Chapter Twenty One

None of the Spencers were surprised when Sam appeared. As far as he knew, she only came in when he was sleeping. He closed his eyes and played the part but honestly he felt like he had ants crawling under his skin. Who could sleep with ants? He heard her slip into the room, but she did not move directly to her side of the bed. Instead, she crossed to his side and laid the lightest kiss on his forehead. Was he expected to wake up? If he "woke" up, the whole dynamic would change. Nobody had given him the script, and without knowing what came next, it seemed best to maintain the status quo. He stirred a little bit and turned over, but didn't open his eyes.

Sam froze. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to wake up or not. On some level, she did. To be successful it was critical that Spencer be able to separate her from Carly. She had to continue to challenge him to really see her as individual, in circumstances that he did not associate with her younger self. This certainly qualified. But if he was not willing to be led, well, it would be crushing to be rejected here, in this place that was as close as she could get to feeling connected to Spencer. She tiptoed back to her side and settled into her spot, wondering why love was so complicated.

As he usually did, Spencer waited until he was sure she was asleep before rising. A quick glance confirmed that T shirt Sam was definitely gone. Hmm…she was blue today. He left the room quickly, afraid that if he lingered he would still be staring at her when she woke in the morning. There was no use trying to sleep; he decided to work on the portrait. He'd had some success channeling his feelings into the work, and thought it might be the one thing keeping him anchored in this sea of confusion. She found him there in the morning, carefully dabbing color on a group of flowers that looked suspiciously like those in the stained glass at the Church of the Epiphany.

Without a word, she moved to the kitchen to start breakfast. He continued working until she returned with coffee, a silent offering that he accepted with a small smile. This was not their routine, and Spencer could feel his anxiety rising.

For her part, Sam was also frustrated. She thanked heaven that Carly liked her beauty sleep, because if she were here, she would surely feel the tension in the air. It lay around them like an approaching thunderhead – the clouds angry and lightning spitting in the distance. Sam felt like the vibrating string of a violin just plucked, waiting for the touch of the musician to still her. And the fact that he would not touch her was simply maddening.

Spencer was acutely aware of her hovering beside him, watching every stroke of the brush. He thought these moments only occurred in books or movies – the ones where the attraction was so strong that the very air was charged around them. The last time she'd simply laid a hand on his shoulder, and that had been the catalyst. This time, she hadn't touched him at all. It was getting worse.

The room was so quiet, Sam could hear her own heartbeat. She couldn't take it anymore; she was going to go crazy waiting for something to happen. She carefully set down her cup. Very deliberately, she slipped her arms around his waist and rested her chin on his shoulder. Ok, she thought to herself. Here I am. What are you going to do about it?

Sam had decided to change the rules; Spencer felt the situation slipping out of control. The Spencers were frantic – one demanding that he tell Sam how he felt, the other demanding that he put a stop to this once and for all. It was impossible for him to think; there was nothing in his mind but Sam. The seconds ticked by, and still he said nothing.

Finally, there was a small sigh. "Breakfast is getting cold," she whispered in his ear. And then she was gone. When he finally composed himself enough to turn around, she was nowhere to be found. Not in the kitchen, the shower, Carly's room, or the studio. Sam had left the apartment and Spencer was spiraling out of control.