Page 7 of Dear Handy Silver Fox
“Think of it this way,” Sam chuckles. “You have some new material to put in one of your books.”
I laugh into his chest.
“Hey.” He puts his finger under my chin and urges me to look up. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
I nod. “I think I might stick to staying inside today.”
Sam laughs. “That might be best. I can’t have you distracting me while I’m up on the roof.”
“How about you let me take you out to dinner tonight for a proper date?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good, I can’t wait.
He gives me a quick kiss and tells me that he should go grab a fresh shirt from his truck, so no one else finds out about him spending the night.
I gather the rest of my clothes off the floor and head down the hallway to my room. It's the one place in the house that is completely done. I can't help but laugh to myself, thinking about how we had a big soft bed we could have slept in, but instead, we slept on a blanket in the unfinished living room.
I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper and take a shower. I still have a deadline looming, and now that I have some new material to use, as Sam suggested, I'm eager to get some words down.
I work all morning until my fingers start to cramp up and my stomach growls. I head out to the kitchen and grab a banana out of the bowl sitting on the island. I make a new pot of coffee and pour two mugs, one for me and one for Sam. I know that he's already not much of an early riser by the slow reaction he had this morning. I can only imagine his mood if he hasn’t had some caffeine working through his system. I step out onto the back porch and see Sam talking with Brady. His expression is so severe that it makes me stop in the doorway. Neither of them turn to look at me, so I don't think they can hear or see me through the old screens on the porch.
“I don’t want you telling anyone what you saw this morning,” Sam tells Brady.
The harshness of his tone makes me wonder if he’s embarrassed to have been found about the two of us. Old insecurities flare up inside of me, and I step back into the house. I don't want to hear what else Sam might say about me or last night. After all, I'm the only one that admitted I had any feelings between the two of us. Maybe I was just an easy hook-up for him.
I don't have time to let myself go down this rabbit hole of self-doubt. I have a book due, and Sam has his own job to do.
I set his mug down on the kitchen counter and pull out my phone. I type out an email to Sam telling him that I need to focus on my writing today. I bury myself in my work for the rest of the day with no word from Sam.
7
SAM
I check my reflection in the rearview mirror again, rubbing my hand over my freshly shaved face. The stubble burn I saw on Cammie’s face this morning, while adorable on her, probably isn’t the look she’s going for, and I don’t want to miss a moment of kissing her tonight.
She sent me an email early this afternoon saying that she needed to focus on her work, but she didn't specifically cancel our dinner plans. I figured it was best to leave her alone and head home after work to get ready before swinging back to pick her up.
I have a few ideas of places I'd like to take her, but I'm going to let her make the final decision. I just want to spend more time with her; I don't care what we do as long as I'm with her.
I grab the store-bought bouquet of flowers I got for her and get out of my truck. There aren’t a lot of lights on in the house. Getting the electricity up this morning was at the top of my list. I figured Cammie would need her laptop charged so she could work.
I step up to the front door and knock three times. I can see a shadow move near the window, but Cammie doesn’t open the door. I ring the doorbell, thinking maybe she didn’t hear me. I ring it once more before the door swings open.
“Hey, I wasn’t sure if—" I pause when I notice that Cammie isn't dressed. She's in a short pair of sleep shorts and a new tank top. Cammie looks up at me from the flowers in my hand at my side.
“What are you doing here?”
“Did you forget about our plans?” I ask, unable to hide the disappointment I’m feeling. I’ve been waiting all day for tonight.
“I told you. I have to work tonight.”
“I thought you meant not to bug you during work hours.”
"I'm a writer. There are no such things as work hours when you have a manuscript due, and you aren’t done."
“Oh.”
