“Well, I better get back to work.” Sam stood by the door. He looked at me, indecision on his face.
“Thanks again for bringing me lunch. It was delicious.”
He glanced at Maureen, who had gotten over her embarrassment at interrupting us and was watching back and forth as we spoke. And then, as though he had finally made up his mind, Sam strode back over to me, tilted my face up to his and kissed me. “See you at home.”
He left the room without looking back. I stood gaping after him, my fingers on my lips as though I could hold his kiss there.
“Oh. My. God.” Maureen came the rest of the way in. “Graham, get some paper and crayons and sit down.” She walked up to the desk and swatted my arm. “Get the hell out. You and Sam?”
“Um.” It was the most I could manage at the moment.
“I mean, everyone knows Sam’s a catch, but he’s never let himself get caught, you know? There’s rumors about him ah, visiting certain women.” She cast a look at her nephew, but he was busy coloring. “But he doesn’t date. This is huge.”
“Maureen.” I managed to find my voice. “Please don’t make a big deal over this. Don’t tell anyone. It’s not what you think. We’re not really dating, we’re just ... you know. Just a summer fling, okay? I’m leaving to go back to Savannah, but Sam’ll still be here, and I don’t want him to have to deal with people asking him what happened. Please.”
Her face was inscrutable, but she nodded. “Yeah, sure.” She cocked her head. “But are you sure this is just a fling? It didn’t look casual to me. The electricity in this room—good God. It crackled. It felt like more than a fling to me.”
“No, really. Sam has the farm and his family. I have another year of college. We’re just enjoying each other right now.”
Maureen sighed. “Whatever you say. You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. I don’t gossip.” She took her phone out of her jeans pocket and checked the time. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to go. I have an appointment in fifteen minutes.” She turned to Graham. “Listen, kid, behave yourself, and Granny will see you after class.” She sketched a wave at me and took off down the hall.
I collapsed back into my chair and put my hands to my cheeks. This casual summer affair was getting more complicated by the minute.
SAM DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING to me about our encounter with Maureen when he came home that evening. I was helping Ali with dinner and working with Bridget on perspective when I saw his truck pull alongside the barn. He glanced up at the kitchen window, and I waved, sighing a little without even thinking about it.
Ali looked over my shoulder. “Aha, I see why you’re going mushy.” She shoved at my arm. “Go on, get out there and greet him.”
I looked at Bridget, her small face focused on the pencil and paper. “Not in front of the munchkin. I promised Sam.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, don’t worry about it on my account.”
The screen door squealed open, and Sam came in, his eyes on me right away. He halted in front of the laundry room, paused and then took the extra steps toward me. Leaning down, he gripped the back of my neck, pulled me close and kissed me, open-mouthed and deep. I breathed in his scent of soil, sweat and man.
“Hi.” Straightening up again, he rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “Did you stay awake this afternoon?”
“Just barely.” I realized I was staring up at him, probably looking like a lovesick girl with stars in my eyes. I turned back toward the sink and dried my hands. “How about you? Good afternoon?”
“Yep.”
I watched out of the corner of my eye as he pulled a clean shirt on. I wanted to beg him not to cover up his chest, but it might have been a little too much, I decided. Bridget might pick up on that.
We fell into our normal rhythm of dinner, talk and clean up. While Ali supervised Bridget’s bath and bedtime ritual, Sam helped me with the dishes. He was playful, blowing bubbles into my face and splashing water until my shirt was soaked.
“Look at this.” I peeled the cotton away from my stomach. “See what you did?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m looking.” He chucked the dishtowel onto the counter and grasping the bottom of my tee, pulled upward. “You don’t want to keep wet clothes on, you know. You’ll get pneumonia. Least that’s what my grandma used to say.”
I let him tug it over my head, smiling when his eyes widened upon seeing my white eyelet bra. “I should go get a dry shirt.”
“Nah, just come with me.” He took my hand and led me through the living room and onto the front porch. “See, you can dry off here in the fresh air.”