The Last One(36)

The house was silent. I didn’t know whether or not Sam was already up and out in the fields, but I didn’t smell coffee, which probably indicated he was not. I went out through the front door and across the porch, heading for a large rock in the center of the side yard.

I didn’t have time to unpack my paints and set up the easel before the sky changed, so instead I pulled out my watercolor pencils and a large pad. I sat on the rock and allowed the beauty to wash over me. Without looking away from the sky, I let my fingers fly over the page. There was no sound but the scratch of the pencils on paper and the chirp of early morning birds.

I was in another world, completely absorbed in the sky, the air on my skin and the teasing scent of flowers wafting on the breeze. Like magic, the colors translated into my drawing, capturing a piece of the glory I’d spied through my bedroom window moments before.

“That’s incredible.”

Sam spoke softly, but I jumped nonetheless, dropping the rose-colored pencil I held.

“God, you scared me.”

“Seems like we’re forever sneaking up on each other.” He held a steaming mug in one hand and sipped the coffee as he gazed down at my pad.

“Maybe it’s a metaphor for our relationship.” I dared to use the ‘R’ word, and Sam didn’t contradict me. Well, friendship was a sort of relationship, too.

“You’re up early.” He was standing so close behind me that I could smell the coffee on his breath.

“I didn’t sleep very well.” I’d let him draw his own conclusions about why. “I happened to open my eyes at one point and saw the sky. I couldn’t do anything but come out here and try to put it onto paper.”

He nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen art. But I’ve never seen it in progress. It’s beautiful.” He sat down behind me on the rock, close but not touching me at all.

“Thanks.” The light was changing as the sun rose fully, and I laid down my pencil. The sketch had turned out well, though not quite the same as I imagined it would look in paint.

I dropped my head back and let it roll, working out the kinks from thirty minutes of looking up. Without breaking the movement, I reached for Sam’s mug. “That smells heavenly. Can I have a taste?”

His brown eyes darkened as they wandered down my face to my lips and back up again. He held the mug to my mouth and tilted it until I tasted the hot sweet liquid on my tongue.

“Mmmmm.” I closed my eyes in appreciation and ran the tip of my tongue over my top lip.

Next to me, Sam made a noise deep in his throat. When I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him, he was closer than I’d expected. He stared down at me before his gaze dropped lower to my body. I’d run outside in the same clothes I’d worn to bed, my favorite soft white tank, with no bra underneath, and an old pair of green cotton shorts that barely covered my ass. It wasn’t appropriate outside attire, clearly, but that wasn’t bothering Sam.

Or maybe it was. His throat worked as his eyes made their way back up to my face. I held my breath, and for the space of a few rapid heartbeats, he didn’t move. And then slowly, so slowly, he snaked the hand not holding the coffee cup around my shoulders and caught my chin between his thumb and forefinger. With just the slightest pressure, he coaxed it up, leaned forward an inch and touched his lips to mine.

I wanted to move my arms around his neck, open my mouth and deepen the kiss. But I held back, afraid of spooking him. Instead, I closed my eyes, waiting for the touch of his tongue to my bottom lip, and let him tug my chin to open my mouth.

His lips were firm but languorous, moving as though we had all morning to do nothing but sit here, connected only at our mouths. His tongue teased, first stroking the inside of my lips, then circling around my tongue, seeking and taking. His fingers splayed over my jaw, moving my face up a little to give him even more access.

He didn’t touch me anywhere else, but I felt the kiss in a line of fire down my body. I wanted to grip his shoulders and pull him down on top of me in the grass. I wanted the weight of him on me, to feel him against my breasts and between my legs.

But I didn’t move. At the same time that I wanted more, this kiss was enough, because it was Sam, and because he had initiated it. With his arm still around me, I felt cherished and protected in a way I’d never known I wanted. His chest pressed against my back and along my side, cocooning me.

I knew the minute he began to pull back. He moved away from me, and I felt the brush of his breath over my still-parted lips. When I opened my eyes, he was staring into them under brows that were drawn together. I didn’t look away, and for a few seconds, he didn’t either.