Chapter 16 Sam
SAM
“Hey, I like it.” Paige laughs, popping another artichoke in her mouth.
Olivia silently observes us from the kitchen doorway, pleasantly amazed, a small smile on her face.
“Hey, what are you guys doing?” She saunters into the room to stand beside Paige and playfully winks at her. Paige smiles, continuing to chop the black olives.
“We’re preparing the toppings for the pizza.” I nod toward a small cutting board and a bulb of garlic. “Please chop this? Or we could pop them in the oven whole and add them after.”
“Pizza?” She smiles. “You’re making crust?”
“Mom.” Paige rolls her eyes. “We have Sam. He’s a chef.” She tosses her hands up, exasperation written all over her face.
Olivia’s eyes widen, searching my face for confirmation. Nodding, my gaze dips to the mound of dough I’m kneading on the flour-covered surface.
While Olivia was outside with her ex, I ventured to Paige’s room and coaxed her out of seclusion and her indignant mood. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to do. I had been prepared to explain and answer her questions if she asked. She didn’t.
Instead, she openly talked about my show and how she likes to cook with her mom. That’s how I got the idea, and we headed downstairs to start dinner.
Fortunately, Paige guided me through the kitchen supplies and our food options. Olivia’s fridge is fully stocked and I quickly settled on the menu. Just then, the front door slams, followed by a murmured curse.
“Drew?” Olivia calls.
Her son steps into the kitchen, scanning the domestic scene before him. Even barely knowing him, I can tell he’s pissed—knitted brow, tight lips, and one hand gripping his hair are easy to spot.
Olivia puts the knife aside. “Hey, is everything okay?”
His voice cracks through the air like a whip. “Why didn’t you tell me Dad would be here?”
Oh, no. Drew must have run into his father after Olivia came in.
Olivia posture remains calm for the most part, but there is an unmistakeable edge to her voice. “He dropped Paige off. She wanted to see you.”
“Next time, give me a heads-up so I can make sure I’m not here.”
“He’s your father.” Her voice is even, quiet, though her gaze is layered with concern and disappointment.
Paige abandons grating the cheese, now fully tuned-in to the charged silence crackling across the kitchen.
After a long beat, Drew exhales, his posture softening under the weight of it all. “Sorry.”
He crosses the room in a few long strides, wrapping his mom in a warm hug and pressing a kiss to her cheek before reaching over to ruffle his sister’s hair. “Paiges.”
Drew smiles, giving me a friendly chin dip before turning to the sink to wash his hands. “So, what’s for dinner and how can I help?”
“Pizza. Although I’m asking Sam to choose my toppings.” Paige hands her brother an onion and nods toward a cutting board.
He arches a brow and studies his sister with amused curiosity. “And why can’t you pick your own?”
“Yes, why can’t you choose your own?” Olivia tilts her head with a teasing smile that matches her son’s.
With a flip of her hair and an exaggerated eye roll which I quickly learned is quintessential Paige—she answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because he’s a chef. His choices are killin’ it. I just tried an artichoke and I loved it.”
My smile stretches wider at her declaration. Coming from the youngest in the room—and the fiercest critic—I’ll take the compliment and bask in it. Olivia laughs softly, nodding in agreement with her daughter’s impeccable logic.
“You’re a chef?” Drew sniffles as he wipes tears from his eyes, thanks to the onion, not emotion.
“Yeah.” I place the ball of dough in a bowl and cover it with a damp cloth.
“Cool.” He scrapes the small pieces of onion into a small glass bowl and then picks up the roll of goat cheese to begin his next task.
The four of us finish the prep together, conversation flowing easily between music, TV, and movies. We trade good-natured jabs whenever someone admits to a cringe-worthy favorite, laughter rolling through the kitchen and settling into the walls like it belongs there.
Every so often, Olivia pauses mid-chop, watching the three of us—her kids and me—with that soft, faraway smile that tugs something deep inside me. There’s pride in her eyes, but also wonder, like she can’t quite believe how easily this moment fits.
And like her, I also find myself drifting into my own thoughts about the here and now. Because standing here, surrounded by her and the life she’s built, I feel that quiet, immediate pull again, the one that tells me I’m already in far deeper than she’d want me to be.
She’s still holding parts of herself back, protecting what’s left of her heart, and I can’t blame her. But hell, if she only knew—my heart is already hers.
