Serendipity Chapter 13: You, Me, and Him (2-2), a good witch fanfic

Well, here we are. This is the end of the ride. Please keep your hands and arms inside the magic carpet and enjoy the loop-de-loops. Thank you again for all the reviews, comments, and kudos. I've loved every second of this story and I really hope you guys have as well. See you on the other side!

You, Me, and Him (2/2)

Sam didn't see his ex-wife until the following evening.

Thank God.

Nick, however, emerged for food a few hours later, unable to sulk his way past his Teenage Boy Stomach™.

Though Sam did have to give him points for effort: he lasted a good hour longer than his father had expected.

Unfortunately, those hours alone to actually think about things had been wasted, because Nick was clearly still being obstinate and determined to believe Linda above all else, come hell, high water, live video evidence, or a direct confession to the contrary.

So it only stood to reason that the ensuing conversation was . . . well, to be frank, it was ugly.

Extremely.

"I didn't 'steal' you from your mother," Sam began — unwisely, perhaps, given that Nick hadn't actually spoken to him yet. But he couldn't let this go; his chances of convincing Nick were low enough without giving him (and Linda) time to let the lie get set in stone.

He had to pause in shock when he saw that his son was doing homework; since when did Nick voluntarily work on school assignments when he could be doing literally anything else?

It would take more than a day for him to realize that Nick wasn't quite as taken in by his mother's shenanigans as he'd thought, but like most teenagers, he couldn't communicate effectively to save his life — and that was before one accounted for the fact that he was upset with and trying to 'get back at' his father. And it never occurred to Sam to ask, because he had no reason to think there might be something else in play. He should have, so he didn't hold Abigail's smug condescension against her when she pointed his idiocy out to him, because . . . well. Yeah. But at the time, he simply took what he was seeing at face value and went from there, as that was the long-established pattern between himself and his son.

"She and I agreed a long time ago that you'd be better off with me full time," he added, pacing a bit before coming to a stop in front of Nick and trying to catch his eyes.

"Mom says differently," his son replied complacently, though still with that snotty tone, not even looking up from his laptop.

Unable to help himself, Sam blew out a heavy breath, and Nick did look up at that, his expression one of pleading and gentle understanding.

"Just let me go," he almost begged, his eyes as earnest as his voice, and Sam blinked.

"What, to Hong Kong?" he asked, surprised.

Why, he didn't know.

Nick refused to accept that Hong Kong couldn't happen, so he was going hound Sam with it on general principle until the very name of the country was enough to give him hives.

"And back to New York," Nick said with a nod, making Sam twitch. He knew damn good and well that Linda was whispering in Nick's ear about that, though he freely admitted it wouldn't take a huge amount of effort to get his thoughts in that direction again. Nick had slowly been coming to terms with the permanence of the move to Middleton, but 'slowly' was the key word there. And 'to terms' was a far cry from 'happy about'.

"I know you care about me, but you've had your time. It's Mom's turn now," his son continued, again with that gentle understanding that was making Sam want to hit something.

Linda, preferably, but he really wasn't picky right now.

And it was past time to be honest with Nick. Well. As honest as he could be. There were some things that he would never know.

But he was going to have to actually say what he meant this time, without the ambiguity that characterized so many of their exchanges. See, both of them were male, and like the majority of males the world over, neither was comfortable with expressing emotion, especially the 'girly' ones. And saying them straight up, out loud, to each other?

Yeah, no.

But that clearly wasn't working any more, at least, not for this giant mess of a — Linda — so Sam mentally fortified himself, trusted that actually saying this out loud wouldn't kill him or cause his tongue to burn out of his mouth, and willingly walked into the lion's den.

"I do love you," he told his son, feeling a sudden sense of freedom at finally voicing it, only to watch in pain, coupled with a total lack of astonishment, when Nick shook his head in patent disbelief, but continuing nonetheless. "And that's why my answer is 'no'."

The genuine surprise he saw hurt, and it wasn't mitigated even when he realized that the boy wanted Hong Kong more than New York.

"I'm sorry," he replied, and he really did mean it. But he cou—

Nick stood up, cutting off his train of thought, and Sam tensed despite himself.

"You aren't," his son sardonically observed, a bitter smile twisting his lips, and Sam felt an answering bitterness rise up. What was it going to take to get Nick to LISTENto him?!

"I can't let you go," he said desperately, hoping against all reason that Nick would hear his regret, because he meant it in every possible way and loathed the fact that he couldn't explain why. Not without explaining everything . . . and he could not, would not, do that to his son.

With typical teenage arrogance, Nick barreled over him.

