I woke up to the sun streaming in through the window as birds called cheerfully to one another outside. I drowsed for a while, content to stay cradled in Sam's arms, and trying to enjoy the peaceful atmosphere for as long as I could. At last I yawned, stretched, and padded on bare feet to the bathroom. I started a shower, letting the steam build as I attempted to put my unruly hair in order. Deciding against waking Sam up, I quietly went downstairs to get towels from the dryer.

When I stepped into the shower, the hot water pounding against my back allowed me to relax and reflect on the night before night. I smiled – of all the ways I thought that would happen, I didn't think it would go this way. Not that I regretted it, of course. I unconsciously began singing as my mind wandered, scraps of different verses, songs and genres mixing together in my subconscious.

A gentle knock on the door startled me out of my revere. My singing had been undoubtedly loud enough to wake up Sam.

"I'll be out in just a few!" I called through the door.

"Take your time!" He responded cheerfully.

Based on the silence that followed, I assumed that he had gone back to bed. Careful not to sing again, I shut off the water and stepped into the small humid room. After donning a soft sweatshirt and toweling my hair, I opened the door to find Sam doing sit-ups.

"Good morning," I say, smiling down at him.

"It is a good morning." He huffed between reps. "Waking up to your voice was the best way I've woken up in a while." He grinned widely when I rolled my eyes. "Oh, of course you don't believe me." He stood up with a grunt, his chest heaving with the exercise, and came toward me with his arms spread wide.

"No, no please!" I gasped with mock fear. "I just showered!"

Undeterred, Sam squeezed me to his chest. After squirming for a few moments, I desisted, reaching up to give him a small kiss.

At last I pushed him away. "Go on," I gestured to the still-steamy bathroom. "You need it," I laughed, while he pretended to hang his head in shame and obligingly marched toward the shower.

I made the bed while Sam rinsed, picking up the clothes that were so hastily thrown on the floor last night. By the time Sam appeared, rosy cheeked and freshly washed, the room was in order and I was ready to start the day.

"What do you want? We have eggs, bacon, fruit, and pancake mix," I called to Sam as we went downstairs. I pointed him toward the plates, and he began setting the table.

"Those all sound good." He laughed. "I'm starving!"

My growling stomach agreed with him. I pulled out all the ingredients and heated up the stove.

"I can cook the eggs as long as you tell me how you want them," Sam offered.

"Great. I'll make the waffles," I smiled. Had we really only met two days ago?

Wespent the next hour laughing as we stumbled through breakfast. Sam was a skilledcook, mixing and frying everything to perfection, while I fumbled with therarely used waffle maker. After receiving quite a few burns, I had a stack of crispy,steaming waffles. As I placed them on the table, he carried over a steamingheap of bacon and scrambled eggs. As I placed them on the table, he carried over a steaming heap of bacon and scrambled eggs.

Sam noticed my red fingers and held my hand up to inspect it. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked with concern.

"The only thing about me that's not okay is my empty stomach," I retorted, and sat down with such an air of finality that Sam had to join me. My fingers were throbbing, but I was too hungry to pay attention to them.

We sat quietly as we ate. Despite attempting to push it from my mind, all I could think about was that today was the day Sam had to leave. He had already stayed longer than Dean wanted him to, and as much as it pained me, I knew that I couldn't ask the brothers to stay. I would have to say goodbye to Sam.

Similar thoughts must have been running through Sam's head. He stared pensively at his eggs, but every once in a while would give his head a shake and look up at me, attempting to give me a smile. After fifteen minutes of this, I had had enough.

"When are you leaving?" I broke the heavy silence.

"Soon," Sam admitted. "I have to get the car back to Dean, and then we need to head out."

"Ok." I knew this was coming. I knew this couldn't be something that lasted. I looked down and began shoveling waffles in my mouth.

"Hey," Sam said, reaching over to grasp my hand. I winced, and he loosened his grip. "It's going to be okay. I don't need to leave just yet. Let's enjoy our breakfast, okay? We can talk about after, after."

I smiled and slowed down, but I couldn't shake the feeling of sadness. The nagging question of "What might have been?" played over and over in my head. I managed to hide this from Sam, though, and made light conversation for the rest of the meal.

