Chapter 1
As his eyes fluttered open, reality slowly returned to Sam Strait.
A light-skinned woman with sandy-colored hair hovered over him. Long hair framed her face as if she stood at the end of a short tunnel. She studied Sam with the stern concentration of an overbearing schoolteacher.
His eyes slowly closed again.
He’d been dreaming about a different woman—an alluring vision with skin the color of creamed coffee. They had recently been to a quiet cafe, sharing espressos and talking music. This other woman—her name was Lena—earnestly spoke about things as if everything should be more critical than they were.
At the quaint rendezvous from his dream, Lena had chosen to share the importance of protest songs from artists like Joan Baez and Credence Clearwater Revival and Public Enemy. She recently produced—assistant produced, she carefully clarified—a documentary on the subject, and the matter still greatly intrigued her. This, of course, intrigued Sam.
He listened intently to Lena’s many commentaries on the subject. Some of the artists she referenced he knew, but that wasn’t why he was so keenly focused. Instead, she fascinated him. He found that he enjoyed listening to Lena. Partly it was her accent—she’d grown up in the south—but of most significance was the intensity she brought to their conversations. Even if she didn’t know much about a subject, she got passionate about it.
The other woman—the one now shaking his shoulder—didn’t seem to care about the otherworldly visit from Lena. Sam blinked several times, then tugged the noise-canceling headphones from his ears.
“—prepare for landing,” the flight attendant said.
Sam forced his eyes wider and stared at her.
The attendant’s face relaxed, and she rested her hand on the edge of his seat. “Please bring your chair upright.” The attendant moved forward to admonish another passenger in the first-class section about putting a tray into its stowed position.
He closed his eyes briefly, hoping to revisit the memory of Lena in the cafe. It wasn’t difficult to picture her. She was beautiful.
And she smelled fantastic, he remembered. It was a scent he couldn’t quite place, but it was one he couldn’t get enough of.
She rarely laughed at his jokes. Instead, she frowned with curiosity at them, which he thought was strangely charming. He enjoyed that whenever it happened.
Lena’s regular job was as a programming director for a national television conglomerate. She’d come to the islands to rediscover herself but found Sam instead. They spent three days together before he had to leave. She still had another week left on her vacation and asked Sam to stay with her. He considered it—seriously considered it—but doing so would have broken two of the rules he’d set for himself.
No attachments.
Leave when it’s time.
He didn’t have many rules to live by—he only had five that he’d bothered to write down—but those two were of paramount importance. In fact, they were the second and third listed on the small piece of paper he kept in his wallet.
So, abiding by his rules, Lena and he spent his final afternoon together before Sam caught the red-eye back to the mainland.
He brought his chair upright before running his hands over his face. His skin felt greasy, and a day’s worth of stubble covered his cheeks. His tongue traveled across his teeth, and he wished he could brush them. The departure time and subsequent eight-hour flight left him feeling grimy.
As he stowed his headphones into their protective case, he rubbed his bare feet across the carpeted floor of the plane.
The woman next to him watched his feet swish back and forth. She was in her late thirties with short brown hair. He considered her attractive but in a severe and corporate way. Her gray business suit looked as uncomfortable as it was utilitarian.
After stowing her laptop in a bag, the woman tucked it underneath the seat in front of her. When she finished, she turned to Sam and said, “I should have done that.”
“Done what?”
“Taken my shoes off.” She pointed to his bare feet, still dragging lazily across the carpet.
For the entire duration of the flight, her feet had remained caged in pointy-toed medium heels.
With a nod toward her footwear, he said, “They look uncomfortable.”
“I didn’t think about them.”
“How could you not?”
“I had work to do.”
“On a red-eye?”
“The work won’t do itself.” She said it with what seemed to Sam a misplaced amount of pride.
For the entirety of the flight, he either read or slept, but mostly the latter. He wore the headphones for the whole trip, though. It was a defense mechanism he’d learned from his travels. When people thought he was listening to music, they left him alone.
Sam slipped his feet into a pair of flip-flops and crossed his legs at the ankles.
