“Sam.”
“There’s towels in that drawer, if you don’t mind drying. The dishwasher won’t hold the bigger pots.”
“Sam.”
She glanced over at him, chest suddenly tight.
“What does she think?” he prodded, tone gentle.
She sighed. This wasn’t where she’d wanted the evening to go, but the door was already open, so to speak.
She picked at the flaking bits of charred pork on the dish. “She thinks I’m missing out on my own life, taking care of her and Erin.”
“Are you?”
She shrugged. “I dunno…look, let’s not talk about this. This is too deep too soon for you.”
He stepped in closer, until their arms were touching. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Anger in his voice? Or hurt? Were either even possible, given the swift, shallow nature of their relationship?
Sam braced a hand on the edge of the sink and turned to him again. “I don’t have any expectations. I’m glad you met my mother, and I hope you two get along. But I’m not going to pressure you into anything, and that includes listening to my great big scary life complaints. I know that’s not what this is about for you.” She gestured between them, to their new strange connection to one another.
He stared at her, expression adorably confused, and his head tipped to the side. He reminded her of a dog. Then he scowled. “Do you think I’m just messing with you or something?”
“No. But I don’t know that I trust your seriousness.”
“Do you want proof?” His level of anger was both funny and spooky.
“No, Aidan,” she said soothingly. “I don’t want proof. I just–”
“Just what? You’re being weird as shit.”
“No, I’m…”
“What?” he pressed, crowding her, his scowl menacing.
“Trying not to get my hopes up.” She scowled back at him. A small voice in the back of her mind told her not to be honest, not to give him too much. But she was riled up, and the words were heavy on her tongue, wanted to get loose. “Last night was amazing. Las night was…” She groped.
“For a writer, you sure don’t have a way with words.”
“Last night,” she snapped, careful to keep her voice low, “was the fantasy come to life.” Her cheeks flamed. “All these years I’ve wondered, and imagined, and hoped…and suddenly it was happening, and it was, yeah, so sue my vocabulary – it was amazing. But in my experience, amazing things don’t happen to me. So I can’t let myself believe too strongly. I can’t put any stock in the idea that I’ve been the one to make you go straight and narrow, after all this time. I won’t be stupid enough to let myself get hurt like that.”
She was shaking by the time she finished, chest heaving. But she’d had to say it; it had been clawing at her from the inside, and she hadn’t even realized it until this moment.
Aidan stared at her. His throat worked as he swallowed. His anger was now tinged with something wilder and more fragile. “So you do want proof,” he said through his teeth.
“No, I never said that. Proof is built over time. Proof isn’t just a handful of pretty words you say in the heat of the moment.”
He glanced away, swallowed again, and the overhead light made him look almost haggard.
It hit her like a fist to the gut, the knowledge that she’d hurt him just now. Badly.
“You want me to go?” he asked.
“No.” She stepped in close, laid her hand on his chest and felt the hard throbbing of his heart through his clothes. “Aidan, no, that’s not what I meant.”
His gaze came to her slowly, accusing and wounded.
