Page 24 of Wishing Hearts

“What is it, Sammy?” I ask, hoping the nickname will help set him at ease.

His responding smile makes me warm. “D’you think we could meet up sometime? Near Houston, I mean, since we live so close. We’re practically neighbors, after all,” he teases.

“Right,” I say, my gut swooping a little.

My house pops into my head. The blue siding and the white shutters. The paved stone path up to the front door and the big, golden knocker in lieu of a doorbell. Winnie’s face and her laugh and the twirly dresses she likes to wear. My dog, Tigger, and the orange and white hair she leaves all over the house. My bed, so big and empty.

All the facets of my life that make things like this so much more complicated than it ever used to be.

I open my mouth to tell Sam I don’t think it’s a good idea. Because frankly, I think a clean break would be best. I already care about Sam. I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want to tie my baggage to his hands.

But he’s looking at me in such a hopeful manner that I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t tell him no. So, instead, I say, “Maybe,” even though it holds little conviction.

His smile widens regardless. “Okay,” he replies, tucking a bite of burger into his mouth and chewing.

“Hey, uh.” I clear my throat. “You never answered my question.”

Sam’s brows draw in for a moment before his expression lightens. “I’m thirty-two,” he answers. “And you? How old is the incomparable Doctor Bailey?”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Thirty-eight.”

Sam hums, nodding. “And what’s it like up there?” he jokes, cheeky as ever.

Lonely.

The thought stops me cold.

But it’s the truth, isn’t it? I’m lonely, even though I’m surrounded by people I love and people who love me. I’m still, somehow, alone.

I don’t have a partner. Someone I can lean on. Someone I can laugh with. And it’s been years since I’ve even tried. My last relationship ended shortly after Winnie’s sixth birthday. I remember because the guy—Hank—was upset that he had to spend his entire day at a kid’s party. He never said as much, but I could tell. He liked me, but Hank never liked my daughter, and that was a fucking deal-breaker.

That short six-month relationship ended four years ago, and there’s been no one since. And before that? Similar situations. A couple guys I dated. One when Winnie was two years old. That relationship folded before it ever really got a chance to start. And the other lasted close to a year before I realized I never saw the guy. He was hardly around, and that’s the only reason we hadn’t broken up yet.

Needless to say, the last decade has been one miss after another for me. And hookups? Yeah, those don’t happen anymore, Sam aside. Because when would I even manage it? When my daughter is in school and I’m on my lunch break? Over the weekend, when there are so many other things I need to do around the house?

There’s no time. No time and, honestly, no energy once the day is done. Being here in Plum Valley has been the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in the past ten years, and even still, it’s been riddled with guilt and nightly crying episodes from my daughter, who’s four hours away and doesn’t understand why I can’t be with her always.

And what could I tell her? What could I tell my daughter who just wants the assurance someone is there for her? That I have more important things to do? Because I don’t. She’s the most important, always. I thought a few days would be okay. I thought I could come here, and she’d be okay. But she’s not. And that’s my fault.

So dating? It’s not happening. Not anytime soon, and maybe not ever. That ship has sailed. Guys like Sam with their good intentions and wicked fucking cocks aren’t for me. It’s a pipe dream. A passing wish.

So what can I say to Sam, who wants to know what it feels like being thirty-eight and resigned to a loveless life?

I shoot the man a smirk I don’t feel. “At least my knee tells me when a storm is coming.”

Sam barks a laugh, big and bright. And God, for a moment—just a moment—I let myself wonder… What if?

Chapter 8

Sammy

Harrison is quiet as he packs away the rest of his gear. His head is tipped down, focused as he works, and his hat blocks most of his face from view. We’re the only two left in the barn now, apart from the sheep.

“Are you headin’ back tonight?” I ask. The sun is getting low in the sky, and it’d be a late night if Harrison drives the four hours home now instead of waiting for the morning. But something about the way he’s rushing slightly makes me think he’s antsy to get out of here.

He nods before looking up at me briefly. “Yeah.”

I try not to let my disappointment show. Harrison said we could get together again, so it’s not like this is goodbye.

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