Sweeter in the Summer Page 7

  Lila just raised an eyebrow. “Easy for you to say.”

  “No.” Sam shook his head, his laugh a little brittle. “Not easy for me.” He studied Lila’s profile for a long time: the slight turn of her nose, the pouty lips, and the little curve of her chin—waiting for her to turn and look at him. She didn’t.

  He closed his eyes, feeling that weight in his chest again. The one he felt every time he thought of that day his father had fired her. He’d told his dad it was a mistake, that Lila was smart, clever and witty, but Preston Crawford had looked bored and then angry. No one disagreed with Preston. Certainly not Sam.

  “Lila, I want to tell you . . . I’m sorry, Lila.” There. It was out. Fat load of good it would do him now, but it was out. Maybe it made him look like a coward, maybe it made him look like an ass. But he was sorry. More sorry than she’d ever know.

  He pushed back the burning urge to explain everything to her, and then thought twice. It had grown too easy to keep his past locked up, until he barely thought about it himself anymore. It was easier that way.

  For a moment he wondered if she’d even heard him. Her eyes were still on the buildings in the distance. Her expression didn’t move an inch. With a sigh, she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. Her hazel eyes were crinkled slightly at the corners when she turned to him. With the sun on her face, she’d never looked more beautiful.

  “I didn’t handle things well,” Sam continued. The need for release was stronger than the need to keep up the walls. “I wanted to run after you. I wanted to be with you. I didn’t know how I could.”

  “Because of your father,” she finished. She didn’t look impressed.

  Sam pulled in a breath and nodded. “Besides, would you really have wanted to still be with me?”

  Lila considered this for a long moment. “I guess not. I guess to me it was all connected. One event. When you betrayed me.”

  Ouch. Sam folded his arms over his knees and looked away. He probably deserved that one.

  “Your business means a lot to you,” Lila said.

  “My family means a lot to me,” he corrected.

  Lila held his gaze for a moment and finally tipped her head. “So does mine. I guess it’s why we do what we do.”

  She had that right. From the moment he’d discovered that Preston Crawford was his father, he’d made it his mission to set himself up for success. To be the son his dad would be proud of. If there had never been a Preston Crawford, or if he was something other than the man he was, Sam wasn’t sure what would have become of himself. He’d been on this path for so long, he wasn’t even sure what else was out there. Or what he’d given up.

  He looked at Lila. Make that who he’d given up.

  They had the boat for another two hours, but Sam didn’t feel like talking about Reed today. He rarely snagged a day off like this in New York—there were too many dinner meetings, golf outings, social obligations.

  He reached into the cooler and pulled out a can of beer, wiggling his eyebrows at Lila by way of invitation. She laughed, then darted her eyes over the vast lake. “Are we—are you allowed?”

  Now it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Don’t see why not. You want one?”

  She made a little face, just as he’d expected. “Here.” He reached into the cooler again and this time pulled out a wine cooler. She was the only person he knew who drank those damn things, and God, a part of him loved her for it.

  She grinned, showing a hint of a dimple in her right cheek. “Thanks.”

  After a few sips, Lila repositioned herself on the deck. “So, now what do we do?”

  “We wait.”

  “Wait?”

  Sam shrugged. “For you to start liking me again.”

  Lila opened her mouth as if she had something to say and then closed it. Her eyes were soft as they locked his, the light bringing out flecks of gold around her pupils, and her lips were parted in a way that made every nerve ending in his body stand at attention. Her bare leg skimmed his knee, and even though it was probably involuntary, his pulse kicked up a notch. He set his beer down and inched his hand onto hers, up her warm skin, until he was cupping her neck, his fingers laced in her mess of hair that had grown tangled in the wind.

  Alarm flickered through her gaze, and he heard her breath catch as he leaned in, slowly, eager to taste her sweetness, to feel the heat of her body. Her mouth was inches from his, and he could see her lashes flutter. “Sam.”

