Shit!
twelve
Sam
A Princess That Turns into a Pumpkin
“Do I go casual or what?” The phone crackles on the other end with the occasional slam of a microwave door or cabinet.
“What now? I gotta be honest, I’m a little busy getting things together around here, man.” I know Xav is hustling around his house, trying to prep essentials for when the baby comes, and I can hear Cami yelling things in the background, adding to his mounting list.
“What should I wear on a first date?” I repeat the question, annoyed that I’m nervous enough to seek fashion advice from my friend.
“You got it bad, bro. Hey, Cami, what should Sam wear on his first date?” I hear her shout something in response but it’s muffled by Xavier’s laughter. “She said . . .” He wheezes. “Wear jeans and a nice flannel. She also told me to make sure I put this in my best man speech.” His chuckles hit the line again, and I can’t help but laugh along with him.
“Very funny. When you call me to help fend off your daughter’s prom date, I’m going to laugh in your face.”
“It still could be a boy, and if not, she will never date,” he quips back.
“Nah, it’s a girl. It’s what you deserve after this phone call.” I smile into the phone, picturing him with an adorable baby girl bouncing around. He’s going to be a fantastic dad. “I’m going to let you go. Call me if Cami goes into labor.”
“Not for a few more weeks, bro. Good luck. And, Sam? Be yourself.” He hangs up, and a small pang of jealousy burrows into my belly. I want what he has.
I shake off the thought and sift through my closet, searching for the blue-and-black flannel my mom got me for Christmas last year. Spotting it, I quickly grab it, give it a spritz of cologne, and toss it over my arm as I head into the bathroom for one final beard and hair check. I brush my teeth, put on my shirt, grab my wallet, and head out the door.
I’m rounding my old blue Chevy when the nerves hit their peak. What if I mess this up or she realizes I’m too different from her? My palms start to sweat as I open the door to jump in behind the wheel. I should’ve gotten flowers or something to give her, but I planned to buy her something where we were headed. I turn the key in the ignition, firing my truck up, the smooth rumble mimicking the tension coiling through me. Looking behind me and slowly backing up, I slam on the brakes. What the hell is my mom doing here?
I throw it in park and roll down the window as she approaches. “Hey, Ma, what-ah-ya doing? I’m headed out.” She approaches with a smile on her lips, eyes twinkling.
“I know. Your father told me it’s your first date.” Her eyes glisten with joy, or maybe anticipation. “I brought you something to share with Olive. I think it might help you win her over.” She hands me a plate of brown butter pumpkin cookies and steps back from the window.
“Mom, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Shouldn’t you want her to winmeover?” I remind her who her child actually is, even though the thought of earning anything with Olive makes my heart skip a beat. I shouldn’t feel this way about someone I barely know.
“I said what I said, Samuel. A mother always knows what’s best. Now don’t mess it up,” she warns me off with a finger pointed directly at my chest.
“Yes, ma’am. Now can I go, or did you want me to be late?” I sigh heavily, widening my eyes at her.
“Go, don’t keep her waiting.” She shoos me out of the driveway like she isn’t the one who caused this delay. A part of me could be annoyed that she’s so invested in my life, but the wafting scent of freshly baked cookies quickly evaporates the thought.Okay, Ma, I’m going to get our girl.
I don’t live far from Olive, just a few blocks, and I’m pulling up to the curb in front of her cottage in no time. The decor Dad and I put out still looks fantastic, even though it’s been a couple of days. Walking up to the door, I take in the view, picturing her sitting on the porch swing, reading a book or drinking her coffee.
I rap on the door twice, waiting for her to answer. After a minute or two, I lift my hand to knock again, but the door opens, sending a wave of her strawberry scent rolling onto the porch, nearly flattening me.
“Hi, I just need, like, two minutes to finish getting ready. I’m so sorry.” Olive rushes off toward what I assume is her bedroom. “Make yourself at home,” she shouts before closing the door after her.
I step inside, clicking the door closed behind me, and take in the space. It’s nice here, an upgraded kitchen opens to where I’m standing in the living room. A green velvet couch is placed in the center with a cozy stone fireplace across from it, and the coffee table is scattered with colorful books. I approach, taking a seat and lifting a few of them to see what they are. Scanning the backs tells me Olive has an affinity for romance novels. I don’t recognize any of the authors immediately, not that I spend much time in that section of Black Kettle. Names like Margaret Rose, Cassandra Moll, Lainey Lawson, and Mallory Meyers lay claim to the novels. Their covers are works of art with vivid scenes; I could tattoo these, and they would turn out stunning.
“See anything you’re interested in?” Olive’s voice is curious. Does she believe I’ve read any of these?
“No. But you have quite the collection.” I stand, turning toward her, the couch positioned between us. “You look gorgeous.” A slow breath leaks out as I take her in. My mouth goes dry. Her hair is down in long cascading waves, and her lips are painted the perfect shade of pink. But the best part is her glowing smile.
“Thank you, blue looks good on you.” Her cheeks blush as she pays me the compliment.
I can’t help but reach for her hand. “Come here.” I tug her around the couch and wrap her in a hug, tucking my nose into her hair. Strawberries and cream float through me with every breath I take. It’s intoxicating.
“Are you, um, ready to get going?” She looks up at me, melting me with her smile and giving me one last hard squeeze.
“Yeah, I am.”
