Chapter 43 Blythe
BLYTHE
We got sundaes on Thursday and breakfast the following Monday. Sam was gone for three days for an away game after that, but he’s waiting for me at six-thirty for a movie date on Friday night.
For three weeks we squeak out moments to see one another when Maggi is occupied and he’s not busy with work.
We kiss… a lot. But we don’t do anything else.
It’s like being a teenager again, sneaking around behind my parents’ backs, but instead of my parents, it’s my daughter.
Guilt weasels its way into my blood, not because I’m doing something wrong, but because it’s like I’m keeping Maggi from someone who became one of her favourite people in a very short amount of time.
It’s not only keeping Maggi from Sam that’s bothering me. It’s keeping Sam from Maggi. He never fails to ask how she’s doing, always listening intently to whatever story I’ve got cued up. Always prepared with follow-up questions or genuine laughter.
Sam helps me paint the new house during the day while Maggi is at school and stays there working while I go get Maggi from school to take her back to Martha and Thomas’.
He’s there without complaint on days I feel like an inadequate parent for whatever reason.
Maggi mentioning a friend’s mom and dad or expressing disinterest in leaving her grandparents’ home.
He holds me when I cry because I still haven’t adjusted to life over here, and I’m worried what’s going to happen when Maggi and I do officially move into our new home.
How many nights is she going to ask for Nana or Papa to read her a bedtime story?
Will she hold me responsible for losing two more people in her life?
“It’s a change, but she’s not losing anyone,” Sam said while rocking me gently, his back against the wall in my empty bedroom.
“Kids are more resilient than we are. She’s going to get here and see her bedroom with the mural and pile of mythical stuffies, and she’ll feel at home.
And one day she won’t need to be surrounded by those things because she’ll just have to look at you and know she’s home. ”
The way he looked at me when those last words came out of his mouth led to my next four words.
“Come to breakfast, tomorrow?”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Maggi asks as I uncross and cross my legs for the seventeenth time the next morning.
“Oh, nothing, Roo,” I assure her, albeit distractedly, which earns me one of her epic side-eyes.
“Would you sit still,” Martha scolds. “You’re going to need to change your shirt if you don’t stop moving.”
A knock at the door has me standing so fast I get lightheaded and need to rest my hand on the back of the couch before I can even consider going to answer it.
“The prince!” Maggi squeals.
“Hey, princess,” Sam’s soothing timbre rolls through the foyer before washing over me and pulling me from where I’ve been standing.
When I round the corner, I stop dead as an unexpected emotion slams into me at seeing Sam squatting down in front of Maggi, his attention fully on my daughter as she shows him the unicorn temporary tattoo she insisted on applying the second she woke up this morning.
She sidles up next to him and holds her arm out until he does the same, his forearm tattoo dramatic in comparison, but Maggi beams up at me, pointing at the Celtic horses etched into Sam’s skin.
“Look, Mommy, we match.”
Emotion blocks my throat, the sensation of tears threatening to knock down my carefully constructed wall around my daughter, stronger than it has been since Maggi’s first day of school.
I swallow all my feelings down, scraping for any ounce of composure I can grab hold of.
“That’s very cool, Roo.” I force myself to say while she runs past me yelling about how she and Sam have matching tattoos.
Sam stands, towering over me, backlit by the still-open door. I step around him to close it, only to change my mind, grab his hand, and drag him out onto the stoop.
“Wha—” he begins to say, but I kiss him before he has the chance to finish. I know he was expecting the worst, so I hope this pushes the worst from his mind.
His hands drop to my waist, pulling me harder against his body, and his tongue brushes alongside mine. It would be far too easy to forget about breakfast and devour each other instead.
I ease back, offering one final quick kiss when his lips follow my retreat.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. “I thought it was a good morning before that, but now it’s a great one,” he flirts, and the sexual charge relaxes just enough that I’m able to come back into myself.
I stare up at him. Soft brown eyes stare back, an easy smile pulling his lips to the right where that dimple does its dimple thing.
And I see it. The future of mornings like this.
Of feverish kissing and adorable moments with Maggi.
I’ve only been one hundred percent certain about two other things in my life until this moment.
Saying yes to Eric’s proposal and knowing I loved Maggi the first time I looked at her.
And now a third thing. Sam Keefer is absolutely meant to be more than a post-wedding hookup.
“What?” Sam asks after I’ve been staring at him silently for a while.
I could tell him what I’ve just realized, but this doesn’t feel like the right time. “I really like you.” I admit.
“Yeah? You don’t greet everyone that way?” he teases.
“Well, once, but I had a really good reason.”
“Oh? What was the reason?” He pulls me back into him.
“I don’t remember,” I say as if in a daze.
“That’s too bad. I love a good story.”
I rise on my tiptoes and press another quick kiss against his lips because I’m not sure how I’m supposed to resist kissing him when he’s right here. “I promise I’ll tell you if I remember.”
“Good,” he breathes against my lips, breaking away right before the door swings open.
“Look, Nessie, I told you the prince would come back,” Maggi says to her monster stuffie.
“Nessie, long time no see,” Sam says, stepping away from me and bopping the stuffie on the head. “You told her I’d come back?” he asks Maggi.
My daughter looks at him like he’s in the process of sprouting horns. “The prince always comes back to rescue the princess.” She shrugs. “Mommy, I’m hungry.”
“We’re coming, Roo,” I assure her, slipping my finger through a belt loop on Sam’s jeans and pulling him back through the door. “I think she likes you,” I whisper over my shoulder.
“Mommy,” Maggi asks after I set down the second book of the night and curl up next to her.
“Mmm?” I hum as she begins to walk her fingers up and down the arm I have wrapped around her.
“Is the prince going to be my new daddy?”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Why do you think that?” I stutter, unsure of how to approach this very unfamiliar territory.
I knew this would happen. Maggi is too aware of things for it not to come up eventually. I just didn’t consider that eventually would be on the same day Sam came back into her life.
“The prince always marries the princess.”
Fucking Disney.
“But you’re the princess,” I deflect.
She rolls onto her side, and my eyes cross because she’s so close. “I’m the little princess. You’re the big princess.”
“Oh, I didn’t know,” I whisper, pulling back enough so I can focus on her entire face.
“Do you love the prince?”
How do I explain to my nearly six-year-old daughter that she’s asking a very complicated question? Love is such a big word. A giant, all-encompassing feeling.
“I like him a lot,” I admit. I don’t go into how I can absolutely see myself loving Sam. It feels like I’m on the precipice of loving him.
She snuggles into me, Nessie trapped between us. “I like him a lot too.” She yawns and then remains quiet.
After five minutes I pull away and peek down. She’s out.
I’m positive I once fell asleep that quickly but these days it seems like I need to pay for sleep in at least thirty minutes of restlessness before I’m allowed to travel off to dreamland.
I think we need to talk.
It’s not until I’m through my nighttime routine that I realize I should have softened my text with a kiss or something and frantically send a string of followup texts.
It’s nothing bad.
Serious… but not bad.
I don’t think.
Fuck. What am I doing?