Sam slid forward, leaning into me. His hand was on the table next to mine, his pinky almost touching mine but not quite. “She wasn’t insulting you, Coop. She was defending Monika. Back off.”
Cooper narrowed his eyes at his best friend. “I’m right.”
I didn’t look at Sam, but I felt him stiffen next to me, dig in for the fight if Cooper was going to keep going. “You’re being mean. And besides, she’s right too. Monika does know what she wants. And she’s happy to go after it. Stop pretending you don’t like the attention.”
For the first time since I’d sat down, I wondered where Linda and Teagan were, and why I was the one left to referee whatever this was. Glancing around the room, I found them in the kitchen, in deep thought over a batch of cookies they thought needed more time.
Before I could enlist them to settle the boys down, Cooper pulled back the tip of his spoon, covered in purple frosting, and launched it at Sam like a catapult. Only the heavy glop of frosting didn’t make it all the way to Sam. It landed on me. Right on my cheek.
I shrieked because, well, that was what one did when attacked by purple frosting, and almost fell out of my chair. Sam was there to catch me. His hands landed on my back, keeping me from toppling to the floor while Cooper cackled his amusement and tried to apologize all at once.
“Cooper!” I snarled.
“I’m so sorry!” But he was literally laughing so hard he had tears tracking down his cheeks, so probably notso sorry.
“Let’s see,” Sam coaxed, using the hands on my back to spin my body around. He cleared his throat to hide a laugh. “The bad news is, he got you good.”
“Is there good news?” I asked, melting under his touch. He reached for the roll of paper towels in the middle of the table and gently wiped the glop off my cheek with one.
He made a low, disappointed sound in the back of his throat. “Erm, the other bad news is this purple color might not . . .” He pressed harder, rubbing more aggressively. “Erm . . .”
“What?” I whisper-gasped. “Is my cheek stained purple?”
He put more muscle behind the paper towel and really pressed down on my face, really working to get it off. Hope flared inside me only to be doused by his frustrated huff and defeated drop of his arms.
“We need water,” he decided. Standing up, he held his hand out for me to take.
I didn’t need his help standing up or finding the bathroom in the house I’d basically grown-up in, but did that stop me from taking his hand? No, no it did not.
His huge, calloused fingers wrapped around mine, pulling me after him. I caught Teagan’s raised-eyebrow gaze as we left the kitchen and shot her a silent look, warning her tobe coolin return.
He shut us in the powder bathroom near the front door. It was not a large space to begin with, but because he was so tall, he seemed to eat up all the air in the room, especially when he tugged me against the counter, caging me in against the wall.
Turning on the faucet, he smiled shyly as he watched the water run. “I’m letting it get warm,” he explained.
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to do with his extra degree of thoughtfulness. Hudson had never really been the kind of guy to check on my needs. He’d always assumed if I needed something, I’d ask.
At first, I’d loved the independence. I’d loved that he seemed to look at me like an equal, treated me like we were on the same footing. But as our relationship dragged out, I recognized it for what it was—laziness.
Sam was the opposite. Full of little details and thoughtfulness. The water didn’t need to be warm. He didn’t need to help get the frosting off my face. I wasn’t asking him for any of this.
And yet . . . my heart was beating a frantic rhythm against my breastbone. My breathing hitched, sticking to my lungs. We were so close in this small space. He was so near. So . . . attentive.
He dipped the paper towel into the warm water, then wrung it out before pressing it against my cheek. He put pressure behind it, but was somehow still gentle.
“I could probably do that myself,” I said on a breathy laugh.
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Probably.”
My heart squeezed. “Um, do you want me to—”
He shook his head, never looking away from his work. “No.” Another thirty seconds or so and Sam pulled back, droppingthe wet paper towels into the wastebasket. “I think it’s better.” He brushed his knuckles over the same spot gently, tenderly. “You’re saved.”
My smile was shaky. “Thank you.”
“You can pay me back.” He leaned forward, his green eyes darkening. The few inches between us began to disappear.
A thick swallow. A hitching breath. “Oh yeah? This wasn’t your good deed for the day?”
