Song Remains the Same

Chapter 116 / What Happens in Vegas

"Goodbye reality, hello Vegas."
- Unknown

…Of all the libraries in all the world, why did he have to walk into mine?

Huddled on top of a toilet (not her most dignified moment), Molly hid as she tried to accept reality: Sam from Vegas. SAM FROM VEGAS.

Nice, considerate, smart, funny, kind, hot… sexy… strong… ahem, passionate Sam from Vegas.

Sometimes she thought she made up that impossible night. She still didn't understand why anyone like him would ever be interested in a dorky, self-conscious, awkward person such as herself. She had no idea what was wrong with Sam or why he had decided on her that night, but she couldn't face him again.

Before his reappearance today, Sam had been just a safe memory in the privacy of her own mind. He was absolutely real now... and in her library. And worse still, he'd seen her for who she really was: a plain, stressed out, bumbling mess. She'd told him a little about herself that night, obviously—he knew she was into reading and probably got the general idea that she was different than her appearance could lead someone to believe—but yeah, this chance re-encounter today had to be humiliating for Sam… seeing the bookish wallflower he'd spent the night with.

The bookish wallflower who ran away in the middle of the night without a word...

She chewed her nails anxiously. This was not how she'd pictured running into Sam again. And believe you me, she had pictured it, just not in realistic terms. Over and over again, she had imagined tall, handsome, emotionally available Sam showing up out of the blue and him being the one who was surprised to see her. In these fantasies, her makeup had been perfect and her glossy hair had been blowing in the wind and she'd been wearing her favorite navy dress and she'd been confident, put-together, and even awe-inducing. In reality, she was wearing a dowdy tan knee-length skirt, socks yanked to her knees, penny loafers and her least favorite green sweater (it itched and the sleeves were too long). Her frizzy blonde hair was in a ponytail and she wore no makeup to speak of. In contrast to her, Sam looked like he'd stepped out of some fancy men's magazine.

With a boiling stomach full of acid, Molly checked her wristwatch and decided thirty minutes would probably be enough time—he would hopefully be gone by then—and then and only then she'd venture out to save what little face she had left. If Mr. Jones decided to fire her for disappearing on the job, she would accept it. That was how much she refused to face the music: she was okay with getting sacked. As she waited with ears that winced at any sound nearby at all (she was convinced someone would come in the bathroom and drag her out), she remembered the most un-Molly night of her life that had ever been and probably ever would be…

A Year and A Half Ago
Las Vegas, Nevada

In a noisy, dark casino bar on the strip in Vegas, two people sat at the quietest booth toward the back… but it still wasn't really that quiet.

Music thumped and lights blared in changing patterns and colors, and it was hard to see really well, so… was it any wonder there had been an accident? Either way, Molly wanted to implode. She was pink like a rose petal, muttering under her breath. "Dämlich, sorry…" Across the table from her, Sam was blotting away the beer she'd knocked over all across his lap. "I'm so sorry," she apologized profusely, muttering a hybrid of German and English under her breath in humiliated frustration. Stress tended to unconsciously make her shift between the two languages she spoke—since growing up she'd been raised bilingual.

Sam didn't seem bothered by the accidental spill, in fact, he was nice enough to try and make her feel better. "Hey, we've all knocked over a beer or two in our day, it's seriously no big deal."

Molly just kept wincing as she watched, cursing herself for the clumsiness.

Seeing how mortified she felt, Sam was endearingly sweet. He gave her a genuine smile—and it was a smile that could probably break hearts—beautiful white teeth, the hint of dimples cutting into his cheeks. "Hey. Seriously. Don't sweat it." He had a gentle voice even though it was strong, and he had this calming, peacemaking sort of aura. "Definitely not the worst thing that's happened to me lately," he assured in a voice that was steady and even a touch amused. "Really, it's fine."

Despite herself, she was beginning to believe he meant it. "You're sure?" she asked, a little confused and very flattered about how nice he was being.

Sam nodded, still smiling at her in a way that made crushing on him very easy. "Yeah. Really." He abruptly got playful. "And if talking to you means I get a couple more brews on me, hey. Bring it on." If she hadn't been flattered before, she sure was now. After all, he could probably talk to any girl in here. "I'll muddle through," he joked, then indicated the beer he'd gotten her—the one she'd spilled and not even sipped out of. "You want me to get you another one?"

Molly's eyes dodged away. She'd accepted his offer of a drink because she'd been so nervous to come off as a limp noodle. She'd even planned on drinking it, too, to impress him. But now she had decided not to attempt that foolishness again. Admitting the truth was embarrassing, so she dodged. "No um… I'm actually not the biggest fan of beer to be honest."

"Oh, you should have said so!" Sam said, unruffled by the news. "Let's get you something you do like."

Molly wracked her brain in silent panic. "Well, I actually, uh..." she sighed, giving up and deciding to be honest. "I don't drink often. Or, well, at all really. So I'm good with the water." She smiled weakly through her embarrassment, knowing how uncool that made her look.

Sam understood and the funny thing was he looked mildly embarrassed. "Oh! Oh. Okay. No problem—sorry about that." Molly waited for him to throw in a comment that implied or outright called out how abnormal it was that she abstained—because that's all she'd gotten from this bridesmaid's trip from hell so far. But he didn't, and a slow, real smile grew across her lips and relaxed her face as her nerves began to calm.

"Thanks," she said earnestly, wondering if he understood how nice it was that he didn't pressure her. Curious more and more, she studied him closely. There was something absolutely magnetic about him.

He studied her back in the same kind of way she was studying him, a crooked little smile quirking his mouth to the side. "Of course." The eye contact felt a little intense suddenly and they both broke it. Sam cleared his throat and gracefully ushered the conversation along. "So before that beer decided to go sideways, we were talking about how we're from the same state."

Ah yes. They had figured out they hailed from the same state. "Yeah, good old Kansas," Molly agreed, feeling a little warm and silly.

"Small world," Sam added conversationally and took a sip of his beer. He looked so relaxed and at ease, so comfortable with himself, and Molly longed to be that way. "So, you liking Vegas so far?"

