Chapter 49
BLYTHE
My daughter knows the rules of the game we’re watching better than I do.
That’s obvious as she yells some incoherent lingo at the field while we huddle together watching the Glasgow Gryphons take on the Aberdeen Selkies.
I’ll admit I’ve barely looked at the players because Sam is right there, standing all broad-shouldered with his hands on his hips, occasionally clapping for a play.
He’s looked back at us a couple of times.
The only time his face softens is when he finds us, and it sends my heart fluttering about.
A month of Sam showing up in the mornings to walk Maggi to school.
A month of cooking and eating dinner together.
A month of listening from the hall as he reads Maggi a bedtime story, doing all the voices and then singing her something before she falls asleep.
A month of snuggling on the couch, sometimes watching something, sometimes reading, sometimes talking quietly about our day or life.
A month of Maggi asking if Sam can sleep over.
I plan on asking him to do just that today, and for some reason I’m nervous about it.
I’ve taken it slowly because it seems like the responsible thing to do, but he’s already so entrenched in our lives.
Martha even included him in the family Secret Santa draw.
I’m not asking him to move in yet, even though I want to, but I know I’m getting close to doing it.
It’s hard to say goodnight and then watch him walk to his car and drive away.
I know it’s hard for him to do it too because he sits there for a few more minutes each night before he leaves.
The team scores another try, and I’m immediately berated by Maggi for not celebrating fast enough.
“Like this, Mommy,” Maggi shouts, raising her hands and jumping about screaming, “Go Gryphons!”
I copy her and earn a grin of approval from Sam, who turns just at the right moment to catch our celebration. I could definitely get into this sport, I think, as we sit back in our seats to watch the end of the game.
The one really nice thing about dating someone your child idolizes is that if he eats it, she eats it. And Sam is not picky, which means Maggi has tried many new things since Sam became part of our lives.
I’ve tried new things too, like allowing myself to accept help.
After being up all night with a very sick little girl, I agreed to go back to bed and let Sam deal with all the joys of having a sick child.
I hadn’t actually expected to fall asleep.
I thought I’d go to bed, try and fail to fall asleep, then I could at least say I tried.
But I slept for six hours and woke up to find Sam and Maggi doing the new hidden creatures puzzle he’d ordered from some puzzle website.
I stand right outside the door, watching two of my favourite people argue playfully about the proper name of each faerie.
Maggi is right, of course. The kid knows her stuff thanks to her grandfather, but Sam makes her prove it each time.
If this keeps up, she’s going to be a phenomenal debater in a few years.
“Sam?” Maggi asks.
“Yeah, princess?” I love how softly he speaks to her in moments like this.
“Will you help me find a Christmas present for Mommy?”
I should probably leave now, but I want to hear how he handles this, so I back up a few steps, making sure I’m out of sight.
“Of course. Maybe we can sneak away one weekend next month when I don’t have a game.”
I expect Maggi to continue on about Christmas, but instead she expresses disappointment that she’s going to have to face a weekend in the near future without rugby.
There is something so incredibly bittersweet about Eric not being here but his daughter still falling in love with his favourite sport.
To my surprise, it’s something I haven’t struggled with.
I’ve embraced it, and I’m eternally grateful for Sam’s patience with me when he has to explain the rules over and over again.
Although I’m somewhat convinced that I refuse to learn them because I like the way he educates me on the finer points of the game.
Especially when he does it while wrapped around me in bed.
Our pillow talk isn’t for everyone, but I could listen to him talk about something he’s passionate about for the rest of my life. It’s the perfect way to fall asleep.
“I’m surprised you aren’t done with this one yet,” I tease, finally joining them in my favourite room in the house.
Maggi opens her mouth, and I watch her face scrunch in frustration before words actually come out. “Sam is slow.” Her face clears, and she giggles while Sam looks offended.
“Excuse me, miss, I believe you were the one grilling me on every eyeball you found.”
“No, you were,” Maggi counters.
Sam looks up at me pleadingly, and I shrug, walking over to her and resting the back of my hand against her forehead. “I only caught the end of your last argument. How are you feeling, Roo?”
