Page 83 of Never Forget
"I am serious."
He kissed me again. And again. Until I stopped trying to argue.
All those years of not letting myself hope. Of watching him from a safe distance, convincing myself that what I felt didn't matter because it would never be returned.
I'd just been wrong.
Rosie didn't wake up for another hour. We made good use of the time.
The days that followed settled into something I hadn't expected.
Sam showed up consistently.
He was there in the mornings, making pancakes while Rosie set the table with the mismatched plates Megan had donated. He was there in the evenings, helping with the preschool worksheets I didn't remember being so complicated. He was there on weekends, fixing the squeaky cabinet door the landlord had never gotten around to, teaching Rosie how to hold a screwdriver without stabbing herself.
I watched him fold himself into our life seamlessly, like he'd always been meant to be there.
I kept waiting for him to pull back. To realize that a woman with a four-year-old, a dead brother, a burned-down house and an unsolved arson case was more than he'd bargained for.
He didn't.
One evening, Sam arrived with his guitar case slung over his shoulder.
Rosie's eyes went wide. "You play?"
Sam nodded. He settled onto the blue couch and pulled the guitar into his lap. Strummed a few chords. Adjusted the tuning.
"Play something!" Rosie demanded.
He grinned at her and launched into a song I half-recognized, something silly with nonsense words and a bouncy melody.Rosie shrieked with delight and started dancing, her socked feet sliding across the floor, her arms windmilling in circles.
I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway with the dish towel in my hands, unable to move.
Sam caught my eye over Rosie's spinning head, winked, then kept playing.
Rosie twirled until she got dizzy. She collapsed onto the carpet in a fit of giggles while Sam transitioned into a slower song. She climbed onto the couch and curled up beside him, watching his fingers move across the strings with the fascinated intensity she usually reserved for cartoons.
I set down the dish towel, crossed the room, and sat on Sam's other side.
This was what family looked like.
Later that night, after Rosie was asleep and the apartment had gone quiet, we lay in the dark together.
"I've been thinking," I said.
Sam shifted beside me. "About what?"
"Staying in Havensworth." I stared at the shadows. "Not just until the proposal is done."
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was careful.
"What about your job?"
"What about it?"
"Jamie." He propped himself up on one elbow so he could look at me. "You worked for eight years to build what you have." His eyes searched my face in the dim light. "Are you sure you want to walk away from that?"
I'd expected him to be relieved. Happy, even. Instead he was asking me to think it through.
