Until I Met You

The topic of marriage made her nervous. She had deleted her various wedding mood boards and trashed her bridal magazines. She’d vowed that going forward, she would no longer obsess over weddings. If she met someone nice and he decided he wanted to make it official, she’d keep it simple: quick vows and a party at a rooftop bar under a sprinkle of fairy lights. Maybe she’d honeymoon in Tobago. No. Never. Absolutely not. Tobago was for Roman. She could never be happy here with anyone else.

‘What if he’d proposed at Nylon or Argyle? Would you have said yes?’

Samantha weighed her answer carefully. ‘I spent all my time in Tobago flirting with a cocky American boy. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.’

That got him to smile. She smiled back.

‘If I proposed, what would you say?’

Her smile faded. He had to be teasing. ‘I’d start by asking if you’d slipped on the rocks and hit your head.’

‘And then what would you say?’ he asked.

‘I’d probably say no.’ His expression clouded so suddenly, she knew she’d made a huge mistake. Men were fragile creatures, in need of constant reassuring. ‘Only because we’ve known each other for one short week. If we were dating a month or so, obviously I’d say yes.’

‘Sammy, I’m not proposing,’ he said. ‘I’m wondering if I’m your type. From everything I’ve heard about your ex, we are very different.’

‘Let’s get a couple of things straight.’ Samantha darted an index finger at him, noting that her nail polish was chipped on Naomi’s big special day. ‘First, you’re right. You’re not my type. Before you, I dated nice guys and we did all the usual things.’

‘Dinner and a movie?’ he suggested.

‘Not so much. We sat at a pub for hours, eating and drinking.’

He frowned, judging. ‘Sounds like a good time.’

‘Second of all, you should know you’re every woman’s type.’

His brows soared up to his hairline, as if this were big news to him. ‘Is that right?’

‘Give it a rest, Roman. You see how women look at you.’

‘I don’t see other women.’ He yanked her close. ‘I just see you.’

‘Oh, no!’ Samantha shook her head. ‘I’m not falling for that line.’

‘Are you falling for me, Sammy?’

‘I don’t like it when you call me Sammy.’

The childhood nickname was cute. She didn’t want Roman to think of her as cute.

‘Samantha is so formal,’ he complained. ‘What do I call you when we’re alone like this, no one else around, just you and me?’

‘I don’t know.’ He could call her anything, propose anything, if he looked at her like that. It moved something inside her, the stone sealing off the crypt where she safely stored all her warm and fuzzy feelings.

He whispered in her ear. ‘I can be a nice guy.’

She held his face between her hands. He hadn’t shaved yet. He’d packed a kit and would get to it at some point before the wedding. Samantha enjoyed the feel of the rough, scratchy stubble. ‘Somehow I doubt it.’

Roman tightened his hold on her. ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow.’

She pulled back to better meet his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t mind staying in touch.’

That mild statement was way better than what she truly wanted to say. Please, don’t let this be the last night I fall asleep in your arms and wake up happy.

‘I’ll take you to the airport and we’ll talk,’ he said. ‘I know it’s improbable, but I would like to see you again. Would you like to see me?’

She said yes, even though deep inside she worried that if they met up again, and it was just as crazy wonderful, they’d still only be stealing time before a final goodbye.