"Mornin'." Sam walks into the Spoon, and I feel my face start to heat up. Mostly because I was just thinking about the things we'd been doing the night before. The man says he is insatiable, and I have no problem doing my best trying to prove him wrong.

It's been a few weeks since we've started ending nearly every day together. In my tiny little apartment. The two of us in my bed. I have no complaints.

During the day, we try to keep things under wraps. It's harder than it may seem. Just the sight of him makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and find the nearest dark, private place to hide for a few moments.

We tend to stay away from the obvious PDA. No hand holding, or eskimo kisses. No matching outfits or silly pet names. Not like Sam's that kind of guy anyway. But during the day, we keep things normal. Professional. He's just Sam. I'm just Max.

During the night, though. Things are different once he shows up at my door. Usually around 8 or 9. Sometimes we'll have dinner together. He's actually a pretty great cook. Sometimes neither of us have eaten all day, so we end up devouring each other. On the bed. On my couch. On the floor in the bathroom. On top of the washing machine. Wherever we can manage. We're like two different people, and I like what I become when I'm with Sam.

It's fun with Sam. It's simple and clear.

"Howdy." I smile, and then immediately frown. Who says 'Howdy'?! He raises an eyebrow at me, and then tips an imaginary cowboy hat in my direction. I force back a giggle, and I feel Libby's gaze on me.

"Hi, Sam. Don't you look brawny and heroic and like a strapping young fellow this morning." She hands him coffee, and I turn away from both of them, busying myself at the register.

"Thanks. I think." Sam replies, his voice a soft gravel tone amongst the chipper morning chatter.

"Max, I just need to you okay some paint samples. If you could stop by the house later today, that would be great. I'm finishing up painting, and sort of getting all the last minute odds and ends together." He says, leaning toward me as he speaks.

"Sure. I'll stop by. Have them ready for me? I'll grab them on my way to Rock's to get dinner ready. You're welcome to join us, by the way." I offer. I can't quite believe he's almost finished. It seems as if he just started the job.

"Sure. How about I just bring them with me when I come for dinner?" He asks, and then the side of his mouth twitches into an almost smile. An almost smile for me.

"Perfect!" I smile at him, and wrap up a muffin for him to take with him. Lemon poppyseed. His favorite.

"Sam! I've been looking all over for you." Elaine's shrill voice breaks our conversation. Sam's head turns as she walks over, flipping curls over her shoulder as she loops her arms through his crooked elbow. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he grimaces, and maneuvers his way from her grip without being too obvious. I smile to myself as I pretend to organize receipts by the register. He may not be "mine" but he for damn sure isn't hers. And that makes me wildly happy.

"I've been in the same places as always." He murmurs.

"Mmm is this a new shirt? I love this look on you. So rustic. So manly." She giggles, and I chew on my lip. There's no point in being jealous. I know he's not interested in her. He's told me and I believe him. It's more entertaining to watch, at this point.

"I've got to run, Elaine." He says.

"What are you doing tomorrow night? I was thinking we could go out on the town? I could show you some of my dance moves. You could take me back to your place and show me how your tools work." She is whispering in his ear, but I can still hear her. She's subtle, that one. I suppose she's gotten desperate enough that she's going straight for the...hammer.

I flip around, and look directly at Sam. He looks as if he's physically in pain, like he'd do anything to run away. I have to see this with my own eyes, and I'm taking a tiny bit of pleasure in watching him squirm.

"Thanks for the offer, but no." He says and takes a half step away from, like she's a bomb that will explode any moment. Elaine pouts and Sam's eye twitches.

"Can you at least tell me why?" She tilts her pretty face toward him, and I press my lips together.

"Because I'll be busy showing my tools to that one, over there." He points at me, winks and then bolts from the cafe.

I'm left with a gaping Elaine, a howling Libby, and my face turning the color of tomatoes.

I nearly run from the front of the cafe into the back, and then bolt out the back door. The cold winter air hits me, feeling like heaven against my flushed face. I'm laughing, but I'm also embarrassed as hell and a bit annoyed with Sam. I'll kill him. I'll kill him if I find him fast enough.

I run around toward the side of the building, and run smack dab into a solid wall of man.

