Page 105 of Run Home

When her sunglasses clatter to the ground, I finally release her. She laughs as I bend to retrieve the glasses, and she picks up the bag. Her smile is tender when she says, “I went out to get breakfast real quick. I definitely wasn’t leaving.”

Samantha reaches her free hand up to thread her fingers through the curls at the nape of my neck. My hand reflexively grips her waist. Her cool blue-green eyes are locked on mine as she murmurs, “The only running I’m doing is to you.”

My blood runs red hot as I dip in to claim her mouth again. Lifting her off her feet, I shuffle us through the doorway so I can kiss her in a “not for neighbors’ eyes” kind of way. Without taking my lips away from hers, I close the door to the rest of the world. Taking the bag from her hand, I let it drop to the floor.

We’ll eat breakfast eventually.

Inching my hand to the center of the table, I stop short when a sharp voice snaps, “Are you sure that’s the card you want to play?”

Unless she has X-ray vision, she has no idea what card is in my hand. But now I’m questioning myself.

Well, I was already questioning myself. Now I’m really clueless.

“Um, yes?”

Deborah is unimpressed by my questioning tone. Her sigh is heavy with disappointment, and she raps a fist on the table. “Play,” she commands.

My quick glance at Samantha finds her hiding her mouth behind her fanned-out cards. The crinkles beside her eyes give her smile away, though, and I narrow my eyes at her before setting the ten of clubs down on the pile of cards.

Marcia cackles as Deborah’s mouth gapes open. “I take it back! Don’t play!” Deborah exclaims.

Throwing my hands up in the air, I say, “This game makes no sense!”

“It’s quite straightforward once you get the hang of it,” Marcia observes airily. Her smile is smug when she adds her winning card to the top of the trick and swipes the pile toward her. She declares, “Well, Deborah, I suppose the playing field is leveled now that your table talk is saddled with a lousy partner.” Samantha stops trying to hide her delight.

“Hey, now,” I say, feigning deep offense. “I am a lot of things, but a lousy partner is not one of them. Right, Samantha?” I want her to come to my defense, but I can see in her twinkling eyes that she’s not about to play along.

“I mean, in life, you’re the best partner, but in bridge . . .” She trails off, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to pull her chair over so I can kiss her until she has no concentration left for a card game.

“Maybe this is all strategy,” I say, tapping a finger to my temple. “The long con. Make you think I don’t get it so we can hustle you out of the whole stack of butterscotch cookies in the end.”

Deborah perks up. “Is that what’s going on here?”

With a grim smile, I look back to her. “No.”

Another heavy sigh. “This is the last time I play bridge with you and your associates, Marcia,” Deborah snipes.

An hour later, we’re driving to my house after picking up sushi to go. Glancing at Samantha, I say, “You’d better be planning on sharing your winnings with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want any more cookies fattening you up. You have the World Series to win,” she teases, and I squeeze her knee until she squeals with laughter.

“I’ll join Carson for one of his extra workouts in the name of Marcia’s cookies,” I say as I pull through the security gate of my neighborhood. “Worth it.”

“They’re definitely worth it,” Samantha agrees. “Just like watching steam come out Deborah’s ears was worth making you her bridge partner. Marcia was sure delighted to see her get a taste of losing. You can’t cheat when your partner doesn’t understand the game.”

Clicking my tongue, I say, “You two schemers. You should have warned me what I was getting into today.”

“It was so much more fun to watch it play out organically,” Samantha replies. I pull into the garage and turn the car off. She kisses my cheek and adds, “And you’re such a good sport. I love you.”

Before she can lean away, I catch my hand behind her neck and pull her lips to mine. “I’ll do anything for you, cielo,” I say after a brief kiss. “Everything. Even lose at cards with the world’s saltiest partner.”

She laughs, and we carry our sushi-and-cookie haul into the house. While she’s visited Marcia several times over the past few months—sometimes to bake cookies and sometimes to play bridge at the clubhouse—this was my first time seeing Marcia since the night of the gala. I was happy to tell her that I’ve been making the most of every moment with Samantha since then. I’m not sure why Marcia decided to punish me for taking her advice by partnering me with her nemesis in the world’s most confusing card game. But considering I owe her one for giving me the final shove to pursue Samantha, I’ll forgive the torture.

After our late, reheated breakfast this morning, I drove Samantha to her apartment so she could shower and change before our session with the therapist. It was tough but beneficial for us to immediately process through last night’s events with a professional, even if she doesn’t have the depth of history with Samantha that Amber has.

I’ve spent my life putting effort into everything fun. Extra batting reps to get that rush of adrenaline from hitting a home run. Extra reflex training to make those split-second catches that get the out and win the game. Extra sprints to hear the crowd roar over a successfully stolen base.

Now, I’m putting extra effort into something hard. Something painful—something I’d still rather avoid, if I’m honest. But my own personal growth and my solid relationship with Samantha—those are the most important things. I’m going to give them the most extra effort.