He grunts out a yes, and when I move to add cream he shakes his head fiercely.
“Just black.”
I hand him a mug of steaming java and watch as he examines it as if it might be poison.
“Is there a problem?”
“The mug?” He turns it toward me, the words printed on the ceramic read You’re a hot mess.
I smile, take the mug from him and hand him mine. “That better?”
He reads the words on the new mug, Make today your bitch.
That gets a tiny smile from him.
“Not a morning person?” I ask.
He sighs, and then takes a long sip of coffee. I turn from him and butter the English muffins, add jam, then hand one to him on a cloth napkin. We carry our breakfast to the living room and I sit cross-legged on the couch, eying him and his naked body, save for the plaid boxers he pulled on before emerging from my bedroom.
His chest is just as chiseled and ripped as I remember.
“It’s not the morning I’m having a hard time with.”
For a moment, my breath catches and I think that maybe he’s going to say something like, I’m having a hard time because I don’t want to leave you. Or, I’m having a hard time trying to figure out how we can explain to Taylor and Sophia that we are starting a relationship.
“I’ve got to fly back home today, turnarounds like this are rough. I flew in yesterday afternoon and haven’t even been here twenty-four hours. I was just thinking maybe I should’ve allowed for more time here.”
“More time for...” My heart thumps. More time for me...?
“More time to catch up with Taylor. I haven’t seen him in three years, a lot has changed since then. But I gotta get home. I have a meeting tomorrow I can’t miss.”
My eyes narrow, seeing through his flimsy excuse to get away from me. What kind of meeting does a mountain man need to attend? What, does he sit around with the bears and wolves discussing last quarter’s financial statement?
My heart falls, as naïvely and ridiculous as it is, I had—in the space of the night—thought that maybe this time things would be different. That maybe Samson would break all the rules and turn out to be more than an unavailable and uninterested man. The kind of man I always fall for.
But he’s not.
He may make my lady parts melt; my heart beat fast — he may be funny in an I-know-I’m-an-asshole kind of way and may seem like the sort of man who could keep my crazy in check.
But he’s not going to be that for me.
I’m trying to be this mature and put-together grown up, but still... I can’t help but wonder when it will be my turn. When will it be my chance for a happily ever after?
“Well,” I say, trying to be an adult. “It’s still early, maybe you still have time to meet up with Taylor before you leave. When’s your flight?”
“12:30.”
“Then you should go, you should go to your brother.”
He looks at me and nods.
“Call him. If you don’t, will you even see him before the wedding in February?”
“No, well, except for the bachelor party.”
“Is that already planned?”
Samson snorts. “Everything with my brother is planned. I swear he has an itinerary for everything. Makes sense, though, growing up things were really rocky for us, and now he craves security.” When he finishes, his jaw is set, and he looks tense.
I know bits and pieces about Taylor’s childhood. How he grew up without his parents and floated from home to home.
I try to soften the conversation. “Well, Sophia is the same way about schedules and plans. That’s why they are perfect for each other.”
Samson smirks. “You think? Two people, who are the same make a good match?”
“I never thought of it like that, but those two seem to get along so well. They’re really compatible. I’ve never seen them argue.”
Samson shrugs, “In that case.”
“So, when’s the bachelor party?” I can’t help but ask. “The bachelorette party is the first weekend in January. A month before the wedding on February 14.”
“That makes sense, that’s the same weekend as the bachelor party. They probably planned it that way.”
“Yep, can’t bear to be out of one another’s sight for longer than necessary,” I say.
The conversation stalls, and I know it’s time to say goodbye.
“Well,” Samson says, setting down his coffee cup and pushing up from the couch. “I guess I should get going.”
A few minutes later Samson steps out of the bedroom with jeans and a flannel shirt on, ready to face the day.
He throws his duffel bag over his shoulder. “It’s been fun,” he tells me.
“Super fun.” I lean over and give him a kiss on his cheek.
The sex-vibe from the night before is slipping farther and farther away.