Molly answered honestly before she thought about it too much. "It's... okay I guess." Sam's eyebrows rose slightly as a tiny smile hovered on his face. Molly stumbled verbally. "I mean it's just—cities and partying, they're not my thing really. So loud, too many people…" she trailed off then laughed at herself while shaking her head. "And now I sound like a grumpy old lady." A brief chuckle was shared between the two of them, and somehow, it broke the ice a little more. Molly thought a minute, her face softer for the smile the laughter had left. "I do think the desert just outside of Vegas is amazing, the terrain I saw when we flew in…" she smiled to herself, thinking of the incredible rocky tapestry of desert and mountain. "It looked incredible. I really like hiking, and it got me thinking about camping out there." She could imagine it now: Hiking the rugged valleys and mountains, foraging mushrooms maybe, taking in the splendor of the desert, trying to spot animals and certain sorts of flora... having s'mores and trail mix and hot cider under the stars outside of a cozy tent... now that would be a bachelorette trip. "Sunrise out there would probably be so beautiful," she said, imagining it in her mind's eye wistfully.

Sam nodded like he knew from personal experience. "It totally is. You need to check it out for sure." So he camped too. He took another sip of beer, which meant it was her turn to talk.

Molly messed around with her fingernails. For a second she'd been at ease. "Yeah," she murmured, starting to worry again. What do I say now? She cleared her throat and tried for a disarming smile. "Sorry, what were we talking about before I spilled beer everywhere?"

"Kansas alums," Sam said, having to think for a second too. He sipped his beer. "I was born in Lawrence, what about you?"

Molly was genuinely startled and felt her eyebrows rise. "…Lawrence," she answered softly, wondering if there was some cosmic significance.

Sam looked similarly surprised and then faintly intrigued. "Really."

"Yeah."

"Huh."

The two of them sat there and barely knew each other, but it felt like it meant something that they were from the same, small Kansas town. Or maybe Molly was impressionable and had read too many metaphor-riddled novels. Was it just her, or did Sam look like he thought it was significant, too?

"Small world," he said again softly, and his eyes matched his voice. Thoughtful, serious, curious, contemplative. He was stunningly handsome, like ridiculously so. She'd noticed before, of course, but… wow, erstaunlich… he was drop-dead gorgeous and seemed to have so much going on inside his mind. She couldn't deny how attractive she was finding him, or how surreal it felt to be in this situation at all. He cleared his throat, wet his lips, and she could swear he was finding her the same way she was finding him, which only made her warmer inside. "So what kind of stuff are you into, Annaliese?" Sam asked, his tone and way he leaned over the table toward her indicating that he was just as fascinated about her as she was about him.

Him using her wrong name reminded her of the reality of the situation. This wasn't real. Not totally. A little deflated, she stalled. She should maybe have seen that question coming but for some reason it totally struck her dumb. "Well. Um. Netflix?" she half-joked, then thought for a second and answered more seriously. She had half a mind to make fantastic things up, but she stuck with the truth: "When I have free time I like being in nature. Gardening, maybe doing some yoga or running, I volunteer at animal sanctuaries sometimes." It was the stuff of a quiet, ordinary life and Molly really did enjoy these things—Sam was receptive, the smile on his face seeming to convey that he thought those things sounded nice. "And I love a good murder mystery podcast," Molly admitted with a chuckle, because that one surprised a lot of people. "But my biggest hobby is probably reading. I really, really love books."

Sam looked interested. "What kind of books?"

Molly hesitated. Sam seemed smart enough, but she decided on a book that most people knew just to keep things relatable. "Lord of the Rings?"

Sam lit up. "I love that series!" he said, and the way he was so immediately animated, Molly was quite surprised. Not what she'd expected. He grinned at her reaction. "No, seriously, me and my sister were like, obsessed with that trilogy and the Hobbit growing up. Our big brother teased us about it all the time." He leaned across the table, giving the impression that he was about to share a hilarious story. "In college, I wrote all my papers for intro to English on Tolkien. No joke. Every single one—the professor ended up thinking it was the only book I'd ever read." He pulled a face. "When you know, I've read, like, three books at least."

Molly abruptly got confused—only three books? What kind of person had only read three books? And then she realized he was joking from the grin on his face, and a sudden laugh escaped. "Oh!" She couldn't help it—she was grinning through a genuine laugh. "Three whole books?" He grinned right back, enjoying the humor. "So, what's your favorite book then, out of those three?" Molly asked, surprised at how easily the teasing comment came.

As she waited for his answer, she tried not to be too judgmental. If he said a Tom Clancy novel or something, she might have to get up and walk away. "Hmm. That's tough. Maybe it's stupid but The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I dunno, takes me back to childhood, you know? It really changed my perspective on the roots of America that not everyone talks about. Oh, and gosh, Brave New World has to be on the top favorite list—I really love a good dystopian read." Molly felt her eyebrows up high, more impressed by the second. "What's your favorite?"

That was like asking a foodie to pick one favorite food. Molly thought hard, because it was incredibly difficult to pick just one. "The Great Gatsby is definitely up there…" she said slowly, thinking of how much she loved a good cautionary tale and a heart-ripping love story. "But I really like everything Margaret Atwood ever wrote, too. And Harry Potter, duh," she joked without thinking. That had been her entire childhood—wizards and Hogwarts and The Boy Who Lived. A self-conscious little smile stretched across her lips because she'd just put Atwood and Rowling into the same sentence together and it struck her as funny. "Same vein, you know?"

Sam kept up with her and then proved that he was well-read. "Yeah, totally," he said, joking around. "Oryx and Crake, those are Harry Potter characters right?"

The Atwood reference made her so incredibly happy. "Yeah, I think they were in Harry Potter and the Handmaid's Tale," Molly said, joking right back as the thrill of having a real, easy, and enjoyable conversation made her smile all the wider.

"Oof, Handmaid's Tale" Sam said, wincing. "That was a heavy one."

More and more impressed with this guy, Molly was forgetting herself in favor of the conversation. "You've read it?"