"You can't stop me," he almost sneered — and had no idea at all how close he came to physically being thrown out of the house so he could spend the night outside and let Middleton's winter cool his ass down.

But Sam's control was legendary, something that Nick had no appreciation for, so he was able to keep his temper in check.

"I'm still your father," is what he said instead, his voice throbbing with the same menace he'd fought off earlier, though he wasn't in danger of succumbing to it.

Yet.

And like earlier, it made not a damn bit of difference to his obnoxious, know-it-all child.

Because there was a beat of silence, and then—

"When I graduate from high school, I'm leaving. I'm not coming back."

Before Sam could react to that, Nick stalked upstairs.

He would have been furious to realize that Sam didn't even blink at this, much less take it seriously; he'd heard too many parents bitch about this very thing to let it bother him. This threat was nothing more than the kid lashing out. He loved Nick, but the boy had no subtlety, no money, and completely lacked the ability to make long-term plans; he wasn't Grace Russell, after all. Even if he did leave the day after graduation, he'd be back in no more than a week, despite Sam's best efforts to prepare him to actually function in the real world.

But this continued insistence on living with Linda was new, and upsetting. Even during their worst fights, Nick had never once indicated that he wanted to go visit his mother, much less live with her, so what was so different now?

His failure to follow through on this idea until prodded by Abigail would, under other circumstances, have been humiliating, once he took the time to sit down and think about it.

But karma had finally realized just how badly she had fucked up, and was taking careful steps to rectify the situation.

It wouldn't be easy, of course, and not everything would come up daisies (as the saying went, and why daisies? Why not tulips or roses or — well, why daisies?), but karma trusted that Sam Radford's will wouldn't falter against a sudden lack of — well, okay, a sudden lessening of pressure.

She was right.

But even karma couldn't have foreseen the havoc her meddling would wreak.

Or what would happen when an immovable force met an unstoppable object.

Cassie's discussion with Ryan was . . . fraught.

In so many, many ways.

His admission that he'd known and hadn't told her was more hurtful than she would ever have dreamed, though in retrospect, she wasn't at all surprised.

After all, she'd been frustrated time and time again by his penchant for unwise or just downright foolish actions, which he then looked to her to help him fix, so why on earth would this be any different?

What gave her pause was the notion that he'd deliberately sold her down the river in a misguided attempt to force her to expand (for lack of a better word), like he'd wanted since he'd met Ben Jones.

And she really wasn't sure what she thought of that.

Or, rather, she wasn't sure if she actually believed it.

On the one hand, it was exactly like something Ryan would do, because it looked good on paper.

On the other, he completely lacked both the subtlety and the cunning to successfully pull something like this off.

Which led her to the conclusion that whatever he'd said to Jones, it had been said with complete ignorance of the other man's ultimate goal, and now that Ryan knew, he was floundering desperately for something to keep him afloat while he stuttered at Cassie (and Stephanie, and — oooooh. NOW the Java Shed thing made sense. Oh, Ryan.) and tried to take responsibility without actually taking responsibility.

And Cassie was too shell-shocked, too stunned, and too hurt to unload her anger on him the way she really needed to.

When she asked why he hadn't told her, he gave her that heartsick, kicked puppy look that had torn at her heartstrings so many times over the past three years, and had eventually been one of the reasons she'd accepted his advances.

And that look, along with his pitiful admission that he'd wanted 'to fix it first' was . . . effective.

Damn him.

Because while Ryan was explaining that he'd tried to steer Jones in a different direction, Cassie could literally feel that he was telling the truth, and that softened her anger.

Damn him.

Because she was suddenly hopeful that he'd succeeded, only for him to dash those hopes so carelessly that it would have flattened her under other circumstances. Now? Now she was too numb to feel the full impact of it.

"Java Shed wants your building," he said quietly, looking bitterly ashamed, and she had to turn away. "And Jones wants Java Shed as a tenant."

It only took her a second to rally, and she looked up at him, knowing her eyes were full of hurt and betrayed trust and not giving a damn.

"Well, you still should have told me," she said quietly, watching with a bit of satisfaction as he cringed.

But to his credit, he took it without so much as a blink.

"You're right," he agreed, holding her eyes. "Just . . . give me a chance."

She nearly scoffed in sarcastic disbelief at that, but managed to force it down; it would only make things worse.

But she was unable to keep her emotions completely locked down, so her response of, "To do what?" was somewhat more derisive than she wanted.

Seriously, though, what could he do? He wasn't the one who'd sold her building, or bought it. And yes, he'd been a coward by not telling her, but that didn't make what was happening his fault.

