Chapter 20
Sam
I'd told her the couch didn't bother me. I'd have slept on the floor if it meant waking up to Rosie's footsteps in the hallway, to Jamie in the kitchen with her coffee, to the feeling that we were building something together. But Jamie wanted their own place, and I had no right to ask her to stay.
The new apartment had two bedrooms, a kitchen with enough counter space to actually cook, and windows that let in more light than my place ever had. It came furnished with the basics: a bed in each room, a kitchen table, a few lamps. Nothing fancy, but enough to start.
Moving didn't take long. They didn't have much to bring. What they'd saved from the fire fit in two bags. What I'd bought them after filled a few more. Megan and Danny had donated some kitchen stuff, towels, a set of sheets still in the plastic.
Rosie tore through the rooms like she was exploring a castle. Her footsteps echoed off the walls.
"This one's mine!" She stood in the doorway of the smaller bedroom, arms spread wide like she was claiming territory. "Auntie Jamie, this one's mine!"
"It's all yours, sweetheart."
Rosie spun in a circle, taking in the bare walls, the closet with nothing in it, the window that looked out over the parking lot. None of that mattered to her. It was hers. That was enough.
The landlord stopped by while we were unloading the last of the bags. She was an older woman with gray hair and an apologetic expression.
"I'm sorry about the state of the couch," she said, gesturing toward the living room. "Previous tenants. I've been meaning to have it hauled out, but I haven't gotten around to it."
Jamie walked over to look. The couch was a disaster. Stained, sagging, one cushion torn open with stuffing spilling out like a wound.
"It'll have to go," the landlord said. "You'll need to get your own."
Jamie nodded. I watched her face as she added it to the mental list she was always carrying. One more thing. One more expense. One more problem to solve.
"Thank you," she said. "We'll figure it out."
The landlord left. Jamie stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, staring at the ruined couch like it had personally offended her.
"I'll help you get rid of it," I said.
"Thanks." She exhaled. "I just need to find somewhere that sells furniture that doesn't cost a fortune."
The Carolina Furniture Depot sat on Savannah Highway, a sprawling warehouse with a parking lot full of cars and a sign out front promising the lowest prices in Havensworth.
Rosie was already straining against her car seat straps before I'd even cut the engine.
I'd bought the seat a few days after the fire, when it became clear I'd be driving them places.
I came around to help her out, and the moment her feet hit the pavement, she was pulling toward the entrance.
Jamie caught her by the hand before she could bolt.
"Stay close," Jamie said. "This place is huge."
Inside, the store stretched in every direction, a maze of couches and sectionals and recliners arranged in little living room vignettes. The ceiling was high, the lighting harsh, and somewhere in the back, a radio was playing country music that echoed off the concrete floor.
Rosie lasted about thirty seconds before she started testing the merchandise. A loveseat, a leather sofa, a massive sectional that could seat ten. Each one got a verdict: too small, too hard, too big. The overstuffed armchair swallowed her whole, and she scrambled to get out. "I'm stuck!"
Jamie laughed and pulled her free. “Are you going to test out every one of them?"
"I'm Goldilocks," Rosie corrected. "I have to find the one that's just right."
She took off down the aisle, Jamie chasing after her, both of them laughing. I hung back and watched them weave between the displays, the two of them collapsing together in a fit of giggles on a deep blue couch near the back.
Jamie's hair had come loose from its braid. She was breathless, her cheeks flushed, her arm around Rosie's shoulders. Rosie was saying something about the color, about how it matched her favorite dress, and Jamie was nodding along like this was the most important decision they'd ever make.
This. This was what I wanted.
The thought landed in my chest and stayed there.
Them. The two of them, together, building something out of nothing. I wanted to be part of it. I wanted mornings with Rosie's crayons on the coffee table and evenings with Jamie in the kitchen and all the ordinary moments in between.
I wanted this to be my life.
While Jamie and Rosie debated whether the blue was more like the ocean or the sky, I looked around. It’s a habit every firefighter develops. You walk into a building and you assess. Note the exits. Clock the hazards. See what's wrong before it becomes a problem.
The store was old. You could tell from the construction, the way the roof sat heavy on walls that weren't designed to carry the weight.
The building had been added onto over the years, sections tacked on like afterthoughts, the whole thing sprawling outward instead of up.
In the back, past the showroom floor, I could see a loading dock.
Probably where they stored the extra inventory.
The aisles were packed tight, furniture crammed together to maximize floor space.
No sprinkler system that I could see. No fire doors between the sections. The exits were marked, but the paths to reach them wound through the maze of displays.
Something about it sat wrong in my gut.
"Uncle Sam!" Rosie was waving at me from the blue sectional. "Come feel this one!"
I walked over and sat down beside them. The cushions were firm but comfortable. It would hold up to a four-year-old's jumping and still be soft enough to fall asleep on.
"What do you think?" Jamie asked.
"I think Goldilocks found her couch."
Rosie beamed. "It's just right."
We found a salesman and arranged the paperwork. When Jamie reached for her wallet, I was already handing over my card.
"Sam, no."
"Consider it a housewarming gift."
"A couch is not a housewarming gift. A candle is a housewarming gift. A plant. Not a—"
"It's already done." I signed the receipt and handed it back to the salesman. "Delivery tomorrow work?"
Jamie looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read, something between frustration and gratitude.
"Thank you," she said finally.
"You're welcome."
Rosie tugged on my hand. "Can we get ice cream on the way home?"
