Page 67 of Wishing Hearts

Guilt hits all over again that I dated him in the first place. He wasn’t good for us. I don’t want to make that sort of mistake again.

“Sam is nice,” I agree. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“It’s fine,” she says flippantly. “Can I be excused now?”

I let out a sigh. Whenever Winnie says so little, it means there’s a lot on her mind. I don’t want to push her, though. She knows this means change. I just hope it’s one she—and I—can handle.

“Sure,” I tell her. “You’re excused. Just don’t get too close to Sam while he’s working.”

Winnie pushes away from the table and brings her plate to the side of the sink. She calls for Tigger as she heads toward the back door, and the dog follows not a moment later, short nails tapping down the hall.

I watch out the window as Sam’s head turns when he catches sight of Winnie coming into the backyard in her big pink muck boots. He grins before bending down to greet Tigger, whose stub tail wiggles so hard her back legs do a little dance.

I shake my head, covering my mouth as my insides fizz. He fits. How does he fit?

After finishing my own breakfast, I clean up our dishes and head outside. Winnie is on one side of the yard with Tigger, the both of them investigating something under a bush. She’s not wearing a jacket, but at least it’s warming up quickly. Sam is over by the oak tree, nailing up the first of the supports for the floor of the treehouse. He sees me coming but finishes with the board in his hand before turning my way.

“Hey,” he says warmly. He’s wearing jeans today, like he usually does when he’s off work, and a black t-shirt that hugs his body tight. His hat is on his head—no surprise there—and the morning sun hits him from the east in a way that highlights the definition of his abdomen while simultaneously lighting his face. The entire effect is stunning, and my tongue gets stuck to the roof of my mouth.

When I don’t say anything, too caught up in taking in this man before me, Sam’s expression falters.

“Should I have called first?” he asks. “I figured I’d surprise you, since you told me to keep bein’ myself, and this is totally somethin’ I would do. But now you’re starin’ at me, not sayin’ a word, and I can’t tell what that look means.”

“Sam,” I breathe out.

“Yeah, Harrison?” he asks tentatively.

“I like the things you do.”

He exhales, tension dropping and smile snapping back into place. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to kiss you if that’s okay.”

His eyes ping to Winnie across the yard. “You told her?”

And fuck, that hope in his voice.

I tug Sam in, and his lips meet mine, hat brushing my forehead before it’s knocked away. He grips my side tight, and he’s solid and warm and all the things I’ve been thirsting for. He lights me up inside in a way that’s been absent from my life for entirely too long.

I pull back before the kiss can get heated—there are some things this parent doesn’t need to do in front of their child—and Sam grins.

“Does this mean I’m definitely, officially your boyfriend now?” he asks.

I huff a laugh, grabbing Sam’s hat from where it fell on the ground. “Yeah, Sam. So why doesn’t my boyfriend get his cute butt back to work while I start some laundry? I’ll be out to help soon, okay?”

Sam’s grin never falters, even as I plop his hat back on his head. “You think my butt is cute?”

Of course that’s the part he focuses on.

“What do you think?”

“I dunno, Harrison,” he says with a playful smirk. “Maybe you oughta repeat yourself. I might’ve heard you wrong.”

I step closer, putting us nearly toe to toe. I know Sam isn’t fishing because he’s remotely self-conscious about his body. He just likes the tease.

And damn if I don’t like it, too.

“Your ass isn’t cute,” I amend, voice quiet. “It’s practically illegal.”

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