And I don’t want that to happen. I’ve come to realize that this connection I have with 1ySam is the most important thing in my life, and I can’t waste another minute being away from him. So, I’ve taken matters into my own hands, and I feel relief deep in my gut as a result.
What he doesn’t know—what nobody knows—is that I made a decision yesterday. I told my boss I’m not taking the promotion, and I gave my two weeks’ notice. Last night, riding high on the new future facing me, I began packing my small apartment, starting with mykitchen. I ran down to the local newsstand, grabbed ten newspapers and came back to start wrapping plates and glasses. I felt accomplished and excited for what the future holds. The boxes in my kitchen are stacked like little soldiers, waiting for orders.
Now I have to figure out what to do next.
I haven’t told Sam yet. He’s busy with the start of his press tour, but mostly, I know he’d try to talk me out of it. My plan is to fly under the radar until I’m ready to settle back down in Whynot.
Two weeks and we’ll be together again.
I turn down my block, adjusting the strap of my tote bag, totally lost in thought. My sneakers suck against concrete soaked from this afternoon’s rain showers and I think about the ridiculous contrast of business suit and running shoes. Typical Washington commuter fashion and I’m trading that in for… well, I don’t know what. I have no idea what I’ll even do for a living.
I’m so in my own head, that I almost don’t see him at first.
At the far end of the street, beneath the golden wash of a streetlamp, someone’s leaning against the iron post. Tall. Broad shoulders. Jeans, boots, jacket.
It takes me a second to process what I’m seeing. Then my heart forgets how to beat properly.
Because it’s Sam.
He’s standing right there, head tilted, hands in hispockets, like he’s been waiting for me forever.
I freeze for a half second, then start walking faster. Then running. My bag bounces against my hip, my shoes slap the pavement, and before I know it, I’m throwing myself into his arms.
He catches me with a laugh, solid and warm and real. “Easy there, Pritchard. You’re gonna give a man whiplash.”
“You’re here,” I gasp, pulling back to look at him. “You’re actually here.”
He grins. “And you’re wearing a power suit and tennis shoes. Real high fashion.”
I smack his shoulder, then cup his face and kiss him, hard. It’s desperate and joyful and a little clumsy from all the adrenaline.
When we finally break apart, we’re both laughing.
“I thought you were in Atlanta,” I manage.
“Had a change of plans,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “Can’t stay long—early flight tomorrow—but we need to talk.”
Something in his tone makes my stomach drop. It’s gentle, but serious.We need to talk.The worst four words in any relationship.
“Okay,” I say carefully, pulling my bag onto my shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs.”
Inside my apartment, I hang up my jacket and kick off my shoes. Sam does a slow perusal, ahalf smile on his face. His gaze lands on the partially packed boxes and open roll of tape sitting on the counter.
“Wow,” he says, eyebrows rising. “You’re moving fast. Someone upgrading to fancier digs with that fancy promotion?”
My lips twitch. “Not exactly.”
He looks back at me, confusion flickering. “What’s going on?”
I exhale, set my tote on the table, and face him. “I’m packing up to come home.”
He blinks. “Home?”
“Whynot,” I say softly. “I told my boss yesterday I’m not taking the position. I’ve got two weeks to finish out.”
He just stares, mouth slightly open. “You can’t,” he says finally. “Because I—Penny, I was coming here to tell you I’m moving to DC.”
I gape. “You what?”
