Premiere: A Love Story (19 page)

“First of all, you didn’t lose yourself. You were growing up, doubting yourself anyway. You can’t put that all on him. And he ran because, let’s face it, great sex with you or not, who wouldn’t run from Peter’s childhood?”

Sam blushed and laughed. Grady was one of a kind.

“My point is: the two of you need to climb back up on the board and jump one more time. I’d join you, but I helped screw it up the last time. This time you two need to do it on your own.”

Sam laughed.

“Get up there on the board with him, trust him, Sam.”

Grady took her hands.

“I love you both too much to let either of you settle for fine. There are no two people more annoyingly suited for each other. Your dad’s plane is gassed up and waiting for you. You already told him to kiss your ass, that probably felt good. Now go fix this thing so I can stop feeling bad.”

Sam started to cry. She was scared, but right then and there she decided to climb the steps of the diving board.

“Yeah, don’t do that. I can’t handle the crying. You can cry on the plane.”

Sam wiped her tears and kissed Grady on the cheek.

“You’re a good friend, Grady. I love you.”

“Okay, that’s enough warm and fuzzy. Now get going.”

Her mind screamed this was a dangerous idea, her heart ached with wanting. She went to her room to pack.

Chapter Nineteen

T
here was a line of cabs waiting outside the airport when Sam’s plane arrived in New York shortly before one in the morning. She had always appreciated the benefits of coming from privilege, but nothing brought that home like using your father’s private jet to fly across the country on a moment’s notice. She was grateful.

The cold night air hit Sam’s face with the reality of what she was doing. She had spontaneously arrived in New York uninvited and alone. For only the second time in her entire life she was fueled not by common sense or rules, but by passion and urgency. She smiled. It felt good. She was alive. While she had no idea how Peter would react, it didn’t matter. Well, maybe it mattered.

Removing the piece of paper Grady had given her with Peter’s address, Sam realized she hadn’t been to New York since she saw Peter’s play. She asked one of the cabbies to take her to 12 East Twelfth Street. Only in New York. She was sure Peter’s home was warm and wonderful, but the address sounded like a cold, impersonal cellblock. If Peter lived in Pasadena, his home would probably sit on the corner of Gardenia and Whispering Pine. California was much more whimsical, but she was in the big city now, where most of the whimsy was trapped behind brick facades.

Sitting in the cab, Sam looked up at the buildings flying by and the thousands of windows. Tiny lives playing out, one on top of the other. She wondered if anyone else was on her way to declare her love. She felt certain she was not alone. Even at this hour, some of those windows held women deeply in love and about to take a chance, even a second chance. New York was magical, especially at night.

She had imagined Peter in this city dozens of times. Grady had given her some extra understanding, and she was ready to take a chance. Her heart was racing, pounding out of her chest, and there was nothing she could do to keep it quiet.

Sam paid the driver and looked up at Peter’s building. There was no escaping: no sarcastic comments or dismissive glances. She had arrived. She had come all the way across the country. Bare, with her heart in her hand, standing right outside his door, she was taking the leap. Sam decided it was time to be more of a doer and not much of a thinker anymore. She needed to be brave and unlike Peter, she brought a whole foundation of love from back home with her. She knew who she was now: Peter would be a part of her life, not her everything this time.

Sam entered the lobby. It was warm, and an older man in a navy suit sat behind a rich redwood desk. He was reading and looked over his glasses as she walked further into the lobby. He then took the glasses off and came around the desk.

“Welcome, Miss?”

“Cathner, but please call me Sam.”

She extended her hand.

“Sam, short for Samantha?”

She nodded.

“Very well, Sam, my name is Bobby, and I’m the doorman for the building. Is there something I can help you with? Are you here to see someone?”

“Peter, Peter Everoad,” Sam blurted out, as if the words could no longer stand to be hidden away.

“Mr. Everoad, he makes sure I call him Peter too. You must be his . . . friend?”

He smiled and looked at her, trying to figure out who Sam was and how she fit in Peter’s life. Sam was not sure how good a job he was doing and then it occurred to her that Bobby might not let her go up because it was so late.

