Page 20 of Of Heather and Thistle
“I do,” he said, holding her gaze.
Her breath caught, the sincerity in his eyes disarming her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think. And maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe there was more of Anne in her than she gave herself credit for.
“Anyway,” Sam said, leaning back with a grin, the tension breaking as quickly as it had built, “I have to say, I’m impressed. Anne Shirley is a solid choice. But now I’m picturing you roaming the Scottish Highlands in puffed sleeves and talking to trees.”
Heather snorted a laugh, grateful for the sudden levity. “Hey, don’t knock puffed sleeves. Anne made them iconic.”
Sam grinned, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Noted. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for puffed sleeves next time I see you.”
Her heart fluttered at how he said it and the promise laced in his words. For the first time in forever, she let herselfimagine what it might feel like to be open to something new. Let someone like Sam see the world through her eyes—and maybe help her see herself differently.
His gaze was steady, thoughtful. “You deserve something good, Heather. Something that’s just for you.”
She looked at him, her heart skipping at the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
The room fell quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then Sam shifted, his fingers brushing hers lightly where they rested on the cushion between them.
“You’ve been on my mind for a while, you know,” he said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers.
Heather’s breath hitched. “I have?”
He nodded, leaning in slightly. “Yeah. You’re smart, funny, and beautiful… and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So when I saw you yesterday at Evergreen, I figured, why wait?”
Her heart raced as his words settled over her. “I… I’m glad you didn’t.”
He smiled, his hand slipping over hers, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “Good.”
The space between them disappeared as he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, testing before deepening the kiss. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him as his other hand rested lightly on her waist.
Heather melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss grew more heated. The warmth of the fire seemed to wrap around them, her thoughts spinning as his touch sent sparks through her.
When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost a plea.
Heather hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her pulse thrumming. “Okay.”
Sam smiled, brushing a wayward auburn curl from her face before pulling her into another kiss, and Heather let herself get lost in him: in that moment—in the feeling that, for once, she didn’t have to hold herself back.
Heather’s pulse raced. His forehead rested against hers, breath warm and steady.
Then—
He laughed.
Low. Awkward. Wrong.
And everything cracked.
Heather pulled back slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What’s so funny?”
Sam shook his head, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.
The taste of him was still on her lips.
Her breath was uneven, her body still thrumming from the way his hands had just gripped her waist, the way he had pressed into her like heneededher. And now—now he was acting… off.
Sam shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips, but something in his eyes flickered—like he was already bracing for impact. “It’s not a big deal.” His voice was too casual, too dismissive.
Heather let out a breathy laugh, still catching up to the moment. “You’re really going to say that afterthat?”
