Chapter 45
BLYTHE
Why does Sam asking what’s in the bag sound like “Blythe, take off your clothes”?
I give my head a shake and refocus because yes, I would absolutely like to do something without clothes with Sam today, but I also brought him here to actually talk.
And the possible after-chat activities will be highly dependent on how this conversation goes.
“I, um…” I open the bag and hold it out. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got a croissant, a chocolate croissant, an apple scone, and a pain aux raisins.”
“Smart, pretty, and brings all the best pastries,” he says, nodding his approval, which makes me feel like a kid who just got a big gold star for acing a test.
I gesture toward the back of the house and lead Sam to the conservatory that I finished decorating yesterday.
Sam releases a soft “oh” when we walk in, and I peek back to see him look around approvingly.
The once-white interior has now been painted a pale blue, a sage green loveseat and armchair sit across from each other with a simple white coffee table between, already covered in the puzzle Maggi was working on last night.
In the corner, the vase Sam gave me sits on a table with a fresh bouquet of yellow roses from the florist around the corner.
Various plants from Martha’s collection are scattered throughout to make the space appear more lived in, according to my mother-in-law.
I let Sam look for a little longer, studying the way his expression softens the longer he looks. It may be my home, but it’s important to me that he likes it all the same.
When he looks back down at me, I nod toward the loveseat and drop the bag of goodies on the table before sitting in the armchair. I would much rather be sitting next to him, but I need to concentrate, and if he’s only inches away, I’ll be more focused on the comforting heat of him being so close.
“Would it be outrageous if we split everything?” he asks, perching on the edge of the loveseat and ripping the bag down the sides to form a makeshift plate.
“It would be more outrageous to let freshly baked goods go more stale by the minute,” I say, picking the chocolate croissant up and tearing it in two and then realizing that he may find it gross that I’m using my hands. “I don’t have a knife.” I grimace.
He glances at my hands, zeroing in on the smear of chocolate on my thumb before those intense brown eyes land on my lips. My tongue sneaks out to wet them, and I watch as his throat bobs.
This isn’t the time, I scold myself, looking back down to carry on with my task of ripping each pastry apart, keeping my eyes down so I don’t get distracted by staring at him for the foreseeable future.
I grab half of the chocolate croissant and retreat until my body meets the back of the chair, and wait for Sam to settle back on the loveseat, at a safe distance.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” he asks.
I practiced. Went over every point I want to discuss while I got ready this morning. I had been confident, but now I’m not so sure.
“If you don’t w—” Sam begins to say.
“No,” I cut in. “I need to say some things.” His brow furrows, and he swallows again, and my mind starts to wander, wondering how two swallows can be so different.
I sit up straighter, suddenly feeling awkward about sitting here holding this damn croissant.
“I’m going to say some things,” I repeat.
“And I need you to just let me say them, and then at the end you can tell me if I’m way off base, and I’ll have to live with my humiliation for the rest of time.
” I laugh nervously, keeping my attention squarely on him despite desperately wanting to look away.
“Okay, deal,” he says, holding his half of the croissant awkwardly in front of him, making me regret getting anything other than coffee because there is something so unserious about sitting here hoping to have a serious conversation while sharing a flaky pastry.
“Well, as you are well aware, my husband died just over two years ago, and I have a nearly six-year-old daughter. And this thing between us feels right?” I ask, and he nods once, shifting the croissant to his other hand.
“Normally—in a world where I don’t have a daughter—I wouldn’t bring up the future this early on.
I’d let things play out, but with Maggi, well, she comes first. Eric will always be her dad, and I want her to always be curious about him.
I want to always feel like I can nurture that curiosity because I am not done loving him.
” Tears begin to well in my eyes as I say everything I’ve been thinking about out loud.
“I want her to have as much of him as she can get. And as much as I have enjoyed this,” I gesture between us.
“I won’t pursue more if…” I trail off, suddenly nervous that I’ve gotten so far over my skis that I’m about to tumble embarrassingly head over feet.
“If you don’t see this going somewhere long-term.
” I rush through the rest of my thoughts.
Sam doesn’t say anything back. He sits there quietly holding that damn mangled croissant.
