I found him flat on his back, under his car.
"That's a clever way to protect the environment," I said, crouching down to peer under the old sedan. "Lie beneath your car and let it drop oil on you."
Sam turned his head sideways. "So, you're feeling like yourself again."
"Yes and no," I replied honestly, sitting on the bristly grass next to the driveway.
He slid out from beneath the car and reached for a wad of paper towels to wipe his hands. "Actually, I'm involved in a complex operation. I'm trying to see if I can install a steering wheel on the right side of my car, so you can park it without threatening the lives of passing pedestrians."
I laughed, which made him raise an eyebrow.
"When I say something like that, you're supposed to act like a porcupine."
"Excuse me?"
"Get your quills up, Kate, do your cactus act. You're no fun anymore!"
I glanced away.
"Uh—oh. Sorry." He rested his hand on mine, as he had many times in the last week. His hand covered mine completely, and I wanted to turn my palm upward, to see what it felt like to slip my fingers between his.
I pulled my hand away. "There is something I have to tell you."
He waited, but not very patiently. "Spit it out."
"You have such a poetic way of putting things."
"That's what you wanted to tell me?"
"No!" Frustrated, I plucked at the grass on the edge of the driveway.
"Kate, you're starting to do that thing again—looking away, not meeting my eyes."
"I know." In the last week, I had needed his friendship and comfort so desperately, I hadn't thought about things like the shape of his hands and the luminous darkness of his eyes. But I was thinking about them now. Sometimes that was all I could think about.
"Want to tell me why you do that?"
I stared at a greasy wrench.
"Do you know why you look away?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I nodded.
"We've shared an awful lot, Kate. Can't you tell me?"
"I probably can if I don't look at you."
He threw back his head and laughed. "Sorry. That was funny. Okay"—despite an effort not to, he was still laughing—"what's the problem?"
"I'm in love with you.".
His laughter stopped. When the silence became unbearable, I glanced up at him. "You look—you look stunned. I'll get over it," I added quickly. "You know when I put my mind to something, I do it. I will get over it, Sam."
"But I won't," he said.
"Sorry?"
"I won't… I can't. I've tried—it's impossible." He reached for my face and held it in his hands.
So that's how it feels, I thought.
"I love you, Kate."
I don't think I breathed.
"I have from the very beginning," he said. "Well, maybe not that moment when you nearly destroyed my car."
"Nearly destroyed! I didn't touch it."
He laughed and ran his thumb softly across my mouth. How did he do that, make me feel his touch like heat beneath my skin—make me feel it everywhere even when he brushed only my lips.
"You can't have any idea how much I want to kiss you," he said.
"Maybe—maybe I do. Why don't you try and see?"
His mouth touched mine, lightly, carefully—too lightly and carefully—so I took over and kissed him.
"Maybe you do!" he agreed, when we had caught our breath again.
Elizabeth Chandler, No Time to Die & the Deep End of Fear
(Series: # )
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