Sam grinned but it was a heavy smile, weighted by a little bittersweet quality. "I'm not kidding. I read a lot growing up. My dad traveled for work so… lots of long road trips." He chuckled. "I read anything I could get my hands on or anything I could steal from my sister. Seriously, I read the encyclopedia like ten times."

Molly thought she was the only kid who had ever done that. "I read it like twenty!" She was beginning to realize she had never met someone quite like this... and then quickly checked herself: just because he had read some books she had read and he was easy to talk to and they were from the same town didn't mean he was The One or something. However, she took this assessment in stride and stopped fixating on her internal world. "So where'd you go to college?" she asked, proud of herself for navigating this situation even through the hiccups—she was really starting to genuinely enjoy herself.

Sam grew fractionally more veiled. "Stanford, actually."

Feeling starstruck once more—Stanford was no joke—Molly again wondered if he were for real. "Whoa. That's…" Amazing. Inspiring. Kind of intimidating. She frowned curiously, making a logical jump because of how well-read he was. "So you studied English?"

Sam had a sad little smile on his face and he looked at his beer, not her. "Pre-law, actually. I was pre-law."

Molly instinctively noticed that he seemed a little uncomfortable. But she asked carefully before she convinced herself otherwise. "…'Was'?"

A little rueful, maybe, Sam nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I decided to… pursue another career, I guess." At the curious look on her face, Sam hesitated then told her. "FBI."

Molly's eyes widened and her voice dropped. "…FBI?" she whispered, like if she spoke more loudly about it the Bad Guys might come out of nowhere. "Wow…" Sam looked sort of uncomfortable about her reaction and Molly tried to put her awe away. But she could honestly picture it. He had that mysterious air to him and a quiet kind of sadness she couldn't really put her finger on. Like he lived a lonely life of duty and work. She imagined him as a secret agent fighting crime and she swallowed, totally intrigued to the point of forgetting herself momentarily. "You… you ever killed anyone?"

A brief smile at the way she asked made Sam's mouth waver, then he shook his head. "Can't say. Against policy." He paused. "What about you?"

Molly's jaw dropped. "No, I've definitely never killed anyone!"

Sam's face broke with a grin. "No, no—" he laughed and it was a rich, beautiful sound. "I mean what do you do?"

"Oh—!" It was odd. Molly didn't get humiliated when she made that mistake or when Sam laughed. Of course he didn't think she had killed people. She laughed too, and considered lying and making up some fabulous career for this Annaliese character she was portraying. But, yet again, she didn't want to lie—she honestly wanted him to like the real her—so she told him the boring truth. "I'm a library assistant and a grad student."

Sam nodded. "Huh! Yeah, that fits. I can see you doing that. Sounds nice."

Molly felt more and more at ease, smiling now without even realizing. "It's not so bad."

Sam nodded. "I love the library. Always have."

More points for him. So many more points. "Me too," she said, beaming a little bit as she thought about her haven. "Everything's so organized… I like the labels and call numbers and…" she trailed off and lost her bravado as she heard herself out loud.

"What?"

Molly made a face, cringing apologetically. "I'm boring myself right now."

Sam had a reflective, bittersweet smile on his face. "Life in the… the field. As an FBI agent—is uh… let's just say nonstop. I can appreciate the simple things. I miss the simple things. I miss boring. Don't take it for granted. Sometimes I wish I could live the boring life again."

Molly nodded, thoughtful. She loved adventure and mystery and near-death experiences and emotional pain and murder and intrigue… as long as it was in the pages of a book or the confines of a documentary or podcast. But in real life, she liked for things to be quiet and nice and mundane. Boring, she guessed. It felt safest that way. But admittedly, sometimes it felt too boring. Molly contemplated Sam for a minute. "So… why'd you decide to go FBI?" she asked, genuinely interested in the answer.

Sam's face tensed as he frowned at his beer bottle in deep thought. "Uh—wanted to help people. And I know what you're thinking… I could have helped people being a lawyer, too. But… well… the bureau, it's… it's actually a family thing. My dad, my brother, my sister… all agents. I got roped in too, I guess. So…"

Molly's eyebrows rose faintly. "Wow, that's so…" unheard of, she was pretty sure? She settled on a more neutral word out loud: "Unique."

Sam seemed distinctly conflicted. "Yeah and uh… I guess I just was kind of meant to do it."

Molly nodded, marveling at people who knew they were on the right path like that. In contrast, she felt unsure. "I wish I knew what I was meant to do," she confessed kind of thoughtlessly, then fiddled with a scratch on the table, feeling like she'd blurted out something too personal. From the thoughtful way Sam was listening to her, she felt like she had to explain herself. "I mean, I think I'm on the right path. But sometimes... I guess I wonder." If life had more for her, or if this was just it.

He picked up on her private fears about the unknown. "To be honest with you, I haven't met many people who actually know exactly where they're going in life," he counseled with natural empathy. "A lot of us just figure it out as we go. You'll be fine."

Captivated by him and simultaneously sure it must be a trick—because people weren't just kind like this to strangers without ulterior motives—Molly said her next sentence sort of despondent suspicion. "You are so… nice."

He smiled humbly and cracked a joke. "I try, milady."

But Molly didn't know how to believe it. "Is this your good deed of the day?" she asked, trying to sound joking even though she actually meant it. In no universe would a guy like this ever really like a girl like her. Something was missing, and she was beginning to wonder if he'd been paid off or something. "Make the awkward girl who clearly doesn't belong in the bar feel better?" she asked, still trying to sound joking.

Sam looked a little confused and amused by the question. "My good deed of the day?" he repeated, and that intensely deep, empathetic look remained on his face as he took a couple seconds to muster up a reply. "You're not the only one who's ever felt out of place, you know," he said, proving that he was intuitive. Molly felt intensely seen and a little shaken up—but in a new way. Warm in her skin, she studied him and he studied her back, then he confessed something very surprising indeed: "I mean, growing up… I, I felt like a freak," he said. It must have been his turn to say something too personal. With a rueful expression and little shrug, he admitted something she found hard to believe: "Still do."

Molly wasn't sure what to say. "...You?" Surely he was kidding.

"Yeah." Sam's face was open and vulnerable.