“And is he expecting you, Miss . . . Sam?”

“He is not, and, well, it’s a surprise. I’m his childhood friend, and you see, he left California to come home for the weekend, and I’m ready now. It’s just a diving board, and everyone deserves a second chance.”

Sam was lost in her own thoughts, nervous and definitely rambling.

“I see. You must be exhausted having arrived from California. I’m not sure about the diving board, but it sounds important, and I’m sure Peter will be very happy to see you.”

She was glad Bobby thought so, she wasn’t so sure.

“I’ll call him straight away and we’ll get you settled for the night.”

He was going to announce her. When Sam had pictured this in her mind, there had been no doorman. Bobby was a perfectly lovely man, but she had played the scene differently. She tried to remind herself to go with the flow, that she was a doer. Bobby picked up the phone behind his desk, and Sam thought she was going to pass out.

“Good evening, Peter. Sorry to disturb, but I have a lovely young lady in the lobby that has flown some distance to see you.”

He grinned at her, enjoying his little role as the messenger.

“Yes, no, Sam . . . Miss Samantha Cathner. Yes, I’m quite certain, sir. Shall I send her up? Very well, yes, you too. Goodnight.”

Bobby hung up and helped Sam with her bag.

“He seemed quite shocked, but . . . thrilled to see you. Take the elevator to the top floor, and when you get off, his door is the first left.”

Sam thanked Bobby and floated to the elevator. She started to sweat and was uncertain.
Just like the diving board
, she kept telling herself.

Sam stepped off the elevator and put her hand on the cool exposed stone lining the hall. She turned left, and Peter was standing in his doorway. White T-shirt, faded jeans, and socks. He looked tucked into his home, rumpled and gorgeous. Peter was always good looking, but standing in front of her, he was a man, a strong, accomplished, incredibly sexy man with a shocked look on his face. She could tell as she approached that Peter was reconciling her being in New York. She decided not to worry about that. She had something to say, a ladder to finish climbing.

“What? Sam . . . you’re here. Is everything okay, did something happen?”

The whole thing felt like a dream. She remembered being a kid, and every time they went to some spectacular place like Paris, she would stand on the street and think,
Oh my, am I really here, is that really the Eiffel Tower?
She felt that way now looking at Peter, in a place she’d never been before. It all felt surreal. She was short of breath but managed to get out: “Yes. Yes, something happened.”

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

Peter led her into his home, and Sam was instantly filled with warmth, brownies on a winter day, warmth. He was everywhere. It smelled like him, and everything faded. She wanted to stay there, forever wrapped in him. There was a half-eaten bowl of ice cream on the dark wood coffee table. The television was on, but muted. A scene from
The Philadelphia Story
was frozen in black and white on the flat screen hanging on a brick wall.

She loved everything about him. Now she needed to get the words out. All the conversations she’d had in her head over the past few weeks, all the doubts, everything she told herself she should be frightened of on the trip to Peter’s door faded away. She slid her hands around his waist and touched her forehead to his. She felt brave and gently said, “You know that part in the play, the part where everything comes to a head, and it all changes?”

“What? Jesus, Sam, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything’s fine. What’s that called? I can’t remember. Hell, I can’t remember anything. The part where the plot builds up and then ‘boom’ everything . . .”

“The climax? Are you talking about the climax? What does that . . .”

“Yes, that’s it! The climax.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“Peter, this, this right here, is the climax. This is where the characters have a revelation.”

“Sam, you’re not making any sense. Do you want to sit down?”

“No, I definitely do not want to sit down.”

She pulled him close, and Peter had no idea what was going on. Her body was pressed to him, he could feel her cold hands on his back, and she was standing in his house. This was either a cruel hallucination or Samantha Cathner had just flown across the country, and she looked like she was about to kiss him.

“Sam.”

He felt her breath on his face.

“Peter.”

She touched the side of his face, as she had done so many times in their life.