Once the dough’s ready, we make our pizzas, and I can’t help but bite back a laugh when both Paige and Drew choose the exact same toppings as me. Of course, as to be expected, Paige can’t resist calling her brother out on it. Then another round of trash talk ensues.
While Drew is eating, his phone, perched next to him on the table, buzzes with an incoming text.
His sister glances down. “Laura’s texting you? Is that a thing?” He snatches the phone, glaring at Paige. “I’m only asking because I thought you weren’t interested.”
“We’re just friends. I can’t help it if she wants some of this hotness. The ladies love me.”
“Stop. I’m trying to eat. Hashtag get over yourself.” Paige snorts with an eye roll.
Olivia and I laugh. Her kids are sharp and funny, easygoing in that effortless way that comes from being comfortable in their own skin. They tease each other mercilessly, and just as easily turn the jokes on themselves.
After we’ve cleaned up from dinner, we drift out to the backyard where tiki torches flicker, curling citronella smoke into the warm night air. The sky’s a stretch of mauve velvet, the neighborhood hushed except for the occasional hum of an engine or a distant voice carried on the night air.
We settle around the small, makeshift fire pit, roasting marshmallows and talking about nothing and everything. It feels easy. Real.
Paige eventually bolts when her friend Marci shows up, and Drew soon follows, mumbling something about being tired.
When it’s just the two of us, I finally get my chance. “About earlier tonight.” I rub the back of my neck. “I totally goofed, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She smiles, the firelight catching her hair, turning it copper. “It seems to have worked out. I have no clue what you said to Paige, but you seem to be her new BFF. We need to be more careful.”
Across the flickering flames, her eyes find mine, her expression shifting from casual to something softer, lighter.
“What’s got you smiling?”
“You. You’re good with them.” Her voice carries a quiet lilt of amusement.
“Nah. They’re easy to get along with.”
She nods, but a shiver runs through her, and she folds her arms around herself.
Without thinking, I move to her side on the small sofa and slip my arm around her shoulders, drawing her against me.
The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, the simple rightness of it—it’s all I’ve wanted all night.
But she tenses, hands pressing lightly against my chest to stop me from pulling her closer. “Sam, the kids.”
I ease back, trying not to let the sting show. I get it. This is a whole new side to Olivia that I’ve never seen before. She’s a mama bear first, always will be. Protective. Guarded.
Still, something in the way she looks at me indicates this isn’t just about the kids. It’s about her. Her fear of what this could turn into. The walls she keeps between us aren’t only for them.
And even knowing that, I can’t stop wanting to find a way through.
“They’re inside. It’s fine.” I try to keep my tone casual, even as the push of her hesitation bites.
“Sam, we can’t.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “I haven’t said anything to either of them about you, and I’m sure they have questions.”
“Yeah, probably. But they seem okay with us. They’re good kids, open, smart. If they had questions, I think they’d have asked.”
She exhales softly, the sound more weary than irritated, and slips from my hold. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stares into the fire. The flames throw her in silhouette. Strong and beautiful, yet closed off.
“Maybe,” she says finally, her voice flat, distant. “But I owe it to them to say something before anything happens here.” A beat passes before she adds, even quieter, “I think you should go.”
“Okay.” The word comes out rougher than I mean it to.
I stand abruptly, grabbing the marshmallows just to have something to do with my hands, something that isn’t reaching for her again.
Without waiting for her to respond, I cross the yard toward the house. Disappointment rides shotgun with every step, settling heavy in my chest. I’ll respect her boundaries; she’s a mother, and knows what’s best for her kids. I’m not here to make her life harder. Still, it doesn’t stop the burn.
Pausing at the open patio door, I turn to face her.
She’s still staring into the flames, lost somewhere I can’t reach.
I don’t want to leave things like this, with distance and silence between us.
I’m here for nearly a week, but right now, I don’t even know if she’ll want to see me again before I have to return home.
Unable to leave things like this and in a last-ditch effort to see her again, I clear my throat, forcing a casual tone that doesn’t quite land.
“Hey, uh, I’m judging a food competition this weekend. Metro Convention Center. It’s a televised fundraiser.” I give a small shrug she can’t see. “If you and the kids want to come, I can get tickets.”
“Hells yeah.” Paige stands in the doorway, her long brown curls in a riotous topknot.
Her friend Marci stands beside her, wearing a goofy grin and looking at me like I hung the moon.
Chuckling, I nod. “Okay, then, I’ll leave the tickets with your mom.”