"Hey there." Sam turns me in one quick gesture, and presses me up against the side of the building. From here, we are blocked from the view of Main Street. And most everything else. I look up at his handsome face. His chocolate brown eyes, and the soft fullness of his lips. The only even slightly feminine thing about him, and it fits perfectly. I lick my lips, slightly out of breath.

"Hi." I manage. "I can't believe you said that." I grin, and yank him by the back of the neck toward me.

Sam pushes his hips against mine, and presses me into the brick. He gathers me to him, and we kiss, deeply. It's as if he surrounds me, completely. As if I fit perfectly in the walls of his arms and chest. He smells wonderful, and I breathe him in, as much as my lungs will hold.

"She's been after me for months. You'd think she'd get the hint. I had to be a little more blunt with her, I guess." He shrugs and then leans down, kissing me again. His tongue slides against mine, and I feel it all the way up and down my body.

"You're not easy to read." I smile against his mouth.

"Neither are you. Guess it's why we get along." He leaves a string of kisses against my jaw, and down the side of my throat. I feel like a teenager under the bleachers at a football game. I pull Sam to me, and wish it were night time.

"Mmm, actually I liked you better when I hated you." I say with a soft chuckle as Sam cups my breast over my shirt.

"Why? Because it's easier that way?" He laughs, and I swat his hands away.

"Yes."

"Too bad. I like it the hard way." He groans in my ear, and then he's suddenly off me, walking away.

"See you tonight, Max. Be good." He holds a hand out behind him as an odd sort of wave, and keeps walking.

I stand there, against the brick wall in the back of the Spoon, my knees already wobbly, my heart racing, and a dumb grin plastered on my face as I watch him leave.

****

It's after midnight on Thanksgiving Eve. If Thanksgiving Eve is a real thing, which I've just decided it is. It's cold out, and there's a bright, starless sky.

Sam is between my thighs, his scruff brushing against my skin, his hair beneath my hands as I gasp and squirm under him. We are in my apartment, nestled away in my bed amongst a mound of blankets and pillows. We've been this way for over two hours now, and I'm not sure I can walk without my legs turning to jelly first.

His mouth can do wonders. I feel the slow, steady brush of his fingers. The long, satisfying glide of his tongue as he takes his time and makes my toes curl against the sheets bunched at my feet. I dig my heels into the mattress, pushing at him even though I just want more, more, more. When he groans against me, I feel that as well. Knowing that he's enjoying this nearly as much as me, sends me over the edge.

I'm gasping, crying out, grabbing for his hands and his shoulders as I writhe against him. His shoulders are tan and bare, and I press my fingers into his muscles there, panting. He keeps at it, kissing me, licking at the core of me until I can barely bear the sensations any long.

"Enough! Oh god! Please!" I break into giggles, pushing and shoving at him, as he makes a noise in protest, holding me by the hips.

"Sam. God!" I whimper, shaking as my hips roll against him.

"Not til I say, woman!" He growls and I collapse back, giving in and sighing as he looks up at me, smiling. A smile from a man who never smiles a.k.a. how to thaw any cold, dead heart.

Sam kisses his way up my stomach, and then pulls me into his arms as he settles in next to me. "Where did you learn how to do that?" I giggle, burying my face in his side. Sam makes a noise, and then laughs softly.

"Do you really want to know?"

"No." I grin, and bite his side playfully. He groans and hauls me away from his side, pulling me up so I am level with his face.

I blush and cuddle up next to him.

"You're bloody gorgeous, you know that?" He says, his serious face back on. I roll my eyes and push my chin into his chest.

"You've told me once or twice before." I whisper. "You're not too shabby either." I say, running my fingers down his chest.

"What are you doing tomorrow? We could do something together."

"I was going to hang Christmas lights, and clean up the yard at the old house." I smile at him. "Want to help? Doesn't it sound super duper exciting."

"It sounds like what I do every day." Sam says slowly, looking at me with a raised eyebrow over his nose. I laugh and nod.

"True. Let's do something fun, then." I chuckle.

"Agreed." He nods. "So, speaking of the house. I saw you with the realtor earlier today." He leans back, tucking a hand behind his head. His arm is sinewy and toned. The muscle bulges in his bicep, though he's completely relaxed. His hands have callouses that give me goosebumps when he runs them up my sides.

