Page 87 of Maid of Dishonor

“Uh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I guess? Kind of?” Then I sigh, trying to think of how to explain. “Yeah. It’s like I’ve…I don’t know. Like I’ve claimed you or marked you or something—shut up, Sam, youasked!”

She slaps her hand over her mouth to cover her grin. “I’m not laughing at you,” she says quickly. “I’m just…happy.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, amused, but I don’t respond. I just press a kiss to her nose as she digs her phone out of her pocket and snaps a few pictures of us, smiling as she looks through them and then tucking the phone away again.

“It’s too dark to get a good picture,” I point out.

“I know,” she says, sighing happily. “I don’t care. I’ll take more later. Oh, by the way,” she adds. “I named the goldfish Moby Dick, and I love him more than life itself. So if this is going to work out, you’re going to need to earn his trust. Let him see that you’ll be a good goldfish papa.”

I grin and resist the urge to tell her how incredibly cute she is. “Earn his trust?” I say.

“Yes. Moby is a part of my family now. You need to respect that he might not be ready to have a new father figure in his life yet.”

“I will earn your child’s trust,” I promise, still grinning at her, and she nods solemnly.

“Good.”

This is heaven. Sam is heaven. And maybe she was right—maybe we will break each other’s hearts. But she was also right that we’ll put each other back together again. And is there anything better than being stitched together at the seams by the woman you love—anything better than knowing you have your own, personal sunshine?

No. There’s nothing better. So I bury my face in Sam’s hair, get one last hint of peaches, and then press a quick kiss to her lips before it’s time for us to go. And when I fall asleep that night, I dream about a love that’s no longer out of my reach.

Twenty-Five

Sam

You knowthose moments in your life that you’re sure you’ll still remember in fifty years? The moments that settle into your very bones, weaving themselves into the fabric of your soul, until you know you won’t forget one single thing? That’s what Castlewood with Carter is like. I am very sure that for the rest of my life I’ll be able to recall the way his arms wrap around me as I curl up on his lap, the way the breeze plays with my hair, the way his voice breaks when he talks about his dad. I’ll remember every inch of his face, the feel of his scruff under my fingers, the taste of his lips on mine.

When I wake up the next morning, though, I still feel the need to make sure it wasn’t all just a very vivid dream. So the first thing I do is grab my phone and text Carter.

Did last night happen?I type. Then, wanting to make sure the conversation doesn’t take any unwanted turns, I add,If you don’t know what I’m talking about, don’t ask.

I drag myself out of bed, popping out to the kitchen table to say good morning to Moby, and then head to the bathroom for a shower. I’m just about to turn the water on when my phone rings.

“Hi,” I say.

“So last night definitely happened,” Carter says—and I cringe when I realize it sounds much more risqué than it actually was—“but I’m curious. How would you have explained your question if I had said no?”

I can’t stop the smile that appears on my face at his words. “I had a plan,” I admit, turning the shower on and cranking it all the way to the left, giving the hot water plenty of time to show up. “Although if you recall, you weren’t supposed to ask what I was talking about.”

Carter snorts but doesn’t say anything.

“But I knew you would anyway,” I go on, leaning closer to the running water now, “so I was going to invent some crazy dream.”

“Are you—is that your shower?” Carter says, his voice sounding sort of strangled as he changes the subject.

“Yep, I’m about to hop in,” I say, letting one hand pass through the stream of water. The temperature is perfect. “I’ll call you later?”

I hear him exhale roughly, followed by some indistinguishable muttering, and then he says, “Later.” He hangs up without even waiting for me to say goodbye.

“Weird,” I say, frowning at my phone, but I let it go. The hot water is calling my name.

I soak for a good, long time. When I’m done, I lazily brush my hair, working the tangles out one by one, reveling in the strange sense of peace I feel. It’s…kind of amazing. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel weighed down by anything—by my feelings for Carter, by thoughts of my mom—by any of it.

When I’m done getting ready for the day, I call Carter back. He doesn’t have baseball camp today, so he’s probably free.

“Want to go to the cages?” he says as soon as he answers.

“Uh, sure,” I say, surprised by how quickly he had that suggestion ready.

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