  He stopped himself right there.

  “Sorry,” he said, picking up the beer and taking a long drink. “Went to my head.” He grinned, knowing she didn’t buy his lame excuse any more than he did. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to lean her back and press himself on top of her, hear her moan his name in his ear, not push it out like some sort of warning.

  But he couldn’t. More than six years may have passed since they’d last seen each other, but nothing had changed. She was still Lila. Sweet, beautiful Lila. And he was still Preston Crawford’s son. The person he’d always wanted to be.

  Except when he was with Lila.

  Chapter Seven

  Lila brushed her fingers over her lips, wondering what might have happened if she hadn’t spoiled the moment. He’d been about to kiss her—there was no doubt about it—but why?

  She hardly dared to entertain the thought that he might still have feelings for her after all this time. It had been six years. Who held on to the past for that long?

  Lila pulled a mug from the kitchen cabinet and set it firmly on the counter. Guilty as charged.

  She stared out the window above the sink as the coffee percolated, looking out at the stately row of townhomes tucked neatly behind wrought iron fences. She knew few of her neighbors—people tended to offer little more than a passing nod when they crossed each other on the sidewalks—but she loved their apartment, just a few blocks from the park, and a short walk from her office. Mary and Lila always joked that even once they were married, they’d stay on their happy little tree-lined street, and grow competing herb gardens on their fire escapes.

  With each passing year, though, it was starting to feel like if they got married.

  “Ugh, I do not want to go to work today,” Mary groaned as she stumbled into the kitchen, barefoot and still in her striped cotton pajamas. She walked straight to the cupboard, took out a mug, and poured herself a cup of coffee, even though the pot was only partially full. “You know, he winked at me on Friday. As he passed my desk for lunch. The creep.”

  Lila had to laugh, and eventually Mary joined in. Her boss was a sixty-year-old ear, nose, and throat specialist with a wife who did the books and was forever nagging him about watching his cholesterol. The bickering was fierce, and neither seemed to care that Mary heard every word. Lila had told her sister early on that she was probably the bright spot in the poor man’s day. Still, Mary wanted out, and Lila could hardly blame her.

  “I could barely sleep last night, Lila.” Mary leaned back on the counter and blew on her coffee.

  “Oh, he’s harmless—”

  “Not about that! And you’re right, he is harmless. Annoying and sad, but harmless. No, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ice cream parlor! I came up with another fun flavor. Are you ready for it?” Her brown eyed danced with excitement.

  Lila took her time filling her mug and adding a splash of milk. “I’m all ears.”

  “Oh!” Mary thwacked her arm. “That’s what Dr. McTavish always says. He thinks it’s the funniest thing ever, but I’m losing the will to laugh.”

  Lila grinned as she reached for the sugar bowl, but her hand froze on the spoon as nerves came fluttering back to the surface. It had been so nice to take the day off yesterday, to go into the quiet office and catch up on work, then clean the house and grocery shop, and not have to worry about Sunshine Creamery, Reed, or Sam. Of course, part of her had idly wondered all day if he might call, and okay, yes, at times she was admittedly hoping he would. But he hadn’t, and really, that was for the best.<
br />
  The last thing she needed was for him to try to kiss her again, right?

  Lila looked down at the ceramic sugar bowl edged with chipped, painted blue flowers and felt her eyes sting. She’d seen this bowl many times before—and it was one of the few things she had to remember her grandparents by.

  That and Sunshine Creamery.

  She wondered if her mother had studied the little flowers the way she liked to, if it was part of her morning ritual, back when she was a little girl. She often wondered what her mother had been like as a child, and she used to ask Gram about her parents all the time. Now there would be no more insight into the people who had left her life. Their memories could no longer be shared—their stories had come to an end.

  She couldn’t let their legacy end, too.

  She dumped the sugar into her mug and stirred quickly.