Molly hesitated. "But you look so… normal. And put together. Like you have no problems."

Sam's rueful smile was back. "So do you." Molly blinked a couple times, surprised. Sam shrugged. "Appearances can be deceiving. Most of the time I feel like a lost kid."

A statement that made her heart pinch for him. Why would he tell a stranger that? It made her feel connection, and like they shared something. "That's how I feel all the time," she admitted quietly, deciding to make herself a little vulnerable, too. Their eyes met briefly. And they understood each other and Molly knew they did. How, she wasn't sure of… he really did look like he had it together. He had confidence and charisma and was obviously quick on his feet mentally… the opposite of her… and yet she saw her inner feelings reflected back at her from those striking hazel eyes. That had to be the longest she'd ever looked anyone in the eye without looking away. And in that moment, Molly wondered if this was what falling in love felt like.

Sam's eyes narrowed just slightly in fascinated curiosity. "Sorry if it's a rude question but… how old are you?" he asked quietly. "It's hard to tell."

"Twenty-four," she answered honestly, then began to wonder about him. "You?"

Sam ended up being older than she thought. "Thirty. Well, in like a month or so anyway."

She hoped their age difference didn't make him like her less. "Well. Happy early birthday," she said, suddenly deciding to cheers an imaginary beer against his real one—a derpy little action borne out of her more silly side. He laughed a little, looked down, but then when he looked back at her, it made her smile fade. "What?" she asked softly at the intensity there.

"Just, didn't think I'd meet someone like you tonight," he said, and the look in his eyes made her feel smaller.

Molly swallowed, suddenly a little short of breath. "What do you mean, like me?"

"Yeah, you're…" he looked at her like he was trying to decide on the word. "I dunno, real." He gave a soft little laugh. "It's refreshing."

It was another thrilling compliment. Something she didn't know how to respond to. All she could do was feel immensely flattered. She wanted to know more. "...Real?"

Sam thought for a minute. "I guess most people I meet these days are really, I dunno. Hard. And sort of jaded by life. You're…" he got a shade more shy, "you're uh, really sweet." He paused, a little flustered in the cutest of ways. "I like it."

Molly wondered how red, exactly, her jawline and ears were turned. "Thanks," she mumbled through a smile she couldn't press away, thinking she owed him a compliment back. "You're…" my dream man? So hot you could be on TV? Beautiful? Making me reconsider my morals right now? She was flustered over what to say and settled for, "Refreshing too. And... I, I really like your hair."

He was so obviously aware that she liked him too—she could tell by the way he looked at smiled at her, but he didn't make it any worse for her or call attention to the fact. He just let his eyes flirt with hers. "Thanks." He eyed the top of her head for a second. "I like yours too."

"Oh geez," Molly quickly said, because it didn't look anything like it normally would. "Yeah I wasn't too sure about it. They straightened it and put several gallons of some kind of product I've never heard of in there."

"Your friends over there?" Sam asked, glancing across the club at the increasingly-rowdy bachelorette bunch Molly was very happy to currently be away from.

"'Friends' is a stretch," she said honestly with a twinge of sadness. "I'm here for a bachelorette party—had a couple English classes with the bride and then one of her bridesmaids backed out so… I'm the replacement. It's okay though," she hurried to add. "Always wanted to go to a wedding."

Sam looked surprised. "You've never been to a wedding before?"

Molly tried not to look any kind of way and shrugged. "I don't have that many friends really."

Sam surprised her when he nodded. "Me either," he said, distracted by his beer again. "Just my family, mostly."

Molly hesitated. She heard the same sort of sadness in his voice that she felt inside. "You said a sister, right?"

"Right, and a brother. Parents are gone now."

Her heart immediately went out to him and hurt for him. "Oh. I'm so sorry…" She felt so bad for him without knowing the details. How awful.

He skipped over the subject, sidestepping it. "You? Got any siblings?"

Sensitive to the fact that he was obviously broken up about his parents still, Molly nodded yes. "Yeah, my brother Arno. He's older than me. Psychologist."

Sam looked impressed. "Wow, bigtime."

"Yeah, he thinks so," Molly said, joking again without really thinking about it.

Sam cracked a smile—mission accomplished—and Molly's heart definitely melted a little. "Sounds like we have something else in common," Sam said. "My brother thinks he's king of the world." Molly chuckled and Sam echoed, making her a few shades more comfortable without even trying. "So I know you said you were born in Lawrence, but I keep hearing like… I dunno, a little accent," he said, asking about it without a question.

"Oh." Molly got a little self-conscious again. She didn't even notice it most days but others did… she had the softest Germanic lilt to certain words, sometimes more than others. "Yeah. I'm bilingual—my father's German. I think I picked it up from him."

Sam nodded. "That's pretty cool." He grinned sheepishly. "I took Spanish in college and uh—let's just say it didn't stick too well." He laughed. "Basically all I remember is 'dónde está el baño,'"

Molly hesitated. "What's that mean?"

Sam laughed, his eyes crinkling up further. "Where's the bathroom."

She laughed too and then said that was a very important question to be able to ask.

For the next hour or so, they sat and conversed with growing relaxation. Sam thoughtfully ordered Molly a virgin cocktail to try, and they shared some french fries. Topics included books, TV shows, high school, society—even politics a little bit. Molly found herself completely at ease at a certain point, not overthinking at all anymore. The ums and uhs faded away more and more. It was easy to talk to Sam. He was open-minded, incredibly smart, and no matter what the conversation topic was, his focus was completely on her and what they were discussing. More than anything else, he seemed incredibly kind. She had never felt quite as listened to or paid attention to before, and while it was a little nerve-wracking at first, it was also an incredibly nice change of pace.

And then abruptly, Sam looked at Molly and asked a question that made her stomach hurtle into outer space. "Hey—you wanna get outta here?" She must have looked shocked—was he asking to go hook up?—because Sam quickly got flustered and edited himself: "and go for a walk, I mean."

Giddy, she worked hard to compose herself and look calm and at ease—when all she wanted to know was what's next? She'd started thinking about kissing him awhile ago and now couldn't stop. With a measure of grace and poise she was proud of, she smiled and accepted. "I'd love that."