“Fine,” she says as if she hadn’t been up all night producing colours I wasn’t aware the human body could produce.
She feels okay, her colouring has returned to normal, and she seems fairly upbeat.
“She ate some toast about three hours ago,” Sam says as he stands and stretches. “Nothing came back up or…” he trails off, opting to give me a you-know, look instead.
“Out?” I guess, and he nods back.
“Well, that’s a good sign. Roo, you okay if Sam helps me in the kitchen for a bit?” I ask.
“Mmhmm,” she hums without taking her eyes off the puzzle.
Sam follows me to the kitchen, his hands curling around my waist the second we’re out of Maggi’s view, and his lips land on that sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
“Oh damn,” he says, stepping back. “Do you feel alright?” He steps in front of me and raises his hand to my head. “You’re warm.”
“Probably still warm from being cocooned in bed,” I reason. “Thanks for that by the way. I hope Maggi was good.”
“She was great. Whatever it was seems to have passed. Are you sure you feel alright?” He narrows his eyes as he studies me. “You’re flushed.”
Maybe he’s losing his mind. I lift my hand and place it on his forehead, shrugging when I feel that he’s warm too.
“I could say all the same things about you. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” he assures me, wrapping his hand around my wrist and bringing it to his lips.
“Maybe we’re being hypochondriacs for each other,” I murmur, distracted as his tongue drags across the sensitive skin below my palm. “I should make some dinner.”
Sam’s other hand slips down my back, stopping short of the waistband of my flannel pyjama pants. “I ordered soup,” he says softly. “It’ll be here in…” He tips his wrist to look at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
Definitely time for him to do any number of things while we have a brief window of privacy, but he doesn’t drop his hand further, doesn’t back me against the wall, and doesn’t lift me onto the counter for a quick replay of the cottage.
Instead, he lowers my hand and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into the warmth of his body. And we stand there, just like that.
“I’m so happy,” he murmurs against my temple. “Every day, I wake up and I feel happy.”
I’m about to respond, about to tell him I feel the same, when my body decides to make an absolute liar out of me.
Pushing Sam to the side, I race across the room to the garbage can and puke.
He’s beside me a moment later, rubbing his hand in slow circles across my back. I prepare for the “I told you that you felt warm” comment, but it doesn’t come.
“Time to go back to bed, beautiful,” he says instead, picking me up in one swift motion that would make me swoon if I wasn’t suddenly dizzy for an entirely unromantic reason.
After he gets me into bed, he gives me a kiss on the forehead and disappears, returning a bit later with the designated puke bowl Maggi had been using, a glass of water, my electric heating pad, and the book I’d been reading on the couch yesterday.
“Thomas is on his way to get Maggi,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and dropping his hand to my forehead for the third time. His brow pinching in concern. “I packed a few pairs of underwear, her unicorn and faerie sweaters, two pairs of jeans, and the Nessie PJ’s.”
The Nessie pyjamas, a gift from him.
“But what if they get sick?” I try to sit up, but he gently holds me in place.
“Turns out they were probably patients one and two.” He chuckles. “Which means I’m probably going to be patient five. Maggi’s pretty mature for an almost-six-year-old, but I’m not sure she’d be capable of caring for both of us.”
“Could you imagine?” I joke.
“I could actually,” he says, standing and backing toward the door. “I’ll be back after I’ve got Mags off safely. Stay there,” he beseeches when I make another attempt to sit up. “I’ve got this.”
Nodding, I sink back into my pillow and close my eyes. I want to get back up and go brush my teeth because my mouth is disgusting, but if this goes the same way as it did with Maggi, I’ll just need to brush them again in ten minutes.
I can barely hear Maggi and Sam chatting about what’s going on and a zipper being zipped and unzipped several times.
Maggi is no doubt adding various things to her backpack to take with her.
She has an entire room of things there, but she likes what she likes, and there’s no point in being logical about anything.
Eventually the door opens and then shuts, and I hear quick steps heading back in my direction. They continue past the door, though, and that’s when I hear Sam retching, which has me rolling on my side and desperately grasping for the bowl as I follow suit.