I sputtered. “I... No! Sam, that’s...” I gulped more water. “Wonderful. Congratulations! I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks to you.”
I flushed with pleasure. “I just gave you a little proofreading.”
“And a good kick in the arse. What you said about my da... You were right. He would have wanted this for me.”
“You were right, too. You had to be there for your family after he died. Even if it meant putting your own life on hold.”
“Same as you. After you lost your ma.” Our eyes met in mutual recognition. “Take off your coat.”
“What?”
He cocked his head. “Unless you’re cold.”
I was quite warm, actually. I fumbled out of my jacket. Moved a pile of books and papers from a chair to the floor and sat.
Sam collapsed bonelessly onto the couch. “What will you do now that you don’t have your little sister to take care of?”
“I’m going home to Kansas.”
“Pity, that.” He smiled crookedly. “I was looking forward to seeing you around campus.”
The whiskey was honeyed and sharp, like the taste of what might have been. “I guess we’re both starting over.” I raised my glass. “Here’s to new beginnings.”
“To moving on.”
This time the fiery spirit went down without choking. The warmth seeped into my stomach.
Sam sipped his whiskey, watching me. “So why did you and the Brit break up?”
Because Tim didn’t want what I was willing—ready—to give him. Almost every relationship I’d formed in childhood came with a time limit. To believe otherwise was to be disappointed.
The lump was back in my throat. I swallowed. “I told you. I’m leaving. Back to the States.”
“Not until the end of summer, surely.”
“I don’t have a real reason to stick around. Maeve says I can finish my dissertation remotely. And Reeti is moving to London. It’s not fair for me to live in her parents’ flat if she’s not there.”
“You could stay with me.”
I looked around the cramped little room. There was one door, presumably leading to a single bedroom/bathroom. “Where?”
“Here.”
“And do what?”
“Sleep. Live. Write. Have the occasional spot of sex.”
I laughed. “That’s a very attractive offer.”
His mouth tipped. “So I’ve been told.”
His head was tilted back against the couch cushions, his long fingers cradling the whiskey glass. There was no tension in his body anywhere, no indication that my answer mattered to him one way or the other.
I took another sip of whiskey, letting the burn slide down my throat. “Nine months ago, I would have said yes.”
“And what’s your answer now?”