Sam paid their bill then got out of the booth, offering her a hand to help her scoot out of the booth. She hesitated, met his eyes, and then took his hand, leaving that club with the hottest guy there and nerves that were both thrilled and terrified to know what might happen next.

Present Day

When Molly finally emerged out of the bathroom with lots of careful, furtive glances around to make sure Sam was no longer around and it was safe to come out—she breathed a sigh of both relief and disappointment. Part of her had hoped he would be waiting anxiously for her like a lovesick puppy. But he was gone. Fantasy shattered. Oh well.

She slunk back into the circulation area and dutifully began to check in some books that were stacked beside the scanner. And then as she lifted the first book up to the barcode laser reader, she dropped it with the softest alarmed gasp. Because who was sitting in the small waiting area near the door with clasped hands and elbows leaned over his knees? Sam. And he had just caught sight of her.

Oh no.

Her panic returned so quickly she could have fallen over from the adrenaline. How did I not see him there?! He stood up and walked over to her and it took thirty million years and yet no time at all and she was frozen in place, helpless to do anything but stand there behind the counter and wait. She noticed everything about him as he approached: his long legs and beautiful shoes and debonair sweater vest and scholarly-looking jacket and amazing hair and broad shoulders and striking face and keen eyes…

She realized she was holding her breath as he got to the counter. "Hey," he said, and she didn't know what to say back. He seemed sort of… concerned.

She took way too long to speak her three word reply and when she did, her voice was weak and trembling. "You're still here."

"Yeah," he said softly, eyeing Mr. Jones who was nearby and watchful. "I waited. You…" he lowered his voice just a little more, "you do remember me, right?"

What kind of crazy question was that?! Molly was flustered and very aware of how close her boss was. "Yeah I remember you," she said sort of tersely, because the last real time she'd seen Sam had been, you know… in quite an intimate type of moment. She cleared her throat and subtly tugged at her sweater collar, feeling a little warm.

Sam contemplated her intently. "How much longer you working today?"

Molly withered as devastating hope rose. "Uh—wh—um—" did he want to… see her later?

Sam's face was soft with an amused expression. "It's not an essay question," he said, looking at her like she was the only person in the room. "What time you get off?"

She took a deep breath and managed, in a steadier voice, almost challengingly: "Nine."

Sam nodded and hesitated. "Do you wanna… I dunno, get some coffee with me?" He looked almost doubtful, like he thought she'd say no.

"Coffee," she echoed dumbly, surprised at what he was asking.

He suddenly grinned outright, eyes crinkling, dimples showing… and she remembered he'd smiled at her like that several times in Vegas. It had the same heart-shattering effect now as it did then. "You know, the brown liquid you drink out of a ceramic cup?" he joked, then got a little more serious, and he even seemed a bit nervous. "I just… I mean, I'd love to catch up, if you can. Somewhere…" he glanced at Mr. Jones, who was still watching with disapproval. "Else."

She wanted to. Yes, she wanted to and even though she was utterly terrified, she told herself to be brave like Hermione and just go for it. Because she'd spent so much time thinking about Sam from Vegas and wishing she'd stayed until morning. Quite honestly, he'd taken the spot in her mind for What A Man Should Be and no one else had ever come close to being as desirable as he'd been to her all this time. Not even Ryan Gosling. "Yeah. Sure, catch up. That'd be grood." She pulled up short. "I-I was trying to say great," she said, turning red. "And good. At the same time." She laughed weakly at her fumbling gaffe.

Still looking at her with soft eyes, Sam pulled a scrap piece of paper toward himself and produced a pen out of his pocket. "Lemme give you my number," he said, jotting it down and then looking her in the eye with an impish smile playing on his lips. "Is the Caribou on Main 'grood' for you?"

She swore she fell in love with him all over again when he said that, and she was helpless but to laugh self-consciously. "Yeah," she said, softly through a grin as she buzzed inside. "It is." She took the paper with his number and couldn't stop the grin on her face, even when she bit her lip to try and play it more cool. "I'll text you when I get off," she said, her heart going thousands of miles per hour in her chest.

Sam smiled a little then slid his hands into his pockets. "Great. I'll see you in a little bit." He hesitated again, then said her real, actual, legit name: "Molly."

Hearing him say her real name made fireworks explode inside. Somehow, she managed to sound sane with her reply. "Okay, Sam."

With that, Sam left and Molly watched, the most intense and hopeful feeling flying high inside her chest. Did he actually, really like her?

Beside her, the librarian sidled up and gave her a semi-annoyed look. "Jesus Christ, that was painful," Roger muttered. "How'd you get a guy like that interested in you, anyway? There something about you I don't know?" Actually yes, but Molly said nothing. Instead, given wings of bravery by the encounter, she gave her boss a very cool, serene look. Mr. Jones did not like that, and immediately smiled a false smile. "I hate to be a damper but unfortunately we have that new shipment that needs to be completed before you can go anywhere…" he said, wincing in false sympathy.

With a sinking heart, Molly looked at the three huge boxes, then the clock, then Sam's number on a sheet of paper. And she realized that this date (or whatever it was) couldn't even happen if she didn't do some next-to impossible amounts of work in the next two hours.

A Year and A Half Ago
Las Vegas, Nevada

Molly and Sam walked along the large sidewalk side by side, and she had her arms crossed in a very useless attempt to get a little warmer. With the chilly night air and the skimpy outfit, she was kind of freezing, but trying very hard to look at ease and comfortable.

However, Sam wasn't fooled. "You cold?"

Molly tried to look nonplussed. She hated inconveniencing others. "No, it's nice out here," she lied, then briefly indicated her outfit. "This is—it's warmer than it looks." As if to mock her, a light breeze hit her and she shivered powerlessly as gooseflesh sprang to life on her arms.

Sam made a face. "Yeah right. You're freezing." He shrugged his jacket off and despite her protests, he put it around her shoulders.

