The Lying Season (Seasons #1) - K.A. Linde Page 0,62
with wide eyes. All exposed brick and natural light with sparse furniture and a close, comfortable feel. A large stack of boxes took up the front left corner. An open door revealed the darkened bedroom. I was actually surprised how little there was in the space. It seemed the only real decorations, other than the blue curtains, were the little carvings on several surfaces. I knew from personal experience that Sam had a knack for woodworking.
“Hey, you found it,” Sam said with a wary smile. “What do you think?”
“It’s so adorable.” I closed the door behind me and hefted a bottle of red wine in front of me. “I brought wine.”
“Great. I have an opener here somewhere.”
He began to rummage through the drawers as I dropped my bag onto the couch. He triumphantly pulled out a corkscrew.
“Aha! I knew I hadn’t packed them both,” he said.
“Why are you all packed up anyway? Does your lease end soon?”
He hadn’t mentioned it, but I figured it must be up soon. Maybe by the end of the summer. Since he said he’d been here about a year.
“Oh, no.” He took the bottle from me and began to open it. “Well, yes. It is soon. Going to have to figure out what I’m going to do about that. But…I actually packed up all of Claire’s stuff.” He gestured off to the boxes after he pulled the cork out. “It was everywhere. And I was tired of looking at it. So, I did it after Court’s event. Hence…” He gestured around again.
My heart fluttered. He’d packed all of Claire’s stuff up. He hadn’t told me that before. I’d tried to tell myself that I wasn’t worried. But in some way, this felt more real than anything else he could have done. He’d said he had things to figure out…and then he’d actually figured them out. Here was the proof.
“I like it,” I told him.
“You’re just saying that.” He pulled two wineglasses out of a cabinet and poured us each a glass. “It’s nothing compared to what you’re used to.”
“That doesn’t mean that I don’t like it.”
“True,” he conceded. “It has charm.”
A buzzer sounded from the oven, and he hustled back over. He pulled out garlic bread wrapped in aluminum foil. He set it down on the stove and then began to stir something in a giant pot that smelled amazing.
“Need any help?” I asked.
“Uh, nope. You can take a seat, and I’ll dish us up some spaghetti.”
“All right.” I took my wine to the small table pressed against a wall just big enough for two.
A few minutes later, Sam brought two plates over full of spaghetti with a red sauce and garlic bread. My mouth watered at the sight.
“This smells amazing.”
“Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe. She seemed surprised that I was making it in the city. I don’t remember the last time I had time to cook. Or more specifically, had the energy to cook.”
I laughed as I twirled my fork in the pasta. “I feel you. I’m glad that you did it for me.”
His smile was magnetic. “Me too.”
“So, now that we’re getting three days off…”
“Tentatively.”
I rolled my eyes. “Leslie will give them to us regardless if we hit the goal. She just wants this to be the big last push before the voter registration window closes. She’ll want us to be fresh for the last month before the primary. She’ll seem magnanimous. Or at least, it’s what I’d do.”
“True. It makes sense. Why is Shawn running her campaign and not you anyway?”
My cheeks flushed. “Shawn is more qualified.”
“Bullshit. He’s a head case.”
“A genius strategist and head case.”
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But you have the heart.”
“I mean, I’d love to,” I told him. “Honestly, ever since I got on this campaign and realized how much I love it, I’ve wanted to be a campaign manager.”
“You would be already if you went with a candidate for a lower office. A state senator or local mayoral race.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I could. But how could I pass up the opportunity for the mayor of New York City? Even at a lower office? What I’d love to do is eventually be a campaign manager for the presidential race.”
“That’s big time,” he said. “Even more work.”
“I know.”
“You’d be great at it,” he said with a smile.
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. I already think you should replace Shawn.”
I laughed and waved my piece of garlic bread at him. “You’re a bit biased.”