He gave her that earnest look he was so good at, and it made her want to slap him. His adamant refusal to learn from his mistakes was in large part responsible for this mess, though she still couldn't lay it directly at his feet . . . which only made everything worse, since she couldn't rage at the person who needed to be raged at.

His plea did not help.

"To make this right," he said with such sincerity that it hurt to hear.

To her own annoyance, she had to deflect this sudden decision to take responsibility for an action that wasn't his.

Because he should feel guilty, dammit!

But not for this.

So—

"You didn't make it wrong," she said firmly, fixing him with her own earnest look, because he hadn't, not really, and he had to believe that or he would get mired down in the wrong kind of remorse.

"Then why do I feel so guilty?" he almost whispered in reply . . . and it took a massive amount of control to keep from telling him what she really thought.

But it would serve no purpose. It wouldn't even make her feel better because he wouldn't understand.

So Cassie mentally sighed and pushed her anger and hurt aside until she had the time to deal with them.

But she couldn't look at him when she answered, even though it was, in many ways, the truth.

"Because you're a good guy."

He said nothing and made no attempt to meet her eyes, so after a few minutes of extremely awkward silence where neither of them could think of anything to say, she rose and left, absently noticing Stephanie's speculative look but not giving it a second thought.

Had she glanced back, she would have seen him slumped over the table, radiating misery and furious determination.

But she didn't.

And in the end, it made no difference.

Her house of cards was fluttering away in the breeze, tumbling from the top down.

When she didn't see Sam that night, Cassie found herself conflicted.

She really didn't want to talk about . . . well, anything currently happening in her life, but even when she and Sam simply sat in companionable silence while he drank her tea in order to get some of her baked goods, it was soothing and very . . . well, soothing. Tranquil.

It helped her end her day on a positive note, even when she'd had a good day.

But knowing that she really didn't want to talk was enough for him to pull back and give her space, until she asked specifically for him. And while that wasn't actually what she wanted, she understood and respected the sentiment.

She also understood that he was struggling himself, and given his normal reticence, it made sense that he wouldn't be keen on sharing, especially something that was as difficult and emotionally perilous as things were becoming — and her lack of any kind of experience or even knowledge of what he'd been through could only be a hindrance, she knew.

Add to that his awareness of her situation, and you ended up with two people who were trying so hard to be respectful and courteous of the other that one of them was reduced to keeping watch out the back door for the other to go on his usual morning jog, so she could ambush him with coffee-flavored tea in hopes of having an actual conversation.

His surprised look at being anticipated was amusing; his appreciation for the drink was gratifying.

His failure to realize that she didn't do iced tea, especially first thing in the morning, was hilarious.

And they were finally able to banter for the first time in days.

Cassie actually sighed a little as she relaxed; she'd honestly had no idea how integral their playful back-and-forth had become to her sense of . . . well, not to be dramatic, but to her mental well-being.

And to his, if his expression was a clue.

But that relaxation didn't last long. As she and Sam headed for her car, he — completely innocently, she knew — asked how things were going, and if Ryan was going to be able to help, and Cassie went a little cold.

"Ryan is trying to get Jones to see that I'd make a great tenant," she told him in what was supposed to be a very even voice, watching out of the corner of her eye as his face tightened. But he said nothing, so she continued, venting a little of her frustration on him because she knew she could, he would understand. And, frankly, she knew he'd be grateful because his inability to help had been driving him up the wall. Also, because if she didn't, she was going to be less than pleasant to someone who didn't deserve it, which was something she simply would not permit. When he confirmed her thoughts by remaining silent, she judged it was safe to tell him a little more. "And if Java Shed can be talked into a different location, then, uh, Jones would give me a lease."

The thing was, it was a pipe dream and everyone (literally, at this stage) knew it. All Ryan was doing was buying her time.

Time for what, she didn't quite know, because her income wasn't suddenly going to triple overnight and she couldn't move. All real estate jokes about 'location, location, location' aside, where the Bell, Book, & Candle was sited had too much meaning attached to it, and moving would . . . she was deathly afraid that it would disrupt too much of what her shop unique.

Special.

And that was a whole different issue from what the location itself meant to her personally.

So again, because he had no way whatsoever of knowing, Sam asked the obvious question.

"Oh. I hope this doesn't sound too . . . why don't you just relocate?" he suggested, and Cassie couldn't help it. She flinched. Thankfully, he didn't notice. Less thankfully, he also kept talking. "It's not like it's sacred ground," he continued, rubbing salt in the wound, and Cassie had to look away. He didn't know, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Still completely unaware of her inner turmoil (and whoa; she hadn't realized until now just how badly Linda was affecting his mental state), he pointed out that her loyal customers would follow her — which they would, yes — and new customers would find her. Which, again, yes, they would.