As we began cleaning up, Sam's phone started ringing. He walked out into the hall, where I could hear part of his conversation.

"Dean? What do you need?... I'm coming back soon.... Yes, the car is fine- No! I did not.... She's fine.... No, you can't talk to her again.... Listen, I'll be there soon, okay?... Okay, see you in twenty."

As he came back into the kitchen, I turned back to the task at hand. "I can clean all this up if you have to go," I said, unwilling to look him in the eye.

"I'm not going to leave you to clean up my mess," Sam responded matter-of-factly. He came up and hugged me from behind. "I'm sorry I have to go," he said softly. "But I'll come back. I promise I'll come back before we leave town."

I leaned into his hug, closing my eyes and trying to capture every detail of the moment. Then I turned around, reached up and gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Okay," I said simply, this time without any hidden meaning. Then, I pointed him toward the dirty dishes in the sink. "You clean those while I pack up the extra food."

Sam smiled down at me, relieved that I no longer seem upset, then dutifully marched over and began rinsing down the plates. I set about putting the food into my fridge, and in no time at all my kitchen was once again spotless.

I looked up at the clock. Sam had promised to have the car back to Dean by five minutes ago. Just then, Sam's phone rang again. He showed me the caller id reading "Dean", then answered.

"Oh, hey, Dean, you need something else?... What are you talking about?... No, of course not, I'm right down the street. There was terrible traffic coming out of town..." He kept talking as he grabbed his coat. He gave me a quick hug, mouthed I'll come back, promise. Then he closed the door behind him.

I went to my window, watched him get in his car and listened to the rumbling of his engine as he drove down the street. I had to smile at his excuses to Dean. It was very unlikely that there would be traffic in a small midwestern town on a Sunday morning, especially a morning as beautiful as this one.

After a few minutes, I shook myself, stretched, and moved away from the window. I had things to do, with Sam or without him.

I was cleaning up the mess that Quinn and I had made in my closet when I noticed something on my nightstand. It was the flower that Sam had given me last night, wilted and bent after sitting without water. Still, there was beauty in it, if only for memory's sake.

I grabbed the flower, determined to save it. I found two heavy books, took a piece of newspaper from the counter, and pressed the flower in the paper. By tonight, it would be perfectly preserved.

With that taken care of, the day passed quickly. After cleaning my house, eating lunch, getting ready for work the next day and going on a walk, I was surprised to see that it was nearly 5:00. As I began to make a list of ingredients that I would need for dinner, I heard a rumbling in the distance, and I smiled. Sam did keep his promises, after all.

I waited until I heard the now familiar knock on the door. I opened it to see Sam, once again dressed in flannel, standing at my door.

"Hey Grace," He said.

"Hey Sam," I answered, returning his smile. "You came back."

"Of course, I did. I keep my promises." His smile faltered as he looked back at Dean, who was sitting in the driver's seat, keeping the engine running and tapping his hand restlessly.

"Listen, I wish I could stay—" he started.

"No, I get it," I cut him off, holding up my hand. "I knew this couldn't last. And that's okay." As I said it, I realized it was true. I had made my peace with worrying over the future and what might have been. "I'm just glad that we met."

"Me too," Sam said. He sniffed and gave me a hug.

"Oh! I have something for you." I ran inside and grabbed the pressed flower. I brought it to Sam and opened it. I realized that the newspaper that I had pressed the flower on was the article with the woman's death – a fitting ending. I pressed into his hand.

"Just to remember," he echoed me, smiling softly as he closed the folded paper and placing it in his front shirt pocket.

He wrapped me up in his arms and we kissed once again, soft, heart-felt, and full of warmth. I didn't want him to let go of me. I didn't want to leave this safe feeling. But, of course, I couldn't stay. Dean honked his horn, effectively ending the moment. I gave him the middle finger while my hands were wrapped around Sam. Then I stepped down from my toes, gave Sam's hand one last squeeze, and let go. He kissed my nose, smiled down at me, then ran down to the car. As they drove away, I caught him looking back. I raised one hand in a goodbye.

Then I stepped inside and closed the door.