Chapter 16 – Morgan #2
I hit send and slipped the phone back into my pocket, hoping Lance wouldn't completely lose his mind about this.
I knew Alex was likely also reporting my location.
As we walked toward the coffee shop, Sam kept up a steady stream of conversation about work, the weather, and how sorry he'd been to hear about Lance. All perfectly normal topics for someone checking on a grieving widow.
Everything about him screamed 'nice guy trying to help a friend through a tough time.'
Which made this so much worse.
Because I wasn't grieving. I wasn't alone. And I definitely wasn't available for whatever Sam was hoping might develop between us.
But how do you explain that without sounding completely insane?
"Sorry, Sam, I can't date you because my supposedly dead husband is actually alive and would probably murder you. Also, we're currently at war with his crime family. Want a refill?"
The coffee shop was busy, filled with the usual afternoon crowd of students and remote workers. Sam guided me to a table near the window, pulling out my chair with old-fashioned courtesy that would have been sweet if I wasn't dreading every second of this conversation.
Just be nice, Morgan.
I could do nice."So," Sam said, settling into his chair with a smile that was equal parts hopeful and nervous. "How are you really doing? And don't just give me the polite answer everyone gets. I want to know how you're actually handling everything."
How I'm actually handling everything.
If only he knew. I was handling Lance being alive, the constant fear that Charles might discover the truth at any moment. I was handling being madly in love with my husband while pretending to be a grieving widow. I was handling secrets that could get everyone I cared about killed.
But sure, let's talk about my grief journey.
"Some days are harder than others," I said carefully. "But I'm getting through it."
"That's good. That's really good." Sam leaned forward, his expression earnestly focused. "You know, I've been thinking about you a lot. About how young you are, how much life you still have ahead of you. It would be such a tragedy if you let grief define the rest of your life."
How much life I still have ahead of me?
He meant it kindly. I could tell by his expression, by the genuine concern in his voice. But the words hit wrong anyway, like he was suggesting I should move on from Lance when Lance was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Even when I thought he was dead, I couldn't imagine wanting anyone else.
"I'm not ‘letting grief define me,’" I said, trying to keep my voice gentle. "I'm just taking things one day at a time. I only buried my husband a few weeks ago."
"Of course, of course." Sam's smile widened, somehow still encouraged by my response. "I just think it's important to remember that life is for the living. And you're so young, so full of potential. It would be a shame to waste that mourning someone who's gone."
Someone who's gone.
The casual way he said it made my chest tight.
"You're right," I said, forcing a smile. "Life is for the living. But it's still hard to imagine moving forward when you've lost someone you loved so much."
"But did you really get to know him that well?" Sam asked, leaning closer. "I mean, from what Gwen mentioned, you guys had kind of a whirlwind romance. Sometimes when things happen fast like that, we fall in love with the idea of someone rather than who they really are."
I narrowed my gaze.
The suggestion that what Lance and I had wasn't real made my jaw clench. Sam had no idea what he was talking about.
"I knew him well enough," I said quietly, my heart pounding. "Well enough to know that he loved me. And that he'd do anything to protect me."
Sam's expression shifted slightly, and for a moment I thought I saw something disappointed flicker across his features.
"Well," he said, his voice still pleasant but with something underneath I couldn't identify. "I suppose we'll never really know what your future together would have looked like. But that doesn't mean you can't have a different kind of future. Maybe even a better one."
The words hit me like a slap.
"I can't imagine a better future than the one I would have had with him," I sharply.
Sam held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to upset you. I just. I care about you, Morgan.
I've cared about you since the first time Gwen introduced us at that company party two years ago.
I never said anything because you seemed happy with him, but now. .." He trailed off, his meaning clear.
Now that Lance is dead, he thinks he has a chance.
Oh God. This is so much worse than I thought.
"Sam," I started, not sure how to navigate this without hurting his feelings or raising suspicions about why I wasn't more open to the idea.
"I know it's too soon," he said quickly. "I'm not asking you to start dating or anything. I just want you to know that when you're ready. If you're ever ready. I'll be here. I think we could be really good together."
"Look, I appreciate that," I said carefully. "But I'm not ready to think about anything like that. And I don't know if I ever will be."
Sam's face fell slightly, but he rallied quickly. "Of course. I understand. I just wanted you to know that you have options. That there are people who care about you and want to see you happy."
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I knew exactly who it was. Alex’s lifted brows and slight grimace as he looked at his phone from the corner of the coffeeshop told me everything I needed to know.
"I should probably head back," I said, looking at my watch. "I really do have work to catch up on."
"Of course," Sam said, though I could see the disappointment in his expression. "Can I walk you back?"
The last thing I needed was Sam walking me back to the co-op where Lance would see on the cameras.
"That's okay," I said quickly. "I have Alex and I need to stop by a few places on the way. But thank you. For the coffee, and for... checking on me. It means a lot."
Sam smiled, that hopeful expression creeping back onto his face. "Maybe we can do this again sometime. When you're feeling up to it."
He's not going to give up.
The realization made my stomach clench. He wasn't going to take today as a polite rejection and move on. He was going to keep trying.
And I was going to have to keep lying to him about why I wasn't interested. If he didn’t give up, my very much alive husband was going to break his hands for touhing what was his.
Fun times ahead.
"I’ll let you know," I said, because I couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't hurt his feelings or raise suspicions.
This young widow trying to figure out how to move forward with her life act was going to be more difficult than I thought.
Especially since my husband had a hair trigger when it came to me.