Page 62 of Wishing Hearts

“Don’t stop,” I say, pulling back from Sam’s lips.

“Kissin’ you?” he says, trying to tug me back in. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

I give a quick shake of my head, holding him tight. “No. Don’t stop being you. If I fuck up or say something wrong or do something wrong or—I don’t know…” I swallow roughly. “Just don’t stop.”

Sam smiles. “I’ve never known how not to be me,” he says simply. “I don’t plan on changin’ now.”

I nod, voice gone, and his hands smooth along the sides of my neck.

“Now, are you gonna let me kiss you again, or do I gotta beg?” he asks.

I don’t stop Sam this time when he leans in, and as his lips meet mine, that little seed inside my chest unfurls.

Chapter 18

Sammy

“You sure I’m doin’ this right, li’l miss? My volcano isn’t as tall as yours,” I note with some concern.

Winnie nods confidently. “It’s right. It doesn’t have to be tall, Sam. It just has to be yours.”

My eyes shoot wide as I look over at this little girl with her strangely powerful words of wisdom. “Well, dang. Okay, then.”

“You two have fifteen minutes before dinner is ready,” Harrison cuts in.

I turn to Winnie. “We gotta hurry.”

She nods furiously, shaping her impressively tall volcano. She’s wearing a pink dress today, and her hair is up in a messy ponytail that’s failing its one job. There’s clay smeared along her cheek, transferred from the lumpy volcano in front of her, and another gray streak rests along the bottom of her dress.

She is, quite possibly, the most charming creature I’ve ever set eyes on.

“C’mon, Sam!” Winnie says. “You’re not building.”

“Right,” I say, lips twitching as I go back to finishing my own rather stout volcano. Mine, just like Winnie’s, is sitting on a sheet pan from below the oven. Apparently, when we set the things off, it’s going to make a monumental mess.

I can’t wait.

Harrison makes a ding sound. “Time to clean up.”

“All right, where’re we puttin’ these?” I ask, hefting my sheet pan.

Harrison points to the counter, and I bring the volcano over, setting it in a clear space. Winnie’s volcano is next, and the little girl follows to make sure I don’t botch the job. After that, Winnie starts cleaning up in the kitchen sink, and I head to the half bath.

There’s a smile on my face as I wash the clay off my hands, and when I look up, I realize I have a splotch on my own cheek. I rub it off, stomach skipping all over the place.

I take a moment before I rejoin the Baileys, needing to breathe and process. Moments like this…they feel like a lost memory. Like something that maybe could have been for me long ago, back when I was still a kid. They feel like a missed opportunity come to pass.

I didn’t have a terrible childhood by any means. I was fed, clothed, never abused. But I didn’t have stability or folks in my life that cared who I became. My fondest memories are all scattered snapshots: adventures I had on my own. There was no family to share my life with.

There was no assurance I was loved.

Maybe it’s silly to attach such sentiment to the process of building a volcano, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Winnie’s memories will be full of her dad when she’s older. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll be there, too.

When I get back to the kitchen, Harrison is putting food on the table. I join the crew, giving Tigger a quick scratch as I pass her by. The dog loves me, I know it. But at meal times, her loyalties lie with the little girl with a propensity for disposing of vegetables. I get it.

“So, li’l miss, what’s new in school?” I ask, dishing some green beans onto my plate. I add some to Winnie’s, too.

Winnie shrugs, avoiding her veggies but eating her pasta.

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