For Sam: A new-girl small town cowboy romance

Chapter 20 Tommy

Two feelings battle inside of me: relief that borders on the edge of laughter because she’s not in more pain, and anger that she’s crying because someone wants to take care of her when she’s hurting.

“I don’t know who you’ve dated in the past, but I can promise you one thing, Samantha Davies: I won’t let a single day go by without you knowing how lucky I am to be with you.”

Okay, maybe that was a bit overbearing. We’re not officially together, but Jesus Christ, her past relationships must have been with complete tools.

Sam scrunches up her face. “I’m sorry, I’m just a complete mess.”

“Why would you ever need to apologize for that?”

Her eyes well up again and I change tactics, trying to get her out of this headspace of someone showing common decency being amazing.

“Truth or dare.”

She takes a sharp breath in and pauses, her eyes finding mine. “Truth.”

“Are you okay with the idea of us being,” I give myself a moment to not put too fine a label on things, “a thing?”

She searches my face, like I might be trying to walk her into a trap. I want to throttle her exes. But then, she nods.

“Yes?” I ask, needing to be sure.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Perfect,” I say, leaning over and kissing her again. Her lips are incredible and her breath hitches just a little, even though these are some of the most chaste kisses two people can manage. I pull back, my hands still cradling her face.

“You have one job while I’m cooking.”

She opens her eyes with a questioning look.

“Relax right here. Okay?”

“I can do that,” she says, her eyes clearing up.

I grab the remote that’s on the other end of the table and put it in her hand. “And pick out something for us to watch.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything else? Another blanket or tea?” I ask, trying to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

“No, everything is perfect,” she says.

“Liar,” I say.

“Well, as perfect as can be while dealing with cramps.” She thinks for a moment. “You’re going to be less than twenty feet away.”

“Alright,” I kiss her once more and turn around before I crawl behind her on the couch and hold her, trying to take away some of the pain. Courtney used to have terrible cramps every month before she went on birth control and I guess I’ve just gone into autopilot from taking care of her.

Once I’ve done a preliminary search of what she has on hand, I ask if chicken and rice soup will be okay.

“That sounds so amazing right now,” she says, her head resting on the back cushions.

It doesn’t take long before I’ve found everything I need to lightly season two chicken breasts. She even has the same stock Matt likes to buy, so I know what I’m doing. Her oven takes longer than expected to heat up, but that’s the only quirk I’ve found so far. Everything feels natural moving around in her kitchen.

It feels right.

Not Sam sitting on her couch, curled in a ball with a hot water bottle. But cooking for us. Maisy always rolled her eyes when I wanted to stay in and cook, not that I’m great at it, but anything she saw as “domestic” in her mind was a waste of time.

I’m not expecting Sam to have zero faults, that would be completely unrealistic and unreasonable. But all of her hesitations so far revolve around not wanting to be a burden and not wanting to ask something of anyone else.

That thought settles in and reassures me that I’m not: A) putting Sam on some pedestal that no human could ever live up to; B) “finally” having a rebound; or C) desperate to show Maisy I’ve moved on before she comes back to Greenstone.

This is the first time I’ve thought about being with someone whenever Maisy returns to Greenstone. Until now, I’ve assumed that I’d still be single because trusting someone seemed like too much and I’d just ignore her. She’d find someone new to fixate on soon enough. I’ve had plenty of time to truly know how wrong Maisy was for me and the more time I spend with Sam, the more I’m certain that she is nothing like my ex.

As I put the chicken in the oven, I realize that my heart didn’t squeeze and my gut didn’t drop thinking of my ex. I let out a breath of grateful disbelief because Maisy’s hold on me hasn’t been about me still harboring feelings for her in a long-ass time. But the damage of knowing how long she felt it was okay to keep me around and how long it took for me to recognize what should have been glaringly obvious was far worse.

This shouldn’t be some major revelation on my part, but holy shit I feel like a weight has lifted from my chest and I do what I should have done months ago: block Maisy’s number.

There isn’t anything I need to know. God, I’m not sure the last time I even opened a message from her. Probably four months, at least. It’s time she doesn’t have access to any of my time or my thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, I lose myself in the little things I’m doing like wiping down the counters and putting things away that I won’t need later. When I go to join Sam on the couch, I take in the scene in front of me and say the first thought that pops into my head.

“What did you do?”