"Yeah. She just wanted to get an idea what we were working with. We haven't even gone inside yet." I reply. Correction. I haven't gone inside yet. Not since the first time Sam and I slept together so long ago. When I was too drunk to care where I was.

"Right." Sam nods and then sits up a bit on his elbow. His hair is sticking up, messy from my hands. He is frowning slightly, his brow furrowed and his eyes thoughtful.

I frown at him, wondering why he suddenly looks nervous.

"What's up?" I sit up as well, tucking the blanket around me as I do.

He's quiet for a moment, and I wait. I don't know what he's going to say, and it scares me that I don't know.

"I want to stick around. I want to stay in Brush River." He says, and his eyes find mine. I blink. "And your house...I was thinking I'd buy it." He says, his dark eyes burning. I feel as if the world shifts, as if there's a glitch in the Matrix. Like he's wavering before my eyes.

"What?" I whisper. "Can you afford it?" I ask, even though I don't care if he can afford it or not. It doesn't even matter, but for some reason it's what comes out of my mouth.

"I have money, Max." He says with a soft chuckle.

Sam wants to stay? He wants to stay in Brush River? For what? For the house? Or...does he want to stay for...me? I open my mouth to speak, but then nothing comes out. The idea that he'd stay never crossed my mind. It was always a given that he'd leave. That this wasn't permanent.

"Brush River is a great place. And I've worked really hard on the old house. I don't know. I could see staying here." He swallows, and I watch his neck move. I can see the pulse there, the fast beating of his heart.

This changes everything.

"Brush River is a great place." I repeat what he says, knowing that I wish he'd say more. I want him to say it. Because I can't and I won't ask him. I want him to tell me if I play any part in his plan. Any part at all. I feel completely stunned by his admission.

"I never told you." He looks at me then, and I feel it deep in my chest. I reach for him, absentmindedly run my hands over the outlines on his arms. The flowers for Poppy. He looks down at them, his eyes following my fingers.

"Told me what?" I ask softly.

"Poppy's last thing on her Bucket List. The last thing I need to finish up." He looks at me, his gaze unyielding and serious. I freeze, feeling as if my heart is in my throat.

"What is it?"

"She wanted to fall in love. She wanted to buy a farm house in a small town. Raise a family. Somewhere that wasn't like the city where we grew up. Somewhere quiet and simple." He speaks, and for some reason, I feel a tiny pit of cold fear bloom in my belly.

"That's what Poppy wanted?" I whisper, frowning. He nodded, and gives me a small smile. I look away, the room coming in and out of focus. The blankets around me suddenly feel as if they are crushing in their weight, scratching my skin.

"Brush River is perfect. And Max," he reaches for me, but I don't lean toward him. "Max, I think I'm falling for you. I know I am."

My stomach feels sour. My heart feels heavy, like a waterlogged sponge, dripping on the floor as I hurry it across the kitchen to dump it in the sink. I feel scared and disappointed. I move away from him, pulling my hands from his.

"You can't. You can't buy the house. I won't sell it to you." I say suddenly. I'm speaking without thinking, as I climb out of bed and start grabbing clothes from the floor, tossing them at Sam. Whether they are his or mine, it doesn't matter. He needs to get dressed. He needs to leave. He can't be here, anymore.

"What?" His voice sounds like he is miles away.

"No, I'm sorry. No." I keep repeating this over and over, and before I know it, Sam is dressed. His shirt is on inside out and he's barely zipped up his pants, but he's decent enough. I'm suddenly pushing him from my apartment, my thighs still weak from him. He's not fighting back, but I can hardly see or hear him anyway. I just need him out. And he doesn't put up a fight.

He wants to live in my dead mother's house. The house that was full of all the best and then the worst moments of my life. The house where I fell in love with Evan. And the house where I lost the woman that was the most important person in my world. The house I was sure I was going to be rid of in just a few short weeks.

And he says he's falling for me. Love. Love. Love. What is love? A word. Just a word, and it crumbles so easily under pressure.

He says his dead sister's Bucket List is the reason he needs to stay. Because she wanted this. She wanted this life. This idea.

How long until he finds that I'm not the dream he was looking for? Until he walks away and finds the dream he wants. With or without me?