Page 37 of Wishing Hearts

She whines, as I knew she would. “Five more minutes.”

“One,” I counter.

“Ooh, he sounds serious,” Sam says, bringing a smile to my lips.

Winnie says something too quietly for me to hear, and I wait while she milks every last second of her final minute. When I clear my throat again, she reluctantly emerges from the sheets.

“Cleanup, first,” I remind her, heading to one corner of the fort.

Winnie nods, grabbing an end and tugging. Sam’s face appears below me, and he grins. Right before the rest of the fort comes toppling down on his head.

Tigger rushes from the mess of blankets, sheets, and couch pillows, tongue out, and Sam groans in a theatrical manner, his feet kicking feebly.

I snort. “Oh no,” I deadpan. “We’ve squashed him.”

“It’s just blankets, Sam,” Winnie says, entirely unconcerned about Sam’s apparent peril. But she does climb onto the mess to try to pull the sheets off his face, and that’s when Sam groans for real.

I cover my mouth again, holding in my laughter at what I’m assuming, based on the shape of the Sam lump, was an unintentional knee to Sam’s groin.

When Winnie frees Sam’s face, his lips are pressed tightly together.

“Okay, Sam?” I ask, a little laughter bleeding through my tone.

He nods a tiny bit, opening his eyes and blinking up at me. And oh. Damn, do I want to kiss that man. I want to throw myself down on top of him, blankets and all, and thank him for staying. I want to tell him he’ll probably regret it. I want to warn him and beg him in equal measure because it’s been a long damn time since I’ve felt like this.

It’s not even a monumental feeling, what’s stirring inside. It’s this tiny seed, sun-starved and dehydrated. It’s hope and want. And I’m scared to feed it. Scared to let it grow.

Sam gives me a look as he sits up, brushing sheets and pillows off his body. I wonder if he can read whatever is on my face. I focus on helping put the couches back together as Winnie stores her books and night-light on the toy shelves. Sam folds blankets and sheets, and before long, we’re done.

“Winnie,” I say. “Why don’t you head upstairs and pick out pajamas? I’ll be up in a minute, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she says, hopping off and taking each stair one at a time, thumping in a way that tells me she’s jumping from step to step.

I wait until Winnie is firmly up the stairs before facing Sam. He’s watching me with far more patience than I deserve.

“I know we need to talk,” I say, feeling a curl of guilt, once again, in my stomach. “But this might take a while with Winnie.”

“I’ll wait,” Sam says. “I don’t mind.”

I puff out a breath, eyes stinging a little. Now that there’s a very real chance I might actually lose this man I barely know, I’m dreading it. I wasn’t looking for more. I’d resigned myself against it.

But then Sam burst into my life, not once, but twice. For whatever reason, he wants me. And I want him, too. I can’t even deny that. I want to try. I want to latch onto that hope inside my chest and see where we could go.

But Sam might choose to pass on all of this. It’s not what he signed up for, and I wouldn’t blame him if it’s not what he wants. I wouldn’t blame him for leaving, especially after how I acted.

I fucked up.

“Harrison,” Sam says gently, walking close. He takes my hand, such a simple, soft gesture. “It’ll be all right. I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’ll figure it out.”

Could it really be that simple?

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

My breath hitches. “You really want to?”

That smile of his turns up at the corner. “Yeah, stud. I really do.”

I grab the back of Sam’s neck, tugging him in, and his arms come around me, locking me in place as his mouth meets mine. He tastes like vanilla, like everything that’s good and sweet in the world. He tastes like a million wicked, perfect promises, and I drink them down, begging for more.

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