Loathe to accept it even though oh my gosh it was the sweetest thing ever, Molly bumbled. "Thanks." It was warm from his body heat and smelled sort of like old leather and some kind of masculine cologne and she was immediately so much more warm. And then noticing how he was practically busting out of his long-sleeved plaid shirt she stared, gawking at his huge shoulders and arms. "You must work out," she blurted, then cursed herself.

Sam laughed easily and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, and in effect made himself look even more appealing without even knowing it. "It's my job," he downplayed humbly, "keeps me in shape. And I like to try and run, lift, you know, stuff like that. Eat healthy." He chuckled at her terminology. "My brother likes to give me hell for it, actually."

Molly smiled softly. "That… that sounds nice." She put her arms through the jacket arms—the sleeves were a little long on her, which was rare.

"It sounds nice that he gives me hell?" Sam asked, a dubious little grin on his face.

Realizing it made no sense if she didn't explain, Molly tried to. Coming off wrong was what she hated most and yet did best. "Well I mean, my brother was twelve when I was born so we didn't really have much time together, you know? I feel like an only child, I guess. He never gave me hell because he wasn't really there much. We aren't really that close. It sounds like you guys are."

Sam had a bittersweet little smile on his face. "Yeah well me and my family are close. But we definitely don't always get along."

"You're the oldest?" Molly asked timidly, because he seemed like an oldest. Measured, calm, shrewd.

Sam shook his head immediately. "No. No. I'm the middle. Well, I mean, my sister and I are twins, so it's sort of debatable. But, I was born a minute before she was, so… I got that bragging right which she hates." He smiled to himself.

Molly resisted the urge to fangirl again, but she didn't quite manage. "Twins, that's so cool!" she exclaimed, because she had always been fascinated by twins in movies, TV, and real life whenever she'd happened to see a pair in public. "Do twins really have that mind connection thing?"

Sam made a doubtful sound. "I think that's an old wives tale. Honestly me and my sister we… clashed a lot. But sometimes, yeah actually. I could just look at her and know what she was thinking and vice versa."

Molly smiled a little again. That sounded really, really nice. She daydreamed for a minute about having a close sibling and what that would have really been like. She loved Arno of course. But he lived in a different state and she only saw him on Thanksgiving and Christmas now. She thought if she'd had a twin, they would live together and be oddballs and understand each other even when no one else did.

At that moment, she and Sam passed by an unruly group of young, seemingly inebriated men—one of which wolf-whistled and jeered at Molly and made a comment about her legs. Immediately scared, Molly was a little surprised when Sam put his arm around her in a silent I'm here. "Hey. No worries," he said, understanding the unspoken. "No one's gonna mess with you while I'm around."

She believed him and felt safe immediately when he said that. They left the jeering group behind and Sam didn't take his arm off her shoulder and she didn't pull away either. They kept a casual pace of a stroll up, and Molly looked up at the side of Sam's face and marveled at how comfortable she was with him. It wasn't typical of her at all. He had her feeling incredibly at ease, so much that she wasn't spending the entire time obsessing over herself and how she was coming off. She was genuinely interested in him and feeling like they were maybe kindred in spirit. Like she didn't have to worry as much around him as she did around other people. In an act of bravery, she put her arm around his waist to see how it felt and what he might do. He smiled a little to himself and glanced her way. Thrilled with the way the night was now going, Molly relaxed another level, daring to believe she could be just as 'normal' as everyone else she ever knew. Maybe this was why people loved Vegas—the spark of meeting a stranger. The thrill of this tantalizing unknown.

"So, we know that I'm here for a bachelorette party..." she ventured conversationally. "What about you? FBI business?"

He shook his head. "Vacation, guess you could call it. Me and my brother and sister, we used to come here once a year. But uh… had to take some time away from my brother here lately. Been fighting with him. And my sister actually had to check into rehab recently, so…"

Immediately compassionate, Molly didn't know what to say. "Oh—I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, you don't live the life we live without some pretty major consequences," he said, then stopped walking. Molly would remain curious about his vague statement, because Sam moved on from the topic as they overlooked an amazing hotel that had a huge, lit up water fountain display in front of it. Water spouts shot high into the air, waving back and forth to music. "The Bellagio fountains," Sam said. "You seen these yet?" Molly shook her head no and he indicated they should check it out. They leaned against the railing there, watching the water for a moment—the current song playing was Power of Love by Celine Dion. A cold vapor mist shimmered over them every few seconds from the water.

Molly snuggled deeper into Sam's jacket, thinking about his words and listening to the song, enjoying how exhilarated she felt at the moment. Just a couple hours ago she'd been miserably bar-hopping with a group of drunk women. Now... how surreal to be in a strange city with this not-so-strange man. He was close to her, close enough that she could feel his warmth at her side. And she liked it. They looked at each other in accidental tandem at the moment when Celine sang, "Cuz I'm your lady, and you are my man—whenever you reach for me, I'll do whatever I can."

And Molly was seized by temporary giddy insanity thanks to how comfortable she'd gotten. She grabbed him by the hand for an impromptu little dance, twirling and laughing—missing steps and being uncoordinated, ending with Molly almost falling and Sam catching her as they both laughed. She was clutching onto him, their faces were close. Her smile faded, and she felt a little suspicious again as she searched those gentle hazel eyes. "Are you really like this?" she asked softly, trying to figure out how this could be real.

Sam's voice was soft too. "Like what?"

"So…" she tried to come up with the right word. They hadn't let go of each other, and she didn't mind being so close either. "Nice."

She wondered if she was imagining the hope in his eyes: hope that she liked him. "This is me."

How couldn't she like a guy like this? Molly swallowed, and maybe it was Vegas, maybe it was the bravery the Celine song gave her, but Molly said how she felt, albeit in just a whisper: "I like you Sam."

He was looking at her like no other person had ever looked at her. "I like you too," he said quietly. And the moment was suddenly incredibly intimate and she wanted to kiss him so bad but she never kissed a guy until she knew his parents and had gotten a look at his SAT scores…

But maybe that was Old Molly. Maybe tonight, New Molly was coming into her own.

