Page 37 of Sing it, Sam

“Me too.” His heated gaze has me wondering if he’s talking about the novel.

“So, um.”Swallow, Jane. “Whaddya think of the book?”

“Pretty good. Not as good as the company though.” Sam’s focus shifts to my mouth. I mirror him, taking that as my cue to look at his plump, pink lips. They’ve kissed me once before.Do I dare kiss them again?

A loud knock at the door brings me out of my lip-fantasy trance.

“Dinner, Sam,” Pauline booms, wheeling her cart loaded with dinner trays into the doorway. That chef is never backwards in coming forwards. I swear one day she’ll give a resident a heart attack with one of her grand entrances.

Sam mumbles something that sounds like ‘timing’.

“What time is it?” I ask her.

“Six on the dot, love.” She places a tray of food covered in foil, a small container of orange juice, and a dinner roll wrapped in plastic on the table beside Sam’s bed.

“Any vodka to go with the OJ, Pauline?” Sam asks.

“You know there ain’t,” she says and shakes her head, before leaving us alone.

Shuffling off the bed, I place the book on the bedside table and stretch my arms above my head. “I should leave you to eat dinner,” I say, wondering if he senses the regret in my voice. I scoop up my bag and dispose of the empty chip packet.

“Stay,” he says, reaching out and taking hold of my hand, his grip weak. He gives no attention to the food that’s been delivered. “I’m not hungry. I’ll eat later.”

“Sam, you need real food.”

He rolls his eyes. “Come on. Stay.”

A heavy sigh falls from my lips. “I wish I could, but Butch will be going ballistic right about now.”

“Why? Has he been cooped up all day?”

“No, he has a doggy door so he can come and go as he pleases. The problem is, he gets hangry, and when Butch gets hangry he starts eating whatever he can get his teeth on. And I just remembered I have a heap of my good underwear on a clothes airer. I couldn’t bear to see my pretties get ruined.”

His fingers tease at the palm of my hand, sending goosebumps to domino over my skin. “Nice visual to leave me with,” he says, his voice thick.

“Sorry. I seem to be frightfully honest around you,” I say and shrug.

“S’okay. I like it.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Talk of underwear?”

He laughs. “Sure.”

I walk in a daze to his door, heady from his company.

“Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow?” he calls out.

I turn around to find a hopeful look on his face. “You bet. Lunch?”

He nods. “Cool.”

“I’m going to the bakery early in the morning. Want me to make you a sandwich? I was thinking something like pastrami, green tomato relish, and rocket, on rye?”

“I’m drooling already.”

“’Kay,” I say in a soft voice. In my heart, I want to blow him a kiss goodbye. Instead, I wave. It feels so lame. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a nice time with a guy. It was so easy, comfortable. I could definitely sign up for that on a daily basis.

Maybe I will.

Sam winks.

I give in to my gut feeling and press a kiss to my outstretched fingers, and mimic blowing the kiss in his direction. It results in Sam gifting me another magical smile, which causes a shiver from my toes right up the length of my spine.

I’m still smiling as my head hits the pillow later that evening.

But I wish these good vibes could somehow filter into my writing, because right now, there isn’t any sign of a spark in Mount TBA.

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