A few minutes later, Sam turns into her neighborhood. Mack hops out, waving once from the driveway before disappearing inside her house. We wait until the porch light flicks off. The truck hums along the quiet road, headlights slicing through trees. I relax into the seat, cheeks still warm from laughter and drinks, Sam’s hand steady on my thigh.
“I still can’t believe it,” I say. “We're actually starting the cabins. Like, building. With real materials. And a hammer. And probably a clipboard.”
Sam smirks. “We’ve got digital clipboards now, babe,” he points out.
I ignore him, basking in the moment. “I can’t believe our plan actually worked.”
Our plan: years of hustle, saving, and sacrifice. Sam picking up extra handyman jobs on weekends. I waited tables at events with Vanessa. At the same time, I managed properties and got referrals as a part-time real estate agent.
We skipped takeout. Wedding invites were declined. Long weekends turned into workdays. Together, we saved $75,000.
Sam shifts, pulling his hand back and clearing his throat.
“About the cabins,” he starts. “You know the Briarwood job has been a disaster. Delays. Inspectors up my ass. I think we need to push our start date back a bit.”
I frown, my good mood dimming. “How far back? You’ve already pushed it back twice now.”
“Couple of months, maybe six. Gives us more time to save up anyway. Things will get smoother after that.”
I don’t love it. We waited so long for this. “Do you think we should save up more? How much do you think we need? We did the calculations down to the nails; what if we can’t save up more?” I feel myself spiraling as I go down this rabbit hole.
Sam slides his hand back to my leg and squeezes gently. “It’s still happening. Just … a little later than we planned. Breathe, Becs, I have it all under control,” he says, stroking my leg.
I? Not we? I shrug it off as poor word choice, focusing on calming my anxiety.
Then Sam adds, “Don’t forget, my parents’ summer kickoff is tomorrow.”
I sigh, “Will your grandparents be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” I don’t mention his mom or sister, Holly.
His mom tolerates me in that excessively polite way that always makes me feel like I'm on a job interview. Holly is worse. She’s so precious and overprotected that it feels like time stopped after her car accident in high school. At fifteen, she was in the car with her cheerleading captain, Mandy Stevens. Mandy swerved to miss a deer after a football game, and Holly ended up with two broken legs, a fractured pelvis, and a spinal compression fracture. Her injurieswere serious, but all recoverable with extensive rehab. And rehab she did. A year later, she was back on the cheer squad.
But to her family? She never fully recovered. They treat her like one wrong gust of wind might undo everything.
Of course, Mandy will be at the party too. Ever since the accident, Mandy has glued herself to the Hughes family’s side. The ex-cheer captain, now a pro at stealing the spotlight, seems to follow Holly everywhere she goes.
And somehow, Mandy always finds her way into Sam’s family photos, party toasts, and group texts. I stopped being surprised years ago, only annoyed now.
Shaking off the foul thoughts, I tell Sam, “I’m proud of us."
He glances over from the steering wheel. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. My family has never owned anything. We moved every couple of years. Renters, always. Saving for a dream felt like a thing other people did. But now … we’re doing it.”
I reach over for his hand again. “And now we’re going to build our own thing.”
A red light slows us down, and Sam leans in to kiss me. Soft. Certain. Familiar in the best way.
When he pulls back, his voice drops. “You made us take the plan seriously; thank you, baby."
My pulse flutters. The light turns green, and his hand drifts slowly back to my thigh.
As we pull into our driveway, our hands are all over each other. And thankfully, for a little while, I’m not thinking about delays, Mandy, or the party tomorrow.
I’m only thinking about us.
