“It’s okay, Becca, you’ve had a lot going on. I’m going to go out to my truck to get some flashlights. I’m handing you your cell phone light so you can see. I will be back in less than one minute, okay?” He meets my eyes with steady calm.
I nod into his chest and reluctantly let him go. Sam leaves quickly out the front door, and I watch him rush into his truck, reaching into the cab to pull out a large job light and a small bag I haven’t seen in his truck before.
In less than one minute, he’s back in the cabin, more rain-soaked than he was before. Sam turns on the job light, angles it away from my face, and the room illuminates. I breathe out a sigh of relief as I notice him opening the small shoebox-sized bag. Inside are the small flameless candles he had on our date.
“You carry those around now wherever you go?” I tease.
Sam turns his head slightly, hiding a blush. “When I asked you on our date, I realized you were always the planner in our relationship, which I love. I’m listening to this book, and it talks about how exhausting that can be. And I hated the thought of how all the fun things we did together could exhaust you, because of the mental load of always having to ensure we have everything.”
Did he really?He fiddles with the lights before continuing.
“So I figured if I was ever lucky enough to get you riding in my truck again,” he pauses, “I, uh, planned to always have the candles and blanket on hand in the hopeof giving you a date anytime.” His lips curl into a shy smile.
I don’t know how to answer that, so I watch as he lays out the blanket on the couch and turns on the flameless candles around the loft bed.
As the storm rages on, my body warms, and my heart begins to thaw at his care.
“Okay, that should be enough light for you. The storm will be going on for a while, but you should have six hours of light between these, and the power should be back on by then.”
My eyes widen at the implication he’s making, and he sees my train of thought.
“Baby, don’t worry. I’ll be right outside in my truck. Just wave from the window if you need anything. I’ll be right back in,” he assures me.
The thought of him walking out that door, even twenty feet away, makes my heart ache. “Sam, you can stay. The storm is raging outside; you shouldn’t be out in it,” I reply, trying to keep the utter need for his steadiness out of my voice.
He shrugs. “Becca, it’s fine. I know we’re just starting to date, but I need to earn your trust. I respect that. I’ll be right outside.”
But as Sam moves to the door, I reach for him. “Please. I want you here.”
He looks at me and nods. “Of course, I’ll be anywhere you want.”
And with that, he wraps his arms around me, grounding me as the storm rages on.
“I know this couch folds out into a bed. I will get that set up; you get ready to sleep.”
I mindlessly walk to the bathroom to brush my hair,which is an utter disaster, and attempt to detangle it. When I come back out, I see Sam taking off his shirt, pulling it over his head.
Holy hell, has his chest gotten more defined since we’ve been apart?
“What are you doing?” I ask as I see him now shimmying out of his jeans.
“Sorry, my clothes are drenched. I didn’t want to ruin the couch.”
I nod in understanding. It’s not like I haven’t seen my husband in a state of undress before; it just feels like it has been years, at least to my hormones.
“Got it. Well, thank you for staying over. I appreciate it.”
He grins. “Of course, Becca. Any time. Sweet dreams.”
With that, I turn to climb up the ladder to the loft and get myself comfortable. I hear Sam pull out the couch and realize he will need a pillow. Leaning over the small railing to throw him one, I bite back a laugh.
My six-foot-three husband is sprawled diagonally across the bed, with his head hanging off the top onto the sofa and his feet hanging off the other end—his muscular body on full display, with one hand tossed over his eyes.
I can’t help but stare. This tiny bed was not made for my giant.
Speaking of giant, my eyes wander down his body to his boxer briefs, fitting him like a damn Calvin Klein model.
As if he feels the heat of my eyes, he moves his arm and looks up. “Need something, baby?” He asks, his voice laced in concern.
