Sam looks down and, to his credit, does not seem particularly horrified.
‘I have other shirts,’ he says. He unbuttons it, and takes it off, and then Lexi’s face is against his bare chest. Something primal awakens in her, in the hair on her arms. How is it possible to be this sad, exhausted, frustrated, and also this turned on at the same time?
‘Would you like some water?’ he asks softly, and no, what she wants is to stay pressed up against him, but also yes, she is thirsty, and she can’t put off his seeing her puffy face forever.
She nods against him. ‘Yes. Please. Thank you.’ So polite, so well brought up, like the nice girl she is, the kind of nice girl who definitely doesn’t jump her mortal enemy who might have a girlfriend just because she’s having a bad day, a bad month, a bad year.
Sam gently takes her arms and peels them away from him. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he says. ‘You know where the couch is.’
Lexi would know where the couch was even if she had never been here before. In a studio apartment, it’s hard to miss it. But it’s not just a couch– it’s a couch loaded with meaning and memories.
She sits up against the arm, her legs pulled up next to her, and she watches as this shirtless hottie pours her a glass from his Brita filter. Nobody in their right mind drinks DC water unfiltered, so this shouldn’t be a big deal, and yet still, the domesticity of it, the intimacy of this everyday moment– pouring water from a filter jug, shirtless– it does something to Lexi’s insides. It feels like safety, as if she never has to experience the sensation of having nowhere to go.
‘Here,’ he says, handing the glass to her. ‘No ice, just like you British like it.’
It’s possible, of course, that Sam has just run out of ice. But it’s also possible that he’s overridden his natural impulses, paused to think about it, and indeed done it just the way Lexi likes it. Maybe, if she was staying, she could even train him to make tea the right way: not just the basics of kettle use, but also the little things: not too much milk, the squeezing of the teabag until the tea is just the right colour.
But she’s not staying, and he’ll never learn. She’ll be on a plane soon, her bookshop shattered and her heart broken. Lexi thought she’d cried herself dry, but her eyes start leaking again. How has everything gone so wrong?
‘Hey,’ Sam says, sitting next to her. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here.’
She wishes she could relax into his kindness and his reassurance. She wishes there wasn’t always the niggling response lurking behind the unsaid: that his being here is precisely the problem, or rather the source of many of the problems. Still, weirdly, there’s nowhere she’d rather be than on this couch with this not-quite-cold-enough water and this handsome shirtless man next to her.
Horizontal might be preferable, but all in good time.
It’s not like she’s got the energy right now, anyway. She needs to draw breath after all that crying.
Lexi shuffles closer to Sam and rests her head on his shoulder.Restbeing the operative word: she’s exhausted. Not just from the crying, but from the last few months of running to stand still, the last few years of carrying the weight of a business she loves through the challenges of twenty-first-century life. She’d like to share that weight with someone. To be able to put it down for a while, and have them carry it for the next bit of the road. But instead, here they both are, carrying their competing weights, each of them in their own corner.
‘The bookshop isn’t okay, though,’ she says. ‘My staff’s jobs aren’t okay. My grandmother’s legacy...’ Her voice cracks.
‘Your grandmother’s legacy isn’t just about the physical bookshop,’ he says gently, his voice vibrating pleasantly through Lexi. ‘I bet there are adults walking around now who love books and it all started when they were read to at story time in the shop. And maybe those adults have kids now, and they passed on their love of books to them, and those kids will go on to write books of their own, or maybe even open bookshops. Your grandmother’s name is legend around here. That won’t go away if the shop shuts.’
Theifis weirdly comforting. The shop shutting seems like a certainty to Lexi, but the fact that someone else can have a little hope on her behalf makes things feel a little better. And the rest: it’s beautiful. It takes some of the weight off Lexi’s shoulders, because it’s not only up to her to preserve her grandmother’s legacy. She’s ensured that herself. Lexi feels at peace. More relaxed. Lighter.
‘Thank you,’ she tells Sam, lifting her head and turning towards him. The air feels like it’s crackling. They look at each other, Sam probably wondering the same things as Lexi: don’t they really want this? Is it a good idea? Doesshereally want this?
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he says.
She closes her eyes and waits, for what feels like forever but is perhaps all of a quarter of a second, and then his lips are on hers, pausing, lingering, as if to say,Is this okay?And because it’s very much okay, Lexi leans in to him and deepens the kiss until she hears a sound at the back of his throat, animal-like, pleasure and pain at the same time.
He pulls back just long enough to say, ‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you so much,’ Lexi says, ‘even though sometimes I want to kill you.’
‘This feels like more fun than that.’
‘It’s a worthy substitute.’
Then his hands are in her hair, and then up her shirt, and then somehow, they find her breasts.
‘Is this okay?’ he asks, out of breath. ‘I mean, you’re sad. I don’t want to take advantage.’
‘This is very much helping,’ she tells him, ‘with the whole being sad thing.’
He laughs, relieved. ‘Pleased to hear it.’
Lexi doesn’t want to interrupt. Everything is going so well, but she has to know. The fact that she’s leaving doesn’t just suddenly make everything okay. ‘But what about Amanda?’