“That’s actually all I have to say. I know I made it sound like I was probably going to give the Gettysburg Address—is that long? I don’t actually know it. It seems like it would be lo—”
“I want everything,” Sam says quietly before swallowing again, and I swear this time I feel it.
“Waking up next to you for that week was the best thing I’ve ever experienced.
I mean, sure everything else was incredible, but you being the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes?
The way you stretch when you first wake up.
Your hair, that sleepy smile.” He sighs, leaning forward and setting his untouched croissant on the coffee table.
“I’m not in a rush, Rosie. But I’m also not going anywhere.
I understand that you and Maggi are a package deal, and if someone asked if I wanted this before you?
I would have said no. How could I not want this, though?
How could I not want everything with you, including to love that little girl? ”
He sounds like it physically hurts to get the words out.
“I want to be there with you on all her first days of school. I want to be there every Christmas morning while she tears through her gifts. I want to know all the reasons you loved your husband because I have a feeling I have a good idea of why he loved you. And I know that you aren’t done loving him.
I would never ask you to stop. Our love for someone doesn’t die because they aren’t physically with us anymore.
” He stands and comes to me, slowly dropping to his knees and reaching gently to pull the chain out from below my shirt where Eric’s ring rests.
“I don’t believe holding love for one person means you’re incapable of loving someone else right along with them.
I want a lifetime with you. A lifetime of us.
” I don’t need to clarify that us includes Maggi.
“And I will give you the time you need. Date you properly. Give Maggi the time she needs as well.”
“She’s already pretty obsessed with you,” I assure him, wiping my eyes as the tears finally spill down my cheeks.
Sam leans in and wipes my cheeks with his thumbs. “The feeling is pretty damn mutual.” He laughs softly. “My past self would be shocked.”
“Past self not a big fan of kids?” I inquire, sliding off the chair awkwardly so my ass is resting on his thighs. He’s probably going to change his mind because of how unsexy I am right now.
But of course he does no such thing. Instead, his hands slip over my thighs until he’s cupping my ass, holding me firmly in place while smiling at me.
“There is so much I never wanted, Blythe,” he says quietly, my name like velvet on his lips.
“Then this little kid kicked my seat on an airplane, and her mother was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
And then, there you were again and in a heartbeat everything changed.
Do you have any idea how many July weddings there are in Scotland? ”
“I’ve heard there are a lot,” I murmur, finally giving in to the need that has been building since I saw him waiting when I pulled up.
The minute our lips touch, that’s it—my brain stops questioning things. Stops doubting Sam’s words. Stops thinking of anything other than the here and now.
Sam shifts, grunting as he moves from his knees to sitting normally, still keeping me firmly in place as he does so.
One hand slides into my hair, his fingers tangling through the loose tresses and massaging my scalp in time with his lips. I rock my hips, desperate for relief after what feels like months of celibacy at this point.
Slowly, I pull back, holding his face between my hands and appreciating the view of this man who appears to be coming undone.
“The bed arrived yesterd—” I squeak as he stands with little effort, keeping me wrapped around him, and charges toward the primary bedroom.
I swear I’m airborne before he has even stepped through the door, landing in a fit of giggles as my back hits the mattress.
“I thought I’d have to do more to convince you,” I tease as he begins to strip off his sweater, revealing a view I have most definitely dreamed about over the course of many nights.
And then he’s stalking toward me, pulling my ankles until he’s able to slide his hands easily below my shirt and push it up and over my head, immediately dropping to kiss down my body, pausing when his lips are over my heart, no doubt feeling how fast it’s beating.
He pulls each cup of my bra down, sucking a nipple into his mouth as his hands snake behind my back and the clasp pops free. It’s only then that he halts what he’s doing and looks down at me, his eyes mapping across my body as if memorizing every dimple, freckle, and vein.
“Don’t get me wrong, I missed waking up next to you, but goddamn,” he breathes out. “I missed this too.”
I prop myself up on my elbows and then reach out to tuck my fingers into the front of his jeans before giving him a little tug so he falls forward, his arms shooting out just in time to keep him from crashing onto me.
“So don’t make us wait any longer, Sammy,” I purr, taking his bottom lip between my teeth and dragging them off slowly, revelling in the hiss he releases as his body presses into mine.