Chapter 25
BECCA
Icouldn’t focus at work all day, anticipating tonight’s date with Sam. We’ve shared many dinners before, but this time feels different—like an uncharted territory of connection.
When I asked what to wear, he shrugged with a casual “Whatever you want.”
Unhelpful. Eventually, he revealed we’re heading somewhere new, so I’ve decided to dress up, just in case.
I open the tiny closet in the cabin and pull out a dress I almost forgo, one I bought for a charity gala we never attended.
Sam had come home late that night after a long day working, and though he offered to still go, exhaustion was etched into his face.
I assured him it was okay, but the disappointment lingered.
At 6:59 p.m., Sam pulls into the driveway—punctual, as always. He meets my eyes from the window, and my heart skips a beat. He steps out with a bouquet of wildflowers—sunlight daisies and lavender—from our garden.
A surge of warmth floods me. I miss my garden, our home.
Sam shoots me a glance and a knowing smirk. He's nervous too. Damn.
I pull the door open, and his scent—earthy, fresh rain—fills the space between us as he leans in for a kiss on my cheek. My skin tingles long after I walk away to get a vase for the flowers.
“I love that dress on you, baby, is it new?” Sam asks.
I find myself breathless. “No, I haven’t worn it out yet,” I say, avoiding the memory.
He doesn’t let me deflect. He comes close, places his hand lightly at the small of my back, and says, “Was this for an event or date I canceled?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He hums thoughtfully. “I’m sorry I put work first too often. Trying to grow the business, proving myself to who knows what or whom, got in the way of us.”
I meet his gaze over my shoulder. He’s looking at me that way again—soft and vulnerable—and the old ache returns.
“I know you did.” I turn slowly to face him, and my voice wavers. “I never said anything because I believed in our plan. I thought it was temporary.”
Sam steps closer, closing the gap between us. His breath brushes my lips. “It was a great plan … until I ruined it.” He cups my face with one hand, stroking my cheek. I lean into his palm. “I know I fucked up,” he whispers. “But I promise I’m changing. You’ll never be second again.”
I swallow hard, blinking back tears. When he kisses me, slow and reverent, my resistance crumbles. For one intoxicating moment, I just let it happen. I forgot how much I missed the way he kisses me, like I am all he desires in the world. Then I remember, I have to be careful too.
“Okay … so, where are we going tonight?” I force a smile, eyes still partly closed.
He steps back to offer his hand, and with his fingertips grazing mine, says, “Somewhere we’ve never been before but you’ve asked about.”
We climb into his truck. He buckles me in and leans forward to press a soft kiss to my temple, whispering, “Precious cargo.”
I flush, his warmth lingering on my skin like a promise.
The drive is longer than I expected, winding through unfamiliar hills until we pull up in front of a converted vineyard-turned-restaurant called Forage like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
“I mean,” I say, trying to smile as I blink too fast. “Sometimes a girl wants to be the center of attention. Right now? She feels the center of his world, and she knows everyone around her sees it too.”
He doesn’t tease me for it. Doesn’t laugh. Instead, his hand finds mine beneath the table, strong and steady. He traces light circles into my palm, his thumb moving slowly, purposefully.
“I know that now,” he says, voice low but firm.
I bite my lower lip. My cheeks warm with equal parts gratitude and longing. I feel seen, and I hate how much I needed that.
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss to my fingertips, then holds them to his lips like he’s memorizing the feel of me all over again. My breath stutters.
And just like that, the room fades.
The string quartet, the applause, the wine—it all disappears. There’s only him.
As the dinner service continues, each course more outlandish than the last, Sam’s lips curve. The room is still buzzing from the proposal when I catch Sam looking at me the way he used to—like he’s already three steps ahead, already building something in his head.
“So there is something I wanted to suggest.” He shifts closer, his thigh grazing mine under the table. “I had an idea. For your property.”
My heart skips. He called it mine, but I wish it were still ours. I nod for him to continue anyway.