Even though he rarely started conversations with strangers on planes, he asked, “What do you do?” He was curious about the type of person who would choose to wear a suit and heels on an overnight flight.
“I’m an attorney.”
When she announced her occupation, he almost ended the conversation at that moment. Instead, he forced a smile and politely asked, “On the islands?”
“Seattle. I flew to Honolulu for the disposition of a property portfolio.” For additional clarification, she said, “A client’s estate.”
“Must have been fun,” Sam said robotically.
Her brow corrugated. “Fun?”
“A free trip to Hawaii and all.”
“It wasn’t free. I worked, and one day was all it took. I didn’t need more than that.”
“You didn’t take any time for yourself?”
Her face pinched. “I had work to do.”
Sam’s polite smile melted. This was a conversation he wanted to extract himself from. He pulled a book, Ego is the Enemy by Ryan Holiday, from the chair’s back pocket in front of him. He opened it to the spot he had bookmarked.
“Self-help?” the woman asked.
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t bother to look at her. Continuing the conversation no longer interested him. His seatmate might be physically appealing, but her dedication to an occupation Sam found distasteful moved her into a category that he avoided as much as possible—people with repulsive careers. He’d actually created a rule concerning them.
Regardless of attractiveness, he didn’t spend time with lawyers. He also didn’t occupy his time with accountants, IRS agents, politicians, real estate brokers, or preschool teachers. The latter category was added after learning how irritatingly cheerful one woman was. He wasn’t sure all preschool teachers would be this way, but why take the chance?
Life was short, and time was precious. It was best to adopt a few rules to live by. Therefore, he was careful to avoid preschool teachers at all costs. So far, it hadn’t been a struggle.
Sam read a few lines in his book before the lawyer asked, “First time to Seattle?”
This, Sam thought, was the problem with removing the headphones too early. While they were in the air, the woman had ignored him as she focused on her laptop. She spent the trip perusing a variety of spreadsheets or crafting lengthy emails. Now, as they prepared to land, she was more than willing to engage him in conversation.
He didn’t like chatty seatmates, of which he’d had a few over the recent years. The headphones or a book usually kept them at bay, but he’d made the mistake of talking to her in the first place to find out about her shoes. All bets were off now.
Not bothering to look up from his book, he muttered. “Seattle’s a layover. Then home.”
“And where’s home?” She cocked her head to read some of Sam’s book.
“Newman Lake.”
The lawyer smiled. “You got me. Where’s that?”
“Spokane County.”
Her lip twitched as she fought the smirk he expected. Sam believed most Seattleites didn’t appreciate the rest of the state beyond the Cascade Mountains. “What are you doing there?”
“Spending the summer.”
This seemed to surprise her, and her lip returned to its natural form. She tilted her head to the opposite angle and studied him. They were roughly the same age, but while she looked business professional, he appeared beach-worn with his faded jeans and threadbare T-shirt.
“Do you live in Honolulu?”
“Just hung out there for the winter.”
“Hung out?” she asked as if trying to comprehend the phrase. It shouldn’t be a problem for her. She was too young to be confused by its usage.
“I stayed there for the winter,” Sam clarified. “Well, for part of fall and spring, too.”
“You… hung out?”
“Worked some, too, but mostly hung out. Yeah.”
“What did you do?”
“Washed dishes.”
The woman glanced around the first-class cabin. “You washed dishes?”
“Not always, but it’s the work I found interesting this time.”
“Dishes?”
“At Duke’s.”
“The restaurant on the beach?” She pointed at his pale blue T-shirt that bore the Dukes’ logo.
“Uh-huh.”
“And you did that for the winter?”
“Part of fall and spring, too.”
The woman frowned. “Now, you’re coming home for the summer?”
“That’s right.”
Her mouth dropped slightly open. “To do what?”
“Hang out.” The conversation had now gone full circle.
“At Newman Lake,” she slowly said. “Is your place actually on the lake?”
Sam nodded.
The woman studied him for a couple of seconds more before again glancing around at the other first-class passengers. When she faced forward in her seat, she bowed her head and thought.
Sam spent the rest of the flight in silence as he read his book.