  “Anyway, I was thinking not just strawberry ice cream, but strawberries and cream . . . Isn’t that sweet? And I might do a whole line like that . . . peaches and cream, blueberries and cream. Oh. And I was thinking that we should dust off the old soda fountain. Who doesn’t love a malt?”

  Lila plucked two pieces of bread from the toaster and began buttering them. She hadn’t thought of that old machine in ages—it had belonged to their great-grandfather, the founder of Sunshine Creamery.

  “You’re really stirring up the nostalgia,” she commented as she slid into her usual chair near the window.

  Mary joined her at the table. “Well, yes, but with a few modern touches, of course.”

  Modern touches. Lila chewed a corner of her toast thoughtfully. It was exactly what was missing from her pitch. She’d make some notes before her next meeting with Sam. It might be just the thing she needed to convince him her idea would work.

  ***

  At eight thirty sharp, Sam pushed open the door of Lila’s office. It was time to get back on track, put that little slip up on Saturday behind him. He’d spent most of yesterday on the phone with Rex, and anxiety stirred in his gut when he considered what this work week could bring. Jolt Coffee could make an announcement at any time, and then . . . He pushed back the thought.

  “Well, hello there!” Penny exclaimed as a bright, wide smile transformed her round face. She tossed aside the fashion magazine she was reading and stood, quickly smoothing the creases from her flouncy, floral-patterned skirt.

  Sam grinned. “Good morning, Penny.”

  Two pink dots appeared on her cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d remember my name.”

  “I never forget a name,” Sam said, deciding it was time to draw an end to this round of flirtation. There was only one woman on his mind today, and he certainly didn’t need to stoke her temper this early into the morning. “I brought you something.”

  “Oh?”

  Sam set a bottle of water on the desk. “Well, it’s for Fred.”

  Penny laughed, a high-pitched giggle that she struggled to suppress. Sam waited until she had calmed down before explaining, “I’m actually here to see Lila. Is she in yet?”

  Disappointment wrinkled Penny’s brow. “Not yet.”

  Huh. Not what Sam had been expecting to hear. “Mind if I wait for her?”

  “Certainly.” Penny nodded toward a waiting room chair.

  Sam flashed a hundred-watt grin and cocked his head. “Mind if I wait for her in her office instead? I’m on a tight schedule and I’d love to set up my materials.”

  Penny glanced worriedly at the front door. “Well. . .”

  “Penny? Is that by any chance short for Penelope?” Sam asked, giving her another well-mastered grin.

  “It is,” she said warily.

  “That’s one of my favorite names, believe it or not.”

  Penny lowered her eyes as her cheeks turned a brighter shade of pink. “I’d like to help you out, but. . .”

  “You know guys like me. I’ve got so much on my plate, and if I can save five minutes by setting things up in advance . . .” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It would really help me out a lot, Penelope.” He let the last word roll of his tongue.

  “Okay . . . but if I get in trouble . . .”

  Sam fought back a satisfied grin and held both palms up defensively. “I’ll take the fall.”

  Penny flashed one last smile and motioned to the French doors to her right. “Go ahead.”

  Sam nodded his thanks and slipped through the door. Flicking on the light switch, he glanced around the room, taking a better look around this time. It was very . . . Lila. Neat and clean and feminine. A small paperclip holder. A stack of pens arranged by color. A flurry of Post-it note reminders framing a corkboard. A white desk against the soothing green walls. A framed print of red tulips. A cuckoo clock. He paused. Now, that he hadn’t expected.

  His eyes darted to the half-open door before quickly shifting back to the calendar on her desk. Finding nothing of interest there, he turned to a well-organized file system on the edge of her desk. He stole another look in the direction of the waiting room before plucking a folder from its rack and riffling through the pages as fast as his fingers would let him.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sam glanced up guiltily to see Lila standing in the doorway, looking every bit as sexy as she had on Saturday. He raked his eyes over her figure, from her bare ankles all the way up to her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

  “Something tells me you aren’t happy to see me,” he ventured, attempting to lighten the situation.

