“Nonsense.” Micah waves a hand. “We’d love it. It’s a great idea.” He points to the lamp. “Interested? I know it’s kind of old, but it’s nice enough, especially if you clean up the iron and replace the shade.”
“It’s lovely.” The long spiraled iron stand has small branches with metal leaves that lift up around the base and travel to where the bulbs belong. “It’d be perfect in the living room, I think.”
Sam’s fingers rub my back. “There. You just picked out the first thing for your place.”
I laugh. “I did. Maybe I know what I like after all.”
Sam’s chest presses against my back, and he whispers into my ear, “I certainly hope so, or I’m in big trouble.”
I smile.
Micah playfully rolls his eyes and moves past us, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “Show her around, Sam, and I’ll help you bring everything to the house later. Stella, lovely to meet you. Take whatever you want, okay? Lord knows, we’ve collected enough over the years. Please save us!” He waves while he walks and laughs.
I’m beginning to think that Sam just might have the perfect family—another thing I know nothing about.
For the next half an hour, Sam encourages me to browse through the collection of furniture and other decor. I’m uncomfortable asking for or saying yes to anything, but he pushes and pushes until I’ve agreed to a few things, including a gorgeous oversized plush lounge chair. It will be the perfect place to sit with my laptop and work.
He walks me out through one of the open garage doors. “I’ve got to get back to painting. My parents are slave drivers.”
“Yes, they both seem like ruthless, awful people,” I say, laughing.
When he has my face in his hands, Sam looks at me so intently that I fear my knees might buckle.
Then, he says, “I’ll see you at home, yeah?”
Home.I have a home. Orwehave a home because he says this as though the house on the hill is ours. That doesn’t even scare me because I’m connecting with someone so easily and fluidly, and it’s beautiful. It feels totally unexplainable, almost magical.
Fuck, I think. I am so crazy about this boy who I don’t know at all yet also know completely. Maybe that’s what the world is all about though—living with dichotomies.
I’ll take this one.
Finally, I nod. “Yes, Bishop. I’ll see you back at home tonight.”
The kiss we share goes on for so long that my hands start pulling at his shirt, lifting the fabric so that my touch can slip under and feel the soft skin of his lower back. Sam’s hips press against me, and his hands are in my hair. His mouth tastes of heat and passion. The humidity has soared, and we are doused by a heavy sun shower that waters our skin and seeps through our clothes. Neither of us runs for cover though. I have never kissed anyone like this, and I can’t stop. I don’t want to. Jay’s kisses felt invasive and made me sick, but Sam’s does the opposite, and I know I could stand here with him until nightfall.
Eventually, he retreats first, his breathing ragged, when he takes his lips from mine. I’m worried though because he looks so terribly confused. He still holds my head in his hands and starts running his fingers over my face, tracing my lips, seemingly searching for something.
“What is it?” I ask.
He rubs the raindrops from under my eyes and continues to study me. “I don’t know. I feel you…so much. More than I should. You just got here, and…it was only last night that…” Sam gives me a small smile.
Sunlight bursts through the misty air and falls between us. I reach up and tuck his hair behind his ears, making him smile even more. “I feel the same thing. This connection.”
Then, I am in his tight embrace again, and we stay this way, breathing and holding on to each other, until the sun shower passes.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he says.
“Yes.”
“I’ll make risotto.”
I’ve seen risotto served at plenty of my mother’s functions, but I’ve never tasted it. I’m stupidly scared to tell Sam this. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”
“Maybe it will be. Maybe it won’t.” He touches a finger to my nose. “You’ll decide.”