“The land is big—five acres. What if, on the opposite side of the cabin, we set up a few campsites? Nothing fancy. Just a clean bathroom with a shower, maybe a small, locked utility room with a washer and dryer, so you, or whoever you hire, don’t have to haul linens all over the place.
The campsites could bring in an extra $25 to $50 a night.
Low overhead. Minimal maintenance. And still super private from the cabin rentals. ”
I stare at him, stunned. “Wow. That’s actually … a really great idea.”
His eyes light up with pride. He straightens in his seat like he just won Builder of the Year.
“It’d help recoup the cabin investment faster, and still give guests privacy,” I add.
“Exactly.” He’s practically glowing. “Win-win.”
The waiter arrives with our bill, but when I reach for it, Sam beats me to it.
“Nope,” he says, sliding it far out of my reach with a wink. “I’ve never let you pay for a date, and I’m not about to start now.”
“But things are different,” I protest. “Let me at least cover the tip.”
“Nope. Not happening. My woman deserves the finest sea-foam tree moss this town has to offer, and she deserves it without paying for it.”
I laugh despite myself and let it go.
As we walk out into the night air, Sam leans close, voice teasing against my ear. “I’ve got dessert waiting for us too.”
I stop short, pulse jumping. Wait, what? My body stiffens. Is he serious? We had one … intimate … phone call, and he is assuming—no. I need to slow down.
“Well,” I snap, lifting my chin. “I’m suddenly stuffed. Dessert’s off the table.”
He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he opens the truck bed and pulls out a picnic basket.
“Too bad,” he says calmly. “I also packed your favorite sandwich. Just in case the teaspoon-sized portions didn’t fill you up.”
My stomach growls at the worst possible time. I squint at the basket. “That better be what I think it is.”
“PB my gaze lingers on his hands, remembering exactly how they feel on my skin. The pull between us is still there. I feel it in every brush of his fingers, every shared smile, every memory baked into peanut butter and bread.
I don’t know where we’re going from here. But tonight, I let myself want it again. Even if it still scares the hell out of me.
After our drive to the cabin, Sam pulls out a soft plaid blanket and spreads it across the truck bed, then he turns on a tiny flameless candle. He leans back on one elbow, watching me as I unwrap the sandwich.
His eyes linger, and not just on the food. “You’ve got jelly on your lip,” he murmurs.
I go to wipe it, but he stops me with a light grip on my wrist.
“Let me.” His thumb grazes the corner of my mouth, then trails down to my chin.
My breath hitches. It’s ridiculous how much power this man still holds, even after everything.
“I remember the first time I saw you eat one of these,” he says, voice roughened with memory. “We were camping at Lake Dexter, and you had on that ugly orange hoodie and were reading that book about financial independence for women like it was a religious text.”
I laugh through the heat climbing my chest. “It wasn’t ugly.”
“It was horrible,” he counters, his smile faltering into something more serious. “But you looked so happy. Like you knew exactly where your life was going.”
I set the sandwich down. My voice wobbles. “And now?”
Sam’s gaze dips to my mouth, then lower. “Now … I’m hoping I get to be part of that picture again. But only if you want me in it.”
The air tightens between us—a tension that’s been simmering under every careful conversation, every gentle gesture. I shift closer. The lantern flickers. His hand finds the small of my back, fingers warm as he pulls me closer.
“I didn’t pack dessert just to get you naked in the woods, Becca,” he whispers, tone laced with amusement and something darker, hungrier. “But I’m not gonna lie … I’ve been thinking about that since I saw you in that dress.”
I lean in, breath brushing his jaw. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. “And what if I’m not ready yet?”
He stills, eyes locking on mine with a reverence I haven’t seen in years. “Then we just sit here. You eat your sandwich, and I count my lucky stars you are allowing me in your presence.”
The wind stirs my hair. Something inside me softens—and aches. And just when I think I might kiss him, my phone buzzes between us.
Unknown number. My stomach dips.
Sam glances at the screen. “Everything okay?”
I hesitate. My fingers tremble slightly as I pick it up.
Unknown
I saw the house went pending. Tsk tsk, Mrs. Hughes. I thought you understood I was interested.
The warmth of the evening drains out of me immediately.