he helped her out of the car in an unnecessary but chivalrous offer. "But you're right, they were scratched up. Mother hated that."
"Was there anything shedidlike?"
"Money," Sam replied ruefully. Lola snorted and he laughed. "I forgot you did that. You snorted like that at a teacher in about sixth grade and it was the first time I noticed a girl in my whole life. I mean,noticeda girl."
"I did not!" Lola was almost certain she had, but it was such an indelicate way to be noticed.
"Oh, you did. He'd said something incredibly stupid, like women should be seen and not heard, and you snorted. Half the class laughed, he turned red, and you sat there glaring at him with the most scathing look I'd ever seen on a girl's face. It was love at first sight." Sam pushed the door open, and Lola forgot to be embarrassed at the story as his house unfolded for her.
It had always been a spectacular old building, three stories high with a blocky central house and what Sam's mother had insisted on calling 'wings,' although Lola had always privately thought of them as extensions. Still, they were symmetrically added, each of them two floors high, so she supposed 'wings' wasn'twrong. A well-finished hardwood-floored foyer spread out in front of her, with a broad staircase going upstairs; she knew there was a library and a living room to the left and right, a second living area straight ahead, and a tremendous kitchen that led into a dining area behind the first living room. Lola had always thought the house was suitable for holding state dinners in, although the most formal thing she'd ever attended there had been Sam's funeral, and…well, she'd been right. It was perfect for that kind of large, solemn affair.
She really only had the faintest idea what the wings contained: offices, bedrooms, and bathrooms, presumably. The second floor was mostly bedrooms, and the third on the main floor had once been, and probably still were, servant's quarters. She guessed the second floors of the wings might house more servant's quarters, although there weren'tthatmany people working for the house anymore.
But the last time she'd been there, even overlooking the fact it had been a funeral, the house had been…stiff, Lola thought. Stiff, stuffy, rigid, formal. It had looked like a museum more than a home, with period furniture and portraits that told the family's story in a way that made it clear the past was atleastas important as the present, and probably more important than the future.
Now, although Sam said it had been a long time since he'd had foster kids there, it felt like ahome. There was a shoe rack, for heaven's sake. And an umbrella stand next to it, the kind that came from Ikea, not…not Benjamin Franklin's personal woodworker, or something. A comfortable bench also had shoes under it, and was obviously for sitting down to put them on at. There were paintings, some bad, some fantastic, on the walls, but they all had personality and the really terrible ones looked like they'd probably been done by happy children, which made them wonderful in a different way.
"Well," Lola breathed. "If you'd told me it was likethisnow, I would have come home with you right away. This feels like a home, Sam. It's not how I remember it at all."
"A mostly-empty home these days," he agreed with a melancholy smile. "But a home. Can I get you a drink?"
"I'm still full of ice cream soda," Lola promised. "Will you show me around? And how on earth did you get foster children past your parents? And all of the changes you've made? Or did you wait until—" She broke off, not wanting to be indelicate, but Sam gave a low chuckle.
"I did wait until they died, in a manner of speaking, but it wasn't…they died quite young. A stupid accident, really, only a few years after I came home. The toxicology report said Father had been drinking."
Lola put her hand on his arm. "Oh, God, Sam. I'm sorry."
He exhaled and, with a questioning glance to make sure it was all right, folded her into his arms. She held on to the hug, willing him to be comforted, and after a moment he murmured, "Thank you. It was a long time ago now, and I've long since come to terms with it. It's difficult, though, when you lose someone close to you, even if you don't particularly get along with them. I spent about a year just…numb. Confused. And then a social worker from town approached me about possibly becoming a foster parent."
"For children with special needs?" Lola asked, genuinely surprised. "When you were still in mourning?"
"Ahhh…" Sam released her and stepped back, brushing a hand over his white hair. "They were special needs I was specifically well-suited for. I will show you around, Lola, if you still want me to in a few minutes, but first I need to tell—show—you something. Something I should have told you after graduation, and had every intention of doing, but…"
"It was a difficult time," Lola said with an easy shrug. "We both knew it then, and know it now. It just doesn't hurt quite as much now as it did back then."
Not quite as much, she thought, but the old memories did still carry a powerful sting, at times. Sam hadn't actually proposed, not yet, but it was a given for both of them that they would get married soon. Lola had still held out hope, at the time, that his parents might come around, and hadn't wanted to elope because she'd been afraid it would set them against her forever. "The last thing I wanted was to be the reason you were estranged from them," she said now, as she had all those years ago, then sighed. "Although your mother insisted on interpreting that as I didn't want to risk losing your fortune. She told me they'd disinherit you if we got married. That was after I refused their money, so you'd have thought she would have figured out that I wasn't a gold digger by then."
"I remember. Or what I remember," Sam said gently, "was how upset you were. You didn't want me to lose my family, or my fortune. Not on your account. And I remember telling you it didn't matter. That fate meant us to be together. There was something else I should have told you then, too. Would you mind sitting down? This might be a bit of a shock."
"What'll be a shock? You were too mad at them to tell me much of anything," Lola said, the distance of years making it easier to see the humor in it all. She let Sam lead her to the central living area and settled onto a couch, watching him pace nervously. "You were too mad tothinkof much of anything. You spent about a week spluttering, if I recall."
"I thought of joining the military so I wouldn't have to rely on their money," Sam said wryly. "Look how well that worked out. But I meant it when I said we were fated to be together, Lola. I—God, I'm nearly seventy and I don't have any more idea how to do this than I did when I was nineteen!"
