The week races by in a blur of work, family, and friends. My business is thriving, and my projects are steady. Sam and I talk every day, sometimes quick, sometimes long, always a highlight of the day. And yet…every time I hang up, there’s an ache, small but insistent.
By the time Friday comes, after a full day on-site and a workout with Sin and Jonah, I’m pleased to forget it all as I step into the shower. The hot water helps soothe the tension in my body and lessen the exhaustion.
After I towel off, I reach for my phone and notice that the battery is dead. While it charges, I get dressed for bed. It isn’t like me to let the battery drain but it was a day. My stomach twists. If anythingwere to happen or if my kids needed to reachme, they couldn’t. When I finally turn on the phone, messages flood the screen.
None from my kids—thank God—but several from Sam.
Livvy, are you having a good day?
Four hours later.
Hey, you ignoring me?
Five hours after that.
Olivia, I know you’re busy. Just let me know you’re okay.
Guilt blooms in my chest. He must’ve been worried sick. This is the first time I’ve taken this long to respond. I call, but it goes to voicemail. He’s most probably in the kitchen at one of his restaurants. So I text.
I’m okay, promise. Crazy day. Left my phone in my purse like an idiot. Just tried calling you. How’s your day been?
Almost immediately, the screen lights up.
Sam:Better now that I know you’re okay. Gimme a sec.
A smile tugs at my lips. Seconds later, my phone rings.
“Sam, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I can hear the release of tension in his few words. “I get it. I got worried and wondered if something had happened. I miss you and need to see you, soon.”
His words hit somewhere deep and I close my eyes, pulling the bed covers up over me. A trip to Montreal this month isn’t possible. Between deadlines—now that construction has begun on the hotel—clients, and the chaos of running a business, being a mother, and finding time for everything else, I can’t.
He’s said several times he misses me, but I never reciprocate, although I feel the same. If I want to keep things casual, and I do, this is better. Yet part of me wonders why he hasn’t made plans to come here. Is he waiting for me to make the move?
“Where are you tonight?” I switch gears, needing something lighter.
“At Beaulieu’s, going over orders for the week. You in bed?” His voice softens, turns molten.
“Um…yes.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Sam.” I laugh, though it comes out breathy.
“Tell me.”
“A nightie.”
“Describe it.” His tone deepens, low and rough.
“It’s…white cotton.” Warmth blooms under my skin.
“Livvy,” he murmurs, my name a vibration more than a word. “More.”
I bite my lip, heart thudding. “It’s short. Barely covers my panties. Thin straps—like strings.”
“Spaghetti straps?”
