Chapter 40 Sam
SAM
I’m walking out of the meeting with my old team a week after my impromptu trip to see Rosie, when my phone vibrates.
I’ve been back in Glasgow for two days, and every time I look at my phone, I hold my breath.
This time is no different, except when I see the unknown number, my body relaxes for the first time in weeks.
Unknown
Date, yes or no?
YES
I’ve never answered a text or added someone as a contact so fast.
When?
I’m available tomorrow.
May I pick you up?
You may.
I want to ask if I can come first thing in the morning. I don’t want to wait all day, but I know that’s not how this needs to work.
6?
Perfect!
How the hell am I supposed to just exist for the next twenty-eight hours?
Suddenly this suggestion of a proper date seems silly.
She’s here, I’m here, what the hell are we doing?
I grumble to myself the entire way back to the flat, coming up with scenario after scenario that ends with her out with me in the next thirty minutes instead.
As the kids I mentored a few years ago would say, I have zero chill about this. I once thought I was pretty slick, a cool guy, but I am absolutely positively not cool at this moment. I’m a virgin on prom night who got the most popular girl at school to say yes to dance.
My lack of cool is probably why I’m on the train heading for Edinburgh after begging my cousin to distract me.
“I hope you're not planning to pursue pottery as a career,” Nora taunts, leaning over to appraise my handiwork on the pottery wheel.
“Give me a break, it’s my first time,” I grumble as the wall of the already off-kilter bowl I’m trying to form collapses under the pressure of my hands.
Nora points to the teenager in front of us. “It’s their first time too.”
I lean to my left to see their wheel, and atop it sits a perfectly formed bowl with high, elegant sides.
“You’re a terrible teacher,” I say as I ball up my clay for the fifth time.
“They’d disagree with that assessment,” she nods toward the teen again.
I groan in response, starting over once more.
“I can give you one of mine. Maybe you can come back later with Blythe—bring Maggi along too.”
My foot eases off the pedal, and I sit up, holding my clay-coated hands away from the apron spread across my lap.
“I’m not sure I want them to see me suck this hard.”
The kid across from us snorts and I glare down at the glob of clay, feeling utterly defeated by dirt.
Nora elbows me, pulling my attention away from my disappointment.
“It’s not a bad thing to admit and show that you’re not good at something, Samster.
It’s a very good quality. Plus”—she shrugs, wiping her hands on her apron and standing up—“it’s a great lesson for a kid.
You get to show Blythe that you’d be a good father figure. ”
“Whoa,” I exclaim, standing as well. “Let’s not jump to that.”
“Father figure?” she asks, picking up my clay and whacking it into a bucket of rejected clay pieces. “You’re pursuing a woman with a kid, and you haven’t thought about what kind of future role you’d be playing.”
No, I’ve definitely thought of that, but I’m trying not to right now. I’m trying to focus on taking Rosie on a date. I’m trying very hard not to imagine a future beyond tomorrow night with her. I mean, I have. But in this moment, I’m desperately trying to rein in my imagination.
“Oh,” Nora breathes out, stepping closer. “You’ve considered all that, haven’t you?”
I tilt my head back and sigh because she’s relentless and I’ve done this to myself.
“Yes, of course I have, Nora,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I know they’re a package deal. And the fact that didn’t scare me off…
The fact I was sad I didn’t get to hear about Maggi’s adventures with her grandparents was a big fat clue that I was very much okay with some kind of future where I was more than the guy who—” I stop abruptly because some things don’t need to be discussed with family.
“Took her mother to a remote cottage for a week of sex and general debauchery?”
“Jesus, Nor,” I hiss. “Could you say it any louder?”
“I absolutely could. Would you like me to?”
My glare answers for me, and she cackles while starting to clean up our stations.
“Listen, remember when you were with what’s-her-face?”
“Georgiana?” I ask.
Nora nods as she turns on the sink and looks back at me while she runs her hands under the clean water. “What was the reason you two didn’t work out, again?”
“She wanted a family,” I admit, stepping next to her to wash my own hands. “It’s not lost on me that I’m actively pursuing a future with a family built in.”
Nora pops her hip against the counter while she dries her hands, staring back at me thoughtfully. “What is it about this woman? I mean, you feel this way after only knowing her for a very short time, and you were with Georgiana for what… two years?”
“Three,” I grunt.
“Three,” she repeats, handing me a towel. “And you don’t really seem to be hung up on the time factor of it all. So, aside from liking her kid, what is it about her?”
How do you explain something you can’t fully grasp yourself?
I know this feeling is real, but beyond that I don’t know why it exists or why I’m suddenly okay with the idea of coming home to more than one person.
I can’t articulate why the idea of drinking the first coffee of the day while listening to a kid talk about unicorns or goblins or some shit doesn’t make me want to run headfirst through a wall.
“The thought of not being with her is physically painful.” I finally say, looking down at Nora’s clay-splattered shoes because I don’t want to see the look on her face right now.
“Well, we better find you the perfect vessel for whatever giant arrangement of flowers you’re planning on giving to your future wife.” I look up in time to see Nora spin and follow until we’re standing in front of a shelf of vases in various cool-toned shades.
