Page 91 of Flirting with Mr. Serious

And yet…

He leaned down, stroking his fingers along her cheek and jaw, down her throat, to her pulse. He found it racing. It was too fast. She was nervous.

Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as recognition dawned in her eyes.

Then she stepped away from him, her hand dropping from his, the tips of their middle fingers the last to touch, and he wanted to grab hold of her again. Wanted to make her feel better. Give her what she wanted.

But that wasn’t fair. To either of them.

He couldn’t act like everything was fine when it wasn’t. He couldn’t continue what he’d been doing all summer, playing and flirting and pretending like what they had between them wasn’t the most important thing in his life. He did love her, but he couldn’t say those words back to her when he didn’t know how they could be together. He couldn’t give it to her now when it would wither later.

He didn’t want to be a weight around her ankle, holding her back. He couldn’t force her to support him and herself as she completed her work and education, while he stumbled along behind her. If he told her he loved her, like he so desperately wanted to, she would give him everything she had. Because that was what Samantha did. She gave everything she had for those she loved. She’d give up her time, energy, and money for him, even if he didn’t ask her for it. Even if he didn’t want her to, she still would. She was a fixer and a problem solver, but he was not hers to fix.

“Sam, I—”

She cut him off with a stiff shake of her head and grabbed her suitcase when it circled around on the belt. She briefly met his stare before sliding her sunglasses over her eyes. “Don’t.”

So he didn’t.

29

Sam kept it together. During the walk to Mike’s car as he tried to apologize. Then all through the ride home, when he glanced over at her every so often as if she’d suddenly start talking. She’d said her piece, without equivocation or second thought, and he’d said nothing—in fact, he had looked terrified—so she’d turned around and took a deep breath, holding it in to save face until she got home. After he parked his car, contemplating her expectantly, she calmly stepped out of the passenger seat, grabbed her suitcase from the back, and walked inside her house before the first tear fell.

That was when she let it go.

“So stupid,” she whispered, wiping her eyes as she shut the front door before resting her back against it. She never should have opened her mouth. Never should have been honest.

What she should have done was followed her gut, kept her feelings away from Mike, and never even invited him on the trip to begin with.

Being there with her friends, seeing how happy they were, it was contagious. Sam couldn’t help but be happy too. For the first time in her life, she wanted to let go, take a walk into the unknown, thinking Mike would be there to guide her.

He wasn’t. He’d left her hanging, literally. He’d dropped her hand. He hadn’t fought for her, or even offered any other words in return. She’d said I love you, and he’d blinked his eyes wide like she’d just threatened to take his life.

When it was really the other way around. She’d taken a leap, and he wasn’t there to catch her. The pain that eased through her felt like he’d thrown her heart into a food processor, and all she could do was stand there while he blended it up.

“Hey, Sammy, what are you doing in there?”

At her father’s cheerful voice, Sam made sure her face was dry, before realizing she still wore Mike’s hat. Merely holding it in her hands was like another round in the blender, this time on chop, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep it from quivering.

“Come on in here. We’ve got good news!”

She cleared her throat. “We?”

“Trisha’s here,” her dad said, and Sam walked into the kitchen, momentarily pushing aside her heartbreak to feed her curiosity.

Trisha and Phil were seated at the kitchen table, two glasses of iced tea in front of them and their elbows nearly touching.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked, and her father stood up. “Where is your cane?”

Phil lifted his arms, showing off how he stepped forward without hobbling. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“That’s the good news?”

“And we sold the house.” He pointed to Trisha, who grinned, extending jazz hands behind him.

“Congratulations.”

“Already?” Sam reached out to put her hand on the wall, digesting all this.

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