Page 61 of Wishing Hearts

How this man can reduce me to mindlessness with a single touch, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. It’s his superpower, this pull he has over me. The way he makes me forget about grocery lists and upcoming school events and housework and every other tiny thing jostling for position in my mind. The way he tugs every ounce of my focus to him. The way he makes me feel.

He makes me feel so many bright, beautiful, terrifying things.

Sam’s fingers rake through my hair once more as he pulls back from the relatively chaste kiss. When my eyes finally open, there’s a soft, curious smile on his face.

“All right?” he asks.

“Mm,” I answer.

He runs his thumb beside my ear before giving the lobe a little tug. “C’mon, then. Feed me before I wither.”

Huffing a laugh, I follow Sam onto the bench seat, my thigh touching his. “That close to expiring, were you?”

Sam opens up the bag I brought, pulling out its contents. He makes a happy sound when he discovers the pasta salad. “It was definitely a close call,” he jokes, making an even happier sound when he uncaps the thermos of lemonade. He grabs the two cups I packed and pours us each a drink. Sam moans around his first sip of the sweet liquid, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob, remembering a very different thing he had in his mouth the last time I heard that noise.

Clearing my throat, I pull out forks and remove the lid of Sam’s pasta salad for him. It’s a recipe my mom used to make when I was a kid, and I love it to this day. It has grilled chicken, cucumbers, tomatoes, feta, and a hint of lemon. It’s good cold, which means it’s perfect for a day like this.

Sam thanks me when he finishes making love to his lemonade, and then he sets in on his pasta salad. I have to look away, focusing on my own lunch lest I pop a boner.

What is it with me and Sam behind our workplaces? And inside sheds?

Sam gives me a little nudge after a moment. “So, how was your mornin’?”

“Good,” I answer. “Typical. Winnie reminded me at least four times during breakfast that she prefers waffles to eggs.”

Sam groans a little. “Sorry. Did I make more trouble for you?”

“No,” I say, bumping his knee with my own. “We both loved the waffles. Well worth it.”

He smiles at that. “Is Winnie in any school clubs or anythin’?”

I shake my head, chewing my food before answering. “No. There will be more options once she gets to middle school, but she doesn’t seem interested in any of them at the moment. She’s loud and rambunctious at home, but Winnie is a little more reserved everywhere else. She has a couple friends she plays with outside of school, but most of the time, she would rather be at home exploring the backyard or reading.”

Sam hums, nodding. “An introverted soul.”

“Guess so,” I agree. I don’t even have to ask to know Sam is the opposite. I fall somewhere in the middle. I don’t need to be around people to be happy and energized, but I also don’t mind it.

“D’you think she’d like campin’?” Sam asks. “If she likes bein’ outside, maybe that’s somethin’ we could try on a weekend. Even campin’ in the backyard if you think goin’ somewhere would be too much.”

My heart beats staccato in my chest, and Sam falls silent, eyes darting my way like maybe he’s worried he said too much. Implied too much.

I lick my lips. “I think she might like that,” I say. “I don’t have a tent, though.”

“I do,” Sam says, closing his container slowly now that his pasta salad is gone. “It’s big, too. We could all easily fit if you…if that’s somethin’ you…”

“I’d really like that, Sam,” I tell him, giving his arm a squeeze.

He smiles tentatively, shoulders dropping their tension. “Yeah?”

I nod, throat a little tight. Sam’s the first guy I’ve dated who’s wanted to hang out with Winnie. Who’s suggested it outright instead of trying to find ways to work around my child.

“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ve been meaning to buy a fire pit for out back. We could make s’mores.”

Sam’s grin is like the sun. I could get addicted to making Sam smile like that. I think I already am.

“She said she likes lookin’ at the stars, right?” Sam says, on a roll again. “I could bring my book on constellations. Maybe we could find some if the sky is clear. And my tent is pet-friendly, so Tigger’s nails won’t be a problem. I even have some—”

Sam’s ramblings cut off when I drag him in for a kiss. He tastes bright from the lemonade and a little smoky from the chicken, and I devour him greedily, my heart pitter-pattering away.

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