Another gust of wind came and with it, Molly's ponytail smacked her across the face and a few strands of it remained stuck to her bottom lip. Sam looked at those strands of hair and hesitated. "You got a…" he said, then carefully let two fingers drift across her cheek to pull the hairs away. Feeling the most vulnerable and alive and panicked as she had felt in her entire life, Molly stared at him breathlessly. That single little touch had put thoughts into her mind she didn't even know what to do with, and Sam was looking at her with an intent gaze she couldn't escape from. His fingers were at her jawline and even though her heart was hammering out of her chest because she was so scared and exhilarated, she started it: moving forward a little, gauging his reaction, then he moved forward too.

Molly's stomach jumped out of her body when those soft lips touched hers. She'd kissed two other guys before in her life, so maybe she wasn't the best judge of this but—Sam's kiss immediately felt like romance and falling in love and insane, electric chemistry. He kissed her briefly and gently, an exploratory and longing sort of touch she had to have more of. He drew back just a little, enough that their eyes caught for a second, then he kissed her again, this time with confidence, and Molly melted. For once in her life, she didn't feel clueless. One of her arms looped around his neck as her other hand grasped his face, pulling him closer. He reciprocated, kissing her with hypnotizing sensuality—gentle, sweet, slow, innocent before Sam's mouth parted open and his warm tongue touched hers. Molly let out the softest sound as her brain exploded. She forgot everything and her hands instinctively clenched into his hair. She lost herself in that kiss and did what she never had done before: made out in public without a single thought about anyone else in the world. It was slow and deep and wet, it was natural and heady and so hot.

The way he held her and touched her—his attractiveness, his enigmatic aura—the way her body was in overdrive—the thought that she could get away with this because she was in a different city and he didn't know her real name—the realization that she would be so angry with herself if she didn't do this—the need to do something crazy for once in her life—it all gave her the bravery to do something she never imagined she would ever do.

Breathless, she pulled back and murmured in an unintentionally husky voice against his mouth. "I never do this."

He sounded similarly drunken from the kiss—his voice was a little rough. "Do what?"

"Like, I seriously never—ever—do this," she said, repeating herself. His confused eyes looked into hers, and she made herself be courageous. Her voice was impossibly husky and low. "Can we… do you wanna… go… somewhere?"

It was Sam's turn to look shocked. "...Really?" he asked, breathy and visibly hungry for what she was hungry for too. "You sure?"

She nodded yes, and didn't look back.

Molly didn't know how Sam looked at her and saw representation of all he'd loved and lost—how her sweetness and innocence concerning the darkness of the world gave him the kind of feelings he'd only had for one other girl in his entire life. How to him, she was a piece of the normal life that had been torn away from him. He felt corrupted by demons, by Lucifer, by his godforsaken experience. And yet here was a girl who looked at him and saw him for who he'd once been: just a good, decent, everyday guy who was trying his best and had promise in life. He wanted to be that guy again so badly sometimes. And that night, he got to be.

Sam took her to where he was staying—and what happened there that night would stick in Molly's mind forever as the height of her sexual experience.

Sam dropped the hotel room key from excited nervousness as he tried to get them inside the room as soon as possible—they kissed their way into the room blindly, bumping into a table and knocking things over carelessly as he shoved his jacket off of her. Molly was thrilled at herself and what was happening yet also terrified but too addicted to the feeling to run away. He kissed her against a wall and it was the kind of kiss that he used his entire body to give. When his shirt came off, she glimpsed a tattoo, strong muscles, and a ridiculously toned stomach. She didn't have time to get cold feet when she realized how hot he really was and how blah she thought she was—he picked her up so that her legs were around his middle, kissed her wildly as he stumbled them across the room, then he threw her down across the bed and crawled over her. He pushed her skirt up and yanked her underwear down then used his mouth to show her what oral sex was really supposed to be like and Molly Ziegler, who had always been quiet during sex save for a few sharp intakes of breath and a grunt here and there when it felt weird—couldn't help it. Andrew hadn't ever done anything like this for her and David had only attempted it twice and hadn't been into it. Sam was mind-blowing. He had her making sounds she'd only heard in porn before. Molly got brave and wild and a part of her that had only existed in her mind was suddenly existing in real life. She grabbed his hair and had no room left in her mind for neuroses. Sam knew what to do, god he knew what to do—so much so that he barely spent two minutes on her before she was gasping from an intense orgasm—the first one she'd ever had that wasn't from self-pleasure. She stunned herself with a torrent of whispered exclamations she couldn't seem to quash.

And as she laid there panting and dazed, Sam looked up at her, obviously liking her very strong reaction to what he'd done. "Damn," he whispered, a word of admiration. "Was that… German?"

She blushed, grinning shyly down at him shirtless in jeans sprawled between her trembling legs. "Oh. Um… yeah, sorry."

His eyes seemed dark. "Say something else," he whispered, an indescribably sexy request.

And looking down at that man, feeling very entranced… Molly said something very naughty indeed: "Ich werde dich so hart rannehmen, dass du Sterne siehst," she whispered, the dirtiest thing she'd ever said and no one but her knew it.

Sam had no clue she'd just told him she was going to take him so hard he'd see stars. "Wow, that's beautifu—" he began. But she cut him off when she abruptly sat up, grabbed him, then practically threw him down onto his back and yanked at his belt. It was like an animal she'd always kept caged for fear of judgement had been unleashed—and the encounter only got more sinfully intense from there. It was the kind of sex she imagined soul mates would have—they were in sync, finding shocking and excruciating pleasure together.

She didn't even know him, but as they laid in each other's arms afterward and breathed heavily, Molly knew he had left a mark on her she could never remove. To look into his eyes, it felt like she could fall in love with him… or possibly already had.

Present Day

It was nearly ten at night and Molly was still working on labeling the new, stupid books. She was getting a little hot and bothered remembering Vegas, and equally frustrated at herself and Mr. Jones for this menial task that had prevented her from seeing Sam again. Although, she was sort of glad she had an excuse not to see him again because ah geez, it was so awkward…

She'd texted Sam a few minutes before nine after re-writing the text like five times so that it sounded right giving her apologies for not being able to make it for coffee. He texted back and said it was okay, something had come up with his work too and she hadn't heard from him since. Disappointed even if she was also glad, Molly realized maybe it was for the best. He'd seen her in ways no one else ever had… and once the heat of the moment had faded and her sensibilities returned she had felt a little weird about what happened. Mostly because she didn't know if she could reconcile that crazy sexually-free side she'd discovered that night with her quiet, proper, anxiety-riddled self. She had spent so much time since that night wondering who that sexually liberated wild woman in Vegas was, and how to be her again.