A tall, narrow blue vase catches my attention first. It starts lighter but darkens toward the bottom, resembling the sky over a loch. It’s undeniably perfect.
“How much is this one?” I ask, pointing to the vase.
“Seven hundred pounds,” Nora replies, and I have to look at her to see if she’s joking. She’s not.
“Um, okay, well… Yeah, I’ll take that one then.”
“You seriously would spend seven hundred pounds on a fucking flower vase?” she hisses. “You must really like her.”
In the end, I pay one hundred and fifty pounds for the vase after Nora insists that she was fucking with me and head back to Glasgow feeling a little better about tomorrow but no less antsy.
Hiding in my new Land Rover wasn’t how I imagined starting this date, but that’s what’s happening. I arrived early, and now I’m parked in the same spot that I’d been when Rosie said goodbye to me weeks ago.
The hiding part is to avoid being spotted by Maggi—despite the tinted windows, something tells me she’d see right through them without any issue.
I watched for Thomas to pull out of the driveway, then quickly slunk down in my seat, which, even in a car this size, is not easy to do for someone 6’3” and over two hundred pounds.
It’s worth the discomfort in order to stay hidden.
The pretzels I’d twist myself into in order to follow Rosie’s request to keep this between us, for now.
At five to six, I put the Rover in reverse and back into the MacTavish’s driveway, give myself a little pep talk, and step out holding the bouquet of yellow roses that are nestled in the vase from Nora.
I’m holding the damn thing with two hands because I’m actually shaking as I approach the front door.
I’ve played in front of and met the damn king, countless dignitaries, and celebrities, and yet having an actual shot with a woman I already know intimately has me more nervous than all of those moments combined.
At the door, my eyes flick between the doorbell and the door itself.
Why can’t I decide how to approach this?
Is knocking better? The doorbell may be easier to hear if she’s in her room or at the back of the house.
But maybe that’s too aggressive. Maybe a soft knock is the better way to go.
Fuck, why is this so hard? I don’t want to look too eager, but then again, I did fly across the country to ask her out—if that isn’t a clear display of how eager I am, I don’t know what is.
Before I can make up my mind, the door swings open, and Rosie stands there in jeans and a dark green t-shirt, her red hair in soft waves, framing her face.
I have to remind myself to breathe. Actively working to draw breath into my lungs, pulling it back from the direction she’s standing as if she’s stealing it from me.
Literally taking my breath away because she exists.
“Hi,” she says, biting her lip, drawing my eyes immediately to the lips I haven’t touched in many agonizing weeks.
“Hi.” I manage to say back, my toes curling in my shoes to keep me grounded because I feel like I’m about to float away.
“Um, these are for you.” I hold out the vase and watch as her blue eyes widen.
It’s then that I realize they’re the same blue as the lightest on the vase.
How had I not remembered that? There I was comparing it to the Highland sky when in reality it’s Blythe Blue.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathes as she lifts the roses to her nose and inhales deeply. She pulls away and smiles up at me. “They smell like raspberries.”
My gaze dips to the roses and back to her. I hadn’t bothered to smell them. I literally hadn’t taken the time to smell the roses, and I had so much time to kill while I was waiting in the car.
I lean in until the tip of my nose brushes a petal and sniff. “They do.” I nod, standing upright again even though what I really want to do is crowd her and drop my nose to her hair, her neck, her… I want to breathe her and only her in.
“Do you want to come in for a minute?” She steps back, gesturing for me to enter. “I’m going to put these in the conservatory.”
“I bet it’s a nice one,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Wanna see it?”
I nod, and she motions for me to follow.
Slipping my shoes off in record time and closing the distance between us in seconds as she leads me down a hall, through a formal living room, into a library, through a set of open glass doors, and into a conservatory that is three times the size of the one at the cottage.
It’s grand and elegant yet cozy. It’s a place I can easily see Rosie curled up in a chair reading.
I look around, and I take in a half-completed puzzle with what looks like elves and a white wolf and a juice box next to it.
Maggi’s little giggle floats through my memory, and I’m suddenly sad that I didn’t get to see her.
“Mags has been working on that for about a week after school,” Rosie says as she sets down the vase on a little table tucked in the corner.
“How’s school going?” I ask, slipping my hands into my pockets to ward off the temptation to grab her and pull her to me.
She sighs and offers a shrug. “Some days she comes home and talks a mile a minute. Names and activities just flying around. Then other days she basically says she can’t remember.
” She laughs and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.
“She’s made friends quickly, and thankfully all the parents I’ve met have been nice. ”
I study her, watching as something I can’t quite identify crosses her expression. A split second of guilt, maybe?
“And how has it been going for you?” Those blue eyes scan my face as if she’s trying to figure out if I really want to know, and then I watch as the mask slips off when she makes way too much of an effort to smile.
“I wasn’t really prepared for the solo thing.
I don’t know why. I mean, firsts are all hard, but…
” She trails off, pulling at the delicate gold heart that hangs around her neck, as if searching for something before dropping it.
“I wasn’t prepared,” she repeats. “So,” she says, her tone brighter. “What have you planned for us?”