“I’m scared. First, I felt rejected and angry, but then you came back, and now I’m scared.”

“What? Sam, don’t . . .”

“Do I scare you, Peter?”

Shitless
, he thought, but she was so close and all he could mutter was: “yes.”

“Good. Well, I’m climbing up the ladder, I’m making the gesture. I’m reaching for you this time. You are enough, Peter Everoad, you have always been enough.”

He felt like he was going to die. Every system in his body raced with feelings he’d pushed away for so long. All of them knotted in this throat.

“I flew across the country to jump off the diving board with you. Remember?”

Sam sounded crazy now, but she could see in his eyes he knew. He remembered.

“I want you too. I need to be with you too. I want to be there with you at the awards ceremony tomorrow night. I want to be in your life: New York, Pasadena, wherever. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m scared you’ll let go again, but I’m more afraid of missing one more memory with you.”

“I won’t let go, Sam. I promise.”

With that Peter held her face, and Sam looked like a woman on the edge. They both looked into each other, down into the vast, unknown, dangerous water. Her breath caught for a moment as his lips touched hers and then they jumped.

Peter’s mouth was urgent. He kissed her and held her so close she could barely breathe. They clung and everything they’d held in for so long simply opened. Sam was no longer Sally and Peter was definitely not Phillip. They had grown in their hurt, lived some life, and maybe it was all worth it. Peter buried his hands in Sam’s hair, and trembling, they barely made it to the living room.

Chapter Twenty

“
D
o you have any idea how many times I’ve imagined you right where you are?” Peter asked, quietly stroking his fingertips along her bare shoulder.

“Of course, it was impossible for me to imagine you any more beautiful than you were the last time we were together, but you are. And I have to admit, in most of my fantasies we did at least make it to the bed.”

Sam rolled over, feeling the living room rug across her skin, and gently kissed him.

“I’d like to see that bed,” she smiled.

“Your wish is my command,” and with that Peter slid into his boxer shorts and scooped her up in the blanket that covered them. Sam laughed as he carried her to the bedroom. Peter had learned some things since leaving Pasadena, and every part of her body was grateful.

“Oh, Peter!” Sam exclaimed, completely captivated by his bedroom.

This room was where he had brought all the best pieces of Pasadena with him. She recognized the chest his grandfather had given him when they graduated from high school. Everything was familiar. He put her on the bed, and she stood up, slipping into one of his shirts lying at the end of the bed. Sam fastened one button and walked over to the wall.

“Of course, you’d ruin my perfect chivalric moment.”

She didn’t respond, stunned and looking above the bed.

“Sorry, it’s . . .”

“Kinda cool, right?”

She touched the canoe that was hanging on the wall over Peter’s bed like a headboard. It was his father’s.

“It’s perfect, Peter.”

“I always loved that boat, but it was insane getting it up here. Not a whole lot of canoes in Manhattan,” Peter laughed.

Sam walked around the room. His bed was huge; she recognized it and the two leather chairs, one in each corner, from his dad’s fishing cabin. They had gone up there a few times in high school with Grady and their dads. Peter’s room was masculine and like a little outdoor oasis in this big city. He’d taken so much of what he cared about and brought it here, as if he could separate the good and take it away from what he considered the bad. His father was everywhere in his bedroom. There was a picture of the two of them fishing and a black-and-white picture of his father as a boy. That same picture had been on the mantel in his family home before his father died. Peter took Sam’s arm to move her back toward the bed, and she saw it, right there, on his dresser in a black frame. She looked at him and his cheeks flushed.

“Yeah, all right, we’re even. It’s you, well your eyes, but it’s you.”

They were her eyes, only her eyes, and a few freckles on her nose.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun. When did you take that picture, Peter?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his eyes at her as she began the same interrogation he’d given her about the bamboo photo.

“College graduation. You were smiling while your parents were taking your picture so I took my own. You looked so happy that day with them. I knew, under the circumstances, if I’d asked you for a picture I wouldn’t have gotten the same smile, not after that night and . . . so, I stole it. I stole those eyes.”