Around ten twenty, Molly finally finished the books and then got her backpack and shrugged it on—she'd sewn the strap and it looked very raggedy, but it functioned again—and she tiredly went around making sure things were in order as she tried not to think about how she was supposed to open the library early in the morning and would be short on sleep tonight. Mr. Jones had already left so the library felt a bit creepy with most of the main lights off. When Molly went to switch off the lights in the special collections room as one of her last tasks, she paused because she was suddenly struck by a curiosity. What was so special about that book that the late Rabbi Bass and FBI Agent Sam had wanted to look at? She found the FD-113 bin and pulled it off the shelf, opened it, and abruptly had a mini heart-attack. Instead of a weathered old book, there was a book from general circulation in there. The Explorer's Guide to North American Birds. Molly nearly hit the roof. Did that mean one of the invaluable items from the Holtzinger estate was stolen or gone?! She realized she hadn't checked the volume before letting Sam have access to this… and hadn't checked it when the rabbi had finished with it either…

Realizing she could be blamed for this and rightly so, Molly made herself stay calm and and checked the call number on the bird book—QL 673—and decided to return this book to where it went at least and then have her conniption. In the dark library that felt decidedly scary without anyone else in it, Molly went up the stairs quietly. She felt weird, like she was being watched. That same feeling she used to get when she hung her feet over the edge of the bed at night—like some monster was going to grab her.

No such thing as monsters, she reminded herself.

She wandered down the ominously silent rows of books, then found the place where the bird book went… and simultaneously frowned. In its place, a huge, unlabeled leather-bound volume. She switched the books out and opened the leather tome. It was written by hand in strong penmanship—entirely in German. She read the title on the first place with a deeply furrowed brow. Experiments Conducted by the Thule Society.

… The who? She had never heard of such a thing. Well, at least the volume wasn't lost like she had thought.

A sudden sound of voices somewhere downstairs startled her—she whirled in a panic, her breathing suddenly shooting to a shallow and fast rhythm as she clutched the book against herself. Had someone broken in?! Was this a robbery?! Men. It was definitely men, a few of them, and she thought she heard a woman's voice, too. Okay, well just stay here and be quiet and you won't get hurt. Then a sound that made fear strike her through the heart—footsteps hurrying up the stairs. Toward her.

Molly immediately began to move to hide, swinging her backpack off and shoving the huge leather book into her already heavy rucksack. She hid in the shadows at the far end of the shelves, shrinking back against the wall as those footsteps drew closer and closer. Terrified, Molly tried not to breathe at all because it seemed so loud and whoever it was would hear her.

And then the person with the heavy footsteps came into view and Molly's eyes shot open wide. It was Sam, and he had a focused look on his face. He had changed clothes—plaid shirt and cargo jacket—and he went to the exact spot she'd just gotten the leather book from. He seemed confused when he saw the bird book there, hesitating and frowning, then looking around. And then there was the softest little sound like something whistling through the air and Sam cried out like he'd been hurt as he clutched at his own throat and pulled out a dart and stumbled back toward where he'd come from. Frozen in silence in the shadows, Molly couldn't say or do anything. What is happening?!

And then a loud voice from somewhere nearby spoke up, startling Sam. "I owe you thanks."

Molly clutched her bookbag for dear life, realizing that this must be some sort of FBI showdown.

A man with a German accent and some kind of blowdart instrument sauntered out of the shadows further up to stand over Sam. "The rabbi got me this far, but you... took me all the way. Now, where is the ledger?"

Sam was half-collapsed against the shelf, not far from Molly at all, and he looked like he was not doing so good. "Go to hell," he wheezed scathingly.

"You first, my friend," the German man said, approaching him leisurely with a confident smile. "I have, after all, just poisoned you… but I am willing to change your fate if you tell me where the ledger is."

Poisoned him?

POISONED HIM?

Molly was scared, yes, but suddenly she was more angry than anything else. You don't poison people in my library! She didn't know what possessed her. Or how exactly she got the guts to do it. Or where the idea even came from. But she did it before she had a chance to think. She snatched a thick hardback off the shelf near where she stood, shaking the entire time with rage and fear both. "Hey!" she shouted. The German man frowned in her direction, noticing her even as she threw that book at him like a baseball—Dad had always loved playing catch with her, and it paid off in that moment when the heavy book hit the enemy straight in the face and knocked him back slightly against the shelf.

Sam stumbled to his feet and grabbed the guy and managed a woozy, ineffectual punch before he fell back onto the floor, groaning in pain. Molly stood there, clutching her backpack and regretting everything. The German man bore down on Molly with a terrifying expression and she was like a cornered animal. "Give me the ledg—" he began, but couldn't finish when she used her bookbag as a weapon and smashed him hard across the face with it as she gave a freaked out shriek.

Despite a pale face and shallow breath, Sam was lurching to his feet and he stumbled her way then grabbed her hand even as the stunned German man began to right himself.

"Run, run—Molly, run!" he gasped, limping and blinking hard and pulling her along the shelves as he caught himself again and again with a hand against the rows. Molly stared at him as he struggled through the darkness at a terrifying gait. His neck was garish purple, his skin was turning white. He looked like he was dying.

"Your neck!" she gasped, totally alarmed and aware that the man who had done that to him was behind them somewhere.

Sam held onto her tighter, hurrying them along at a staggering pace. "C-come on, I'm—ungh—" Sam sagged and Molly had to sort of catch him—she barely managed to stand up as he leaned against her. His eyes rolled back into his head. "Downstairs," he managed to gasp, using every last ounce of strength to somehow put one foot in front of the other and lurch them that way.

Behind them, the German man was on his feet and in pursuit.