Page 57 of One Last Gift

They walked on, taking a few turns until the stone path turned to gravel, and the colors of the flowers changed slightly, more purple and deep green. There were other people in the hotel, of course, but in this part of the gardens it was quiet enough that they felt like they had the place to themselves.

It was because of that that Cassie heard the footsteps behind them, softly crunching on gravel. She and Hazel turned at almost exactly the same time, and Cassie’s body jerked back, as if hitting a wall.

Sam.

It was Sam walking toward her. Not in his usual lawyer suit, but wearing a dark blue shirt, rolled up at the sleeves to show tanned forearms, and black jeans. He must be hot, was her first, bizarre thought, the only thought that made it through the buzzing in her mind as she tried to process what the hell he was doing here. He didn’t look hot though—he looked cool, calm, in control, those blue eyes measured as he walked purposefully toward her, completely unsurprised to see her here.

She and Hazel exchanged a glance, and Cassie saw that Hazel had no idea what to make of this either. The last Cassie had heard, Sam had been in New York. He’d been safely across the Atlantic—she wasn’t supposed to just bump into him like this. Her heart started beating faster, words sticking in her mind as she tried to think of something to say.

“Hi, Cassie,” Sam said, a crooked smile forming on his lips. He nodded at Hazel. “Hey, Hazel.” He stopped about a meter away from them, focusing his attention solely on Cassie.

“Sam.” Cassie’s voice was calm, but his name felt odd, alien, said out loud. All she could think of was the last time she’d seen him, when she’d shouted at him after he’d run out on Jessica, outside her hotel. “What are you doing here?” He couldn’t know the couple from brunch, could he? She would have seen him there earlier today.

His gaze stayed level on hers, and she found she couldn’t look away—there was something there, an intensity she hadn’t seen from him in a while, holding her to the spot. “I said I’d find you.”

“You said you’d…” But the cogs were turning, the truth rising up to meet her in a wave. Something in her gut wrenched and she stumbled back a step. He said nothing, waiting for her, his gaze careful on her face. “It was you,” she whispered, shaking her head as if that would make it less true.

“What are you talking about? What was him?” Hazel frowned, looking between the two of them. “Wait, do you mean…?” She raised her eyebrows at Sam. “It was you? You’re Mystery Man?” Hazel turned to stare at Cassie, clearly looking for some kind of explanation. But Cassie didn’t have one. Her mind wouldn’t process this—it couldn’t have been Sam, talking to her all this time, it didn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been Sam, to give that much money, without telling Linda it was him, without taking the credit. But here he was, standing there, looking cool as anything. Something hot was rising in her throat. How could he stand there looking like that, when he’d been lying to her all this time?

Hazel cleared her throat. “Umm…I think I’m just going to do a lap of the grounds, take in some air…” She glanced at Cassie, then smiled faintly at Sam. “Nice to see you, Malone.”

He nodded. “You too, Niagara.” Niagara. Tom and Sam’s nickname for Hazel. For some reason, that jolted Cassie into reality. She reached out, tried to grab Hazel’s hand, only for Hazel to neatly dodge her.

“What are you doing?” Cassie hissed, not particularly caring that Sam could probably hear.

“You need to talk to him,” she hissed back. She took a step away.

“Hazel,” Cassie said warningly, “come back here. Hazel, do not leave me, do you hear me, I’m—” But she was already striding away, covering a lot of ground on those bloody long legs.

Unable to avoid it, Cassie looked back at Sam. He slipped his hands into his pockets, glanced at Hazel’s back for a second, then focused on Cassie. Cassie felt her neck grow hot. Why wasn’t he speaking?

“It was you, on the GoFundMe?” she asked eventually. It was a redundant question, but she needed to say something.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She backed away, wrapped her arms around herself. She felt exposed, somehow, like she’d been caught in a trick and was now being made a spectacle of. Her chest was tight and she felt, inexplicably, like she might cry. Sam. The man she’d spent so long holding on to hatred for, the man she’d blamed for Tom’s death…This was the man who’d been helping her.

“You lied to me?”

His expression twisted into something she wasn’t used to seeing. “No, Cassie, I just…I wanted to help you, and I knew you wouldn’t take it from me, so I…”

“You still lied,” she said flatly. “And we were talking, all this time, and you emailed and you…” She hitched in a breath. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that the person who’d saved the pub that meant so much to her, who’d given them a donation that made it feel like fate, who’d convinced her that maybe there was hope for her own business idea, was Sam.

He stepped toward her and she backed away, shaking her head. “I can’t deal with this right now. I can’t deal with you. I…” She pulled both hands through her hair. “I’m going to get a drink.” And with that, she spun away from him, heading back to the manor and leaving him standing there, alone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

He didn’t follow her. She refused to glance back to check, but she didn’t hear him behind her, and when she finally looked over her shoulder as she got to the bar, he was nowhere to be seen. She let out a long, slow breath. No sign of Hazel either, who should not have left her like that. She realized she was scowling as the man behind the wooden bar, smartly dressed in a suit, smiled over to her, and she tried to smooth out her expression. “A gin and tonic, please,” she said. She figured she deserved it.

She propped herself up on one of the cream-backed bar stools as she waited, glancing at the paintings that hung in the white space on the walls above the wood panels of the rest of the room. She didn’t really see them, though, found herself thinking of the painting in her room, the lighthouse, the clue. Tom. Tom’s best friend, here now. Tom’s best friend, helping save the pub they’d both loved.

She heard footsteps and glanced toward the doorway of the room. It was someone Cassie vaguely recognized from the brunch this morning, not Sam. The fact that he hadn’t followed her, hadn’t tried to stop her, was worsening that pit in her stomach rather than calming it.

The bartender handed her a gin and tonic—fancy, with flowers in it—and she took a big gulp. God, his face, just before she’d left, that twisted expression. It hadn’t been put on; it had been hurt. He’d tried to hide it, sure, but she’d seen it in the tight lips, the flash in those eyes. He’d been expecting that reaction from her, hadn’t he? That was probably why he hadn’t tried to stop her. He’d been trying to help her, all this time, and she’d just laid into him. Yes, she felt confused and uncomfortable and maybe a bit freaked out by it, but…She’d been mean, and she shouldn’t have been.

A coward. She remembered biting the word at him, back in March. But now who was the coward? She was running, rather than facing up to him, just like she’d accused him of doing. So she took a breath, ordered another gin and tonic, then walked back out into the gardens.

He was still standing where she’d left him, looking out to the wild forest beyond the gardens. He noticed her approaching and turned to face her. For a moment she hesitated, stumbling to a stop. What had he been planning on doing? she wondered. Why hadn’t he followed her, grabbed her hand, spun her around? That’s what she would’ve expected him to do—follow her, a little taunting, a little cocky. “Oh, come on, Cass, surely you must’ve known it was me, no one else could be that charming.” Or something to that effect. But he was doing none of that. He was just watching her, a little warily.