Two steps on the sidewalk after coming out of Toby's and Sam's cell phone rang. The number looked familiar – probably one he had lost with his old cell phone, Sam rationalized. It had been a big pain trying to get all the numbers back from the first cell phone into the new one, which made Sam curse the fact that he had accidentally put his pants with the phone in the washing machine all those years ago. Okay, so, it was a classic Sam Seaborn moment, but it still drove him insane.
But whose number was it? It looked so familiar… clearly a D.C. cell number… whatever, no point in pondering, just pick it up.
"Sam Seaborn," he said, talking into the phone.
"Sam?" the southern accent on the other line was undeniable.
"Ainsley?"
"Yes," she laughed. "Long time no correspondence."
"I'll say. How are you?"
"Well, I was doing better until a few days ago, but other than that I've been really good."
Sam stopped walking on the sidewalk. "God, it's been—"
"A very long time."
"Yeah," he sighed, then returned to a chipper tone. "So, what are you doing these days?"
"Actually, I'm in D.C. right now."
"Good to be back?"
"Well, I'm living in Boston year-round, but I'm here for the funeral."
"Oh, yeah. That's why I'm – I'm in Washington, too."
"Yeah. I was hoping you were."
"Really?" Sam replied slyly.
"Yeah – I – do you think you could do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"I'm kind of – stranded at BWI. Do you think you could—"
"Don't worry about it. What airline?"
"Southwest, out of Providence."
"I can be there in – I don't know, not too long, I'll call you once I'm close, okay?"
"Sounds great. Thank you, so much, Sam."
"Don't mention it," he answered, and closed his phone, walking towards his car.
Though he was supposed to be popping in to see one of his old neighbors, Sam knew that helping Ainsley was more important. And, for that matter, much, much, much more intriguing.
-------
He quickly spotted her out on the curb – okay, maybe the fact that he had called her and she had told him what she was wearing and where to meet him had helped, but there was a certain rush of excitement upon seeing her for the first time in – God, he couldn't even remember when they'd seen each other last.
Sam pulled up to the curb, hit the hazard lights, and ran out of the car.
"Hey, Sam!" she squealed, running over towards him and giving him a big hug. He gladly reciprocated, managing to squeeze in a small kiss on the cheek.
Sam stepped back after the embrace and looked her over. Damn, she looked good. Sexy. But, not that he'd say that aloud. Instead, he decided upon the very civil, "Hey! You look great!" to which she replied, with a southern drawl,
"Thank you. And you, on the other hand, look like someone who hasn't been in the sun in years – and yet you've been living in California? What's up with that?"
"Ah. Very funny. No, I seem to find myself coming out only at the crack of dawn and then at rolling back into my apartment after midnight."
"And how does the woman of the house feel about that?"
"Well, I did have my sister's cat cleverly named Kitty living with me for a few weeks when her – my sister – floors were being resealed, but aside from that it's been pretty woman free." Was he hallucinating, or was Ainsley sort of – hitting on him? God, he could never tell. Could never tell the looks, could never tell the talk.
"Maybe the smell of the kitty litter still lingers and is driving them away."
"Maybe." Sam realized that if they didn't move soon he'd probably get a fine. "Let me help you with your bags."
"Oh, you don't have to."
"I insist. Seeing as I am, today, your airport limo service, I'll have to take the bags."
She laughed. "That little one, right there."
Sam walked over to pick up the bag – tripping on the curb, of course – opened the trunk, and placed Ainsley's suitcase in the car. He then went and opened the passenger's side door for her. "Opening doors and everything for you."
"Very nice, Sam. If you ever plan on getting out of law, I see your next career."
He just smiled, and ran around to the driver's side, quickly getting in, buckling up, and driving off. "How is it," he began, "that you know so much about what I've been doing and I know so little about your post-White House life?"
"Connections."
"Connections?"
"I have good connections."
"Or, really, you've kept in contact with Donna."
"Among others."
Sam smiled. He had really missed Ainsley. There was always this feeling that he had that there was something more to them than just friends – but, was that the way she felt? Did she have a boyfriend? He could ask now or ask Donna later. But, it's not as if he'd make it through the car ride with that in the back of his mind. May as well… Dammit, just do it, Sam.
"So, how's been living in Boston?" he finally motivated himself to ask.
"It's been nice. I've been teaching at Harvard."
"Enjoying living with the crazed Red Sox fans?"
"Oh yeah," she replied.
Time to go for it. Sam slipped a glance at her left hand; no ring. The set up was there for the information. "Your boyfriend a Red Sox fan?"
She turned, sitting forward in her seat and faced him. "Why Sam, that was very sneaky of you."
"What was?" he replied, turning quickly to face her and then back to stare at the road.
Her back returned to the seat. "No, my boyfriend doesn't like the Red Sox."
"Bruins, then?"
"No."
"Celtics?"
"No."
"Patriots? Come on, he can't not root for any of the Boston teams, he'd get killed up there!" Sam was inching closer and closer to victory.
"He likes the New England Revolution, thank you very much."
Dammit. That was a low blow. Major League Soccer. "Oh," was all the former speech writer could muster.
She let it go for a minute. "I'm kidding," Ainsley finally replied. "I actually have found myself to be boyfriend-less up north."
The Laker Girls in Sam's head were doing cartwheels. "You know why that is?"
"No, why?"
"Because Boston's the mother ship of all things Democratic, and there you are, a blonde Republican girl from North Carolina in Kennedy Land. No wonder all those liberal men don't want anything to do with you."
"Excuse me," Ainsley said, her voice going higher, "but they have a Republican governor up in Massachusetts, know-it-all."
"That's just because they don't want the Democratic Congress to go to town with a Democratic governor. It's their way of legislative checks and balances up there."
"Uh-huh."
"Sorry," Sam conceded. "But, we like the Republican girls a little bit more in Washington and California, if it makes you feel any better."
"You mean the liberal boys outside of Boston are kinder?"
"Yes."
"Well, maybe I'll try my luck in New York."
"Ah, but they too have a Republican governor. I have a feeling your results will be the same."
"Damn. And I was so sure," said Ainsley.
"Uh-huh," Sam replied, ending that part of the conversation. He had gotten the information he needed. "Hey, where am I driving you to, anyway?" he asked, realizing he had just automatically gotten on the highway as if he were going to his old apartment.
"Oh, I'm staying with a friend out here."
"Who?"
"One of my Republican ones," Ainsley kidded.
Sam smiled. "What's the address?"
"Want to take me out to lunch first? I'm starving."
"Why doesn't this surprise me?" he chuckled. "Absolutely."
God. Sam could never tell the signs.