  She closed the door firmly behind her. “For once I’m happy to say that you’re right.”

  “Touché,” he said, coming around the desk.

  “It looks like I’ll have to have a chat with my assistant,” she said, taking the file from his hands and sitting down at her desk. “I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

  “I’m an early riser,” Sam said, taking one of the visitor’s chairs. “I would have called first, but—”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “But?”

  She wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “I wasn’t so sure you’d take the call.”

  Her lips twisted with amusement. “You know me too well.”

  “I know you very well.” He held her gaze until her smile fell.

  She pinched her lips and straightened a pile of papers against the desk; the sound cut the silence but did little for the tension.

  Why couldn’t he have let it go? Why couldn’t he just keep his eye on the goal?

  He allowed his gaze to passively roam over her. It seemed impossible that this was the same woman he had almost kissed just two days ago. The loose tendrils of chestnut locks that had caught the wind off the sails were now pulled back in a severe knot. Her full, cherry-hued lips were now pursed tight in defiance. And her eyes, which had held his so seductively, were now set in stone.

  She was watching him down the length of her perfectly little upturned nose, her arms now folded tightly against her chest. Those pouty lips remained pursed, just begging to be kissed, and it was taking everything in him not to jump out of his chair, lean over the desk, and close the distance between them.

  He’d tried to resist the feeling all those years ago, knowing better than to mix his personal life with his professional one, but he hadn’t been able to. And now, all these years later, he still couldn’t fight the way she made him feel when she laughed, the way his groin tightened when she was near, the way he didn’t want to be with anyone else when he was with her.

  He’d let her go once. He didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Looking at her closely, Sam decided that he now had two missions to accomplish during his stay in Chicago.

  He would land the Reed Sugar campaign. And he would win back Lila Harris. Somehow.

  ***

  Lila let her eyes skim through the pages of the Reed Sugar folder once more, grateful for the chance to stall and think. Nothing appeared to be missing at first glance, but she wouldn’t have expected Sam to have pocketed any of these pap
ers. He might have stolen her heart, but he wasn’t an actual thief.

  She glanced at him, her mouth a thin line of disapproval, but the sight of his guilty, boyish grin caused her heart to flip over.

  She really had to stop doing this. Her attraction had interfered with her ambition once before, clouding her judgment, leading to her demise. It couldn’t happen again.

  She drew a breath. “So—”

  At the sound of her voice, Sam mildly cocked an eyebrow. His eyes darkened with interest, pulling her in, causing her to lose her train of thought. A quiver that began at the base of her spine chased its way up to the roots of Lila’s hair. Involuntarily, she shivered.

  Silence stretched as she waited for him to speak, and she swallowed hard, wondering where to even begin. If he would mention the almost kiss, if she should pretend it meant nothing. Because that’s exactly what it had to mean: nothing.

  “Is there something we needed to talk about?” She instantly regretted the words as they spilled from her mouth.

  “I was hoping we could make some progress on the campaign,” Sam said with an affable shrug of his broad shoulders, and a fresh surge of confusion rolled through Lila’s chest.

  “Right now?” she asked.

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Actually, I have many good ideas. If you would bother listening to them,” she added.

  Sam chuckled softly, the rumble building to a roar of laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Lila snapped.

  “You are,” Sam said, a lazy grin lingering on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You never change, Lila. It’s . . . it’s so refreshing.” His blue eyes flashed, and Lila pinched her lips.

  She struggled to digest his words, not knowing whether to take them as a compliment or an insult. Or an accusation.

  She decided to brush it aside. They had work to do—lots of work—and they had already wasted enough time as it was. Clearly the almost kiss was already forgotten by Sam, and the last thing she intended to do was feed that enormous ego of his and ask him to reassure her or clarify. It happened. And now it was over. And it would never happen again.