Page 53 of Christmas at the Ranch
“It’s impossible to be unhappy in LA,” Roger said expansively. “Everything that was difficult about New York is easy there. You can drive anywhere and you’re never far from the ocean. There are so many hiking trails, and people wear running clothes to work.” He grinned. “I even have my own parking space at the office.”
He leaned forward and touched her hand.
“You should come and visit.”
Samantha snatched her hand away. Suddenly his touch made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want any of the old feelings to return.
“I can’t leave Socks,” she said quickly.
“Of course you can. Hire a dog sitter.” He leaned back in his chair. His tone was clipped. “You’re an author, you can write anywhere. Come for a couple of weeks. We could drive up the coast and see Big Sur.”
“Dog sitters are expensive,” Samantha replied. “And I don’t have time to go on drives. I’m on deadline.”
Roger took a large sip of beer. His face took on a wounded expression.
“That’s not the real reason,” he said evenly. “You don’t want to see me.”
Samantha’s cheeks flushed. She fiddled with her napkin.
“It’s been four years,” she countered. “Why are you saying all this now?”
“I was seeing someone, a med student at UCLA, but it didn’t work out,” he conceded. “One of the associates at the firm showed me your Instagram account. His girlfriend is a fan of your books, he was impressed that I used to date you.”
Samantha pictured Roger with some spunky medical student. She probably was one of those super achievers who trained for triathlons when she wasn’t discovering the gene that was responsible for Alzheimer’s.
“You looked me up because of my Instagram account?” Samantha repeated.
“Some of the places you’ve been are amazing. Don’t you remember how we dreamed of visiting the Italian Alps?” he responded. “I bet the view from the mountain pass was incredible.”
Samantha wasn’t about to tell Roger she hadn’t really been standing on an overpass above Cortina d’Ampezzo in the Italian Alps. The art department had Photoshopped Samantha into the picture.
“I have to go,” Samantha announced, pushing away her plate.
Roger stood up. He ran his hands through his hair.
“Have drinks with me tonight,” he urged. “Please, we still have so much to talk about.”
Roger looked so earnest. Like when they first met at the animal shelter, and he insisted she take Socks because they belonged together. For a moment, her heart lifted and she wondered if she was being too hasty. Was it possible to recapture what they had?
But she couldn’t let herself get hurt again. This time she might not survive.
“I’ll think about it,” she said tentatively.
Roger sat down. His easy manner returned.
“Text me and let me know. My phone number hasn’t changed.”
Samantha walked down the sidewalk. She wasn’t ready to go back to the ranch. Before she could think about it, she entered the gift shop where Marigold worked.
“Samantha.” Marigold glanced up from the cash register. “Are you all right? You look like you saw a ghost.”
The years of being so angry at Roger and missing him at the same time welled up inside her. A tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away.
Samantha shook her head. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something, you’re crying.” Marigold frowned. “Why don’t we go into the storeroom and you can tell me about it?”
“What about your customers?” Samantha asked.
