Read Online Love, Suburban Style by Wendy Markham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wendy Markham
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memory.”
Total lie. He has a great memory.
That’s why it’s so shocking that he doesn’t remember her.
Another clap of thunder, startlingly close, then fat raindrops begin splatting abruptly all around them.
“No!” Meg turns and hurries back toward the sidewalk.
“Isn’t everything broken?” he calls, watching her scramble to pick it up.
“Not all of it. I’m going to save what I can. My daughter made most of it when she was little.”
Daughter. Oh.
Well, maybe she doesn’t have a husband.
His next thought:
Why do I care?
The one after that:
How can I find out?
“You have a daughter? Where is she? What about your husband? Did you hire movers? You aren’t trying to do this entire move on your own, are you?”
Too many questions.
But he was trying to make the one about the husband a little less obvious.
And you did it so well it just got buried.
Meg looks up, apparently not sure what to answer first. “I, uh, no, they’ll be back in a while, but I’ve got to—”
Lightning flashes. She jumps a little.
“Wait, I’m coming to help you,” Sam calls, and stops at his Trailblazer first, mulling over her reply as he hurriedly rolls up the windows.
They’ll be back in a while.
So she is married, with at least one kid.
Oh, well, Sam thinks, crossing to the gate to help her. It’s not as though he’s interested in dating her… or anyone.
Just…
For a moment there…
Well, he could have sworn when he looked at her that something stirred to life in a long-neglected, shadowy place deep inside him.
Chapter
4
H e doesn’t even remember me.
Wow.
But at least they had a real conversation.
All those years ago, when Meg was obsessing about Sam Rooney, it never occurred to her that it would take twenty years before she managed to connect with him.
Connect,
as in,
talk to.
Not connect as in…
Well, in the way a dreamy, infatuated young girl yearns to connect with the good-looking, athletic, charismatic student council president.
Sam Rooney.
He looks exactly the same.
Well, in a more manly way. He’s still tall…
Of course he’s still tall. Did you expect him to shrink?
Meg is utterly irritated with herself for even noticing his looks.
After all, he’s a dad now. He must be, because when she and Geoffrey arrived for the walk-through on Friday morning, she saw a young girl riding aimlessly up and down the adjacent driveway on her bike, and several teenaged boys shooting hoops beneath the net on the detached garage.
Geoffrey, of course, had to comment on the scene. “Oh, happy joy, it’s Kinder Kamp right in your own backyard.”
“That’s not
my
backyard.”
“It might as well be.” He looked around distastefully, hands tucked into the pockets of his black Armani silk slacks as though afraid he might contaminate them otherwise. “This is all very…”
“Suburban?” she supplied, when he couldn’t seem to find the right word.
“I was going to say frightening.”
Now, surreptitiously watching Sam Rooney stride toward the U-Haul, where she’s pretending to survey the towers of boxes, she
is
a little frightened.
Of herself.
Of the strange, fluttery eruption in her stomach.
He looks the same as he did back in high school—tall, yes, and also lean and muscular. He’s wearing his wavy brown hair a little longer and shaggier than he did back then.
And those killer blue eyes are just as piercing.
Looking at him, Meg is fifteen all over again.
Terrific. Is she doomed to go around with perpetual butterflies in her stomach whenever she sees the Dad Next Door?
Watching him approach, she wonders what his wife is like and is sure that
she
would never go around in ancient red shorts and an orange T-shirt. No,
she
probably looks as though she stepped out of a J. Crew catalogue.
Then again… Sam doesn’t.
His no-frills wardrobe has seen better days: a plain old athletic-looking gray T-shirt (which reveals impressive biceps), blue running shorts (which reveal tanned,
Total lie. He has a great memory.
That’s why it’s so shocking that he doesn’t remember her.
Another clap of thunder, startlingly close, then fat raindrops begin splatting abruptly all around them.
“No!” Meg turns and hurries back toward the sidewalk.
“Isn’t everything broken?” he calls, watching her scramble to pick it up.
“Not all of it. I’m going to save what I can. My daughter made most of it when she was little.”
Daughter. Oh.
Well, maybe she doesn’t have a husband.
His next thought:
Why do I care?
The one after that:
How can I find out?
“You have a daughter? Where is she? What about your husband? Did you hire movers? You aren’t trying to do this entire move on your own, are you?”
Too many questions.
But he was trying to make the one about the husband a little less obvious.
And you did it so well it just got buried.
Meg looks up, apparently not sure what to answer first. “I, uh, no, they’ll be back in a while, but I’ve got to—”
Lightning flashes. She jumps a little.
“Wait, I’m coming to help you,” Sam calls, and stops at his Trailblazer first, mulling over her reply as he hurriedly rolls up the windows.
They’ll be back in a while.
So she is married, with at least one kid.
Oh, well, Sam thinks, crossing to the gate to help her. It’s not as though he’s interested in dating her… or anyone.
Just…
For a moment there…
Well, he could have sworn when he looked at her that something stirred to life in a long-neglected, shadowy place deep inside him.
Chapter
4
H e doesn’t even remember me.
Wow.
But at least they had a real conversation.
All those years ago, when Meg was obsessing about Sam Rooney, it never occurred to her that it would take twenty years before she managed to connect with him.
Connect,
as in,
talk to.
Not connect as in…
Well, in the way a dreamy, infatuated young girl yearns to connect with the good-looking, athletic, charismatic student council president.
Sam Rooney.
He looks exactly the same.
Well, in a more manly way. He’s still tall…
Of course he’s still tall. Did you expect him to shrink?
Meg is utterly irritated with herself for even noticing his looks.
After all, he’s a dad now. He must be, because when she and Geoffrey arrived for the walk-through on Friday morning, she saw a young girl riding aimlessly up and down the adjacent driveway on her bike, and several teenaged boys shooting hoops beneath the net on the detached garage.
Geoffrey, of course, had to comment on the scene. “Oh, happy joy, it’s Kinder Kamp right in your own backyard.”
“That’s not
my
backyard.”
“It might as well be.” He looked around distastefully, hands tucked into the pockets of his black Armani silk slacks as though afraid he might contaminate them otherwise. “This is all very…”
“Suburban?” she supplied, when he couldn’t seem to find the right word.
“I was going to say frightening.”
Now, surreptitiously watching Sam Rooney stride toward the U-Haul, where she’s pretending to survey the towers of boxes, she
is
a little frightened.
Of herself.
Of the strange, fluttery eruption in her stomach.
He looks the same as he did back in high school—tall, yes, and also lean and muscular. He’s wearing his wavy brown hair a little longer and shaggier than he did back then.
And those killer blue eyes are just as piercing.
Looking at him, Meg is fifteen all over again.
Terrific. Is she doomed to go around with perpetual butterflies in her stomach whenever she sees the Dad Next Door?
Watching him approach, she wonders what his wife is like and is sure that
she
would never go around in ancient red shorts and an orange T-shirt. No,
she
probably looks as though she stepped out of a J. Crew catalogue.
Then again… Sam doesn’t.
His no-frills wardrobe has seen better days: a plain old athletic-looking gray T-shirt (which reveals impressive biceps), blue running shorts (which reveal tanned,
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