I looked at Jamie. She shook her head, but she was smiling.
"Ice cream it is," I said.
That weekend, Jamie wanted to do something special for Rosie.
I was halfway to her place when my phone buzzed. Amber.
Amber
Did you finish the application?
I pulled over. Stared at the screen. She was still holding onto the idea that we were together. I shook my head as I typed my response.
Sam
I meant what I said. It's over.
I turned off my phone and kept driving.
Jamie met me at the door with Rosie already bouncing behind her.
We built a pillow fort in the living room with cushions from the new couch and blankets draped over kitchen chairs. Rosie handed me things and told me where they should go. Jamie strung the Christmas lights through the ceiling of the fort until the whole thing glowed soft and warm.
We made grilled cheese and tomato soup the way we used to after school with Jack. Jamie at the stove, me slicing bread, Rosie on her step stool helping stir.
"Am I doing it right?" she asked.
"Perfect," Jamie said. "Keep going."
Rosie stirred with intense concentration. Tomato soup splashed onto her shirt, but she didn't care.
We ate inside the fort. Plates balanced on our knees, Rosie wedged between us. She talked with her mouth full about school, about her friend Gigi, about the dream she had last night.
I caught Jamie's eye over Rosie's head. The Christmas lights caught the auburn in her hair, the freckles across her nose. When she smiled at me, it was the same smile that used to make my stomach flip when I was sixteen.
She'd looked at me like that on the couch in my apartment, the record still spinning, the two of us talking about Jack. I wanted to kiss her then. Would have, if Megan hadn't knocked.
I wanted to kiss her now.
"You're not going to leave me, right?"
Rosie yawned. She was curled between us under the blankets. Her eyes started to droop. She tried to fight it but she was losing.
Jamie pulled her closer. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart. I promise."
Rosie turned her head and looked at me.
"Me neither," I said.
She nodded. Satisfied. Her eyes closed, and within minutes she was asleep.
I carried Rosie to her room. She was heavier asleep than awake, her body slack against my chest, her breath warm on my neck.
Her new room. Her new bed. The sheets were the ones Megan had donated, still stiff from the packaging. The stuffed dog I'd bought her at the hospital sat on the pillow, waiting.
I set her down gently. Pulled the covers up to her chin. Tucked the dog under her arm, and she curled around it without waking.
She murmured something, already deep under. I brushed the hair from her face and whispered goodnight.
When I stood and turned, Jamie was in the doorway.
The hallway was dark. The only light came from Rosie's nightlight, spilling out around Jamie's silhouette, catching the edges of her hair.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
I shook my head. "You don't have to thank me."
She stepped close enough that I drowned in her blue eyes the way I had a thousand times before, only this time I wasn't going to look away.
Her fingers brushed my cheek. Her touch was soft, tentative, and it sent something electric down my spine. I didn't move because I was afraid if I did, I'd wake up. That this would turn out to be another dream I'd have to bury come morning.
Then she rose on her toes. Her lips brushed against mine.
My mind went blank. All those years of holding back, of telling myself she was off-limits, of burying everything I felt so deep I almost believed it wasn't there—all of it gone.
There was only her. The softness of her mouth.
The small sound she made when I finally moved, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.
I lifted her off her feet. She didn't resist. Her arms tightened around my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss as I carried her into her room. I tried to close the door as quietly as I could before I laid her gently on her bed.
I pulled back just enough to look at her.
Her hair spread across the pillow. Her chest rising and falling. Her eyes—God, her eyes—looking up at me like she was afraid I'd stop.
"Jamie," I whispered.
She answered by pulling me back down.
The rest of it became a blur. Clothes falling away. Skin against skin. Her body under mine, warm and real and finally here.
What came after, I'll never forget.
The sound she made when I touched her—soft, surprised, like she hadn't expected it to feel this way.
The silk of her skin under my palms.
The way she tasted when I kissed my way down her neck.
The scent of her and how I wanted to bury myself in it and never come up for air.
The way she said my name between whimpers, like a prayer she didn't know she was saying.
I'd dreamed about this for a long time. Nights I'd woken up aching, mornings I'd buried the memory before it could take root. But even my dizziest daydreams didn't compare to the feel of her. Nothing I'd imagined came close to this.
I kept my forehead pressed to hers as I settled slowly between her thighs.
Her expression crumpled as I sank into her. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted. A sound escaped her that I'd carry with me for the rest of my life.
I held still. Let us both feel it.
After all those years of waiting, she was here, wrapped around me like she never wanted to let go.
I took my time. Built her up slowly. Pulled back when she got close. Started again until she was shaking.
"Sam." Her voice broke. "Please."
She was coming undone beneath me. Her hands clutched at my back.
When I gave her what she wanted, I watched her break. Her back arched off the bed. Her head fell back against the pillow. My name tore from her throat like something she couldn't hold in anymore.
When she opened her eyes, there were tears in them.
She was as beautiful as I always knew she would be.
We held onto each other until the last tremors faded.
I rolled onto my back and tried to catch my breath. My heart was still pounding. No one had ever felt like this. Not even close.
When I turned to look at Jamie, her eyes were already closed. Her breathing slow and even. She'd fallen asleep with a small smile on her lips, her body loose and satisfied beside me.
I pulled her close, wrapping my arm around her waist. She murmured something and settled into me without waking.
I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Buried my nose in the curve of her neck. Breathed her in.
I fell asleep with her warmth against my chest.