But that wasn't the issue. It was . . . it was . . .

Customers weren't the problem.

But she couldn't move.

And she couldn't explain that in a way that would make any kind of logical sense, so after a few awkward seconds of looking everywhere but at him, she managed to change the subject by asking about Linda. Not that she could actually help him with that situation, which was infuriating, but if nothing else, it would serve as a distraction until she could get back to an even keel.

Sam, who wasn't remotely stupid, immediately saw that he'd overstepped something, and was instantly apologetic about it . . . but this time, he didn't let her avoid the subject completely. He actually acknowledged that he'd hit a sore spot, catching her eyes as he did, and they both laughed a little at the irony even as she denied his gentle, accurate summation of things. But Cassie wasn't ready to talk about this with him and he accepted it as gracefully as always, following her change of subject with an effortless ease that caught her by surprise every time he did it, even if this time, it was literally the only thing she would be asking about.

"I want to know how the houseguest is," she said, because she genuinely did. There was always the chance, however small, that being in close proximity had helped Sam and Linda work out some of their issues.

Though, now that she thought about it . . .

"I'm guessing that's why you burned your throat on my tea," she added with rueful acknowledgement that her hope was wrong.

His expression was comical and she laughed again. "Uncomfortable?" she asked, and got a very dry laugh before he sighed, "You have no idea," so heavily, her chest ached at hearing it.

And she wasn't quite sure how to soothe or reassure him, so she decided to try humor again — hey, it had worked so far — and said, "So you're stuck between a rock and a—"

"Linda," he finished easily, giving her a tiny smile that didn't touch his eyes, and she gave him a dramatic sigh, so he'd think she was still joking with him, but she truly meant it. And she hated with a passion that she couldn't help him, other than to just be there when he needed support.

Unfortunately, they were both running late now, so she only said, "I'll see you later," and they exchanged fake grins and sincere thanks.

Yes, talking with each other had helped, but only for the moment. No solutions had been found or offered, and nothing had changed.

But they had each other to lean on and in that moment, it was enough.

Sam spent the morning in a quagmire of emotions: shame for hurting Cassie, inadvertent as it had been (and confusing; for the life of him, he could not figure out why his suggestion of moving her shop had caused such an immediate, visceral reaction); lingering aggravation with Nick and his stubborn refusal to see reason about anything; and a never-ending anger at Linda, who Would. Not. STOP.

Her current goal in life appeared to be becoming the bane of Sam's existence and if it was, she was doing a hell of a job.

Therefore, he was moody and irritable all morning, and by the time he finally had a few minutes to eat, he had no appetite and a pounding headache. Experience, however, had taught him that he could not go all day without eating something substantial, and as little as he liked leafy green vegetables, they were better than anything fried or fast.

Well, they were today.

He was still stewing over his talk with Cassie that morning when the woman herself came in the door and he was instantly hit with the dual emotions of happiness at seeing her and shame on remembering yet again that he'd hurt her.

It was one of his new goals in life that one day soon, happiness would be the only emotion he felt when he saw her.

Her hesitant greeting only made him feel worse, though he managed to hide it behind a cheerful 'hey' that was mostly sincere — he was happy to see her, after all — and after a split second of indecision, he decided to go ahead and ask. Now that he knew what the primary problem was, even if he didn't understand why it was a problem, he would do any- and everything he could to help.

"How go the real estate wars?" he asked with studied casualness as he forked up another bite of his salad, and mentally frowned when Cassie instantly got an unhappy look.

"Ryan says he's making progress with Jones," was her reply, and his frown deepened.

Why would that idiot lie to Cassie about this?

Just from the one conversation he'd had with Ben Jones, Sam knew that he was an uncompromising bastard who would run over you to get what he wanted and then send you the bill for his car repairs.

And, okay, fine, Sam could deal with that. The medical community wasn't all that different when you got down to it, especially in the circles he ran in, so he was familiar with the attitude.

But the man's very nature meant that he would not compromise or back down, much less show a hint of anything that could be considered a weakness — like, say, compassion.

And that was something he didn't have the heart to tell Cassie, mostly because he refused to crush her like that again. But also because he suspected she wouldn't believe him — or, rather, she wouldn't want to believe him, and as such, would disregard a lot (or all) of what he said on the grounds that Ryan knew Jones better than Sam did, and so his take on the situation would be more accurate.

Which, frankly, pissed him off, but he understood too well where she was coming from, and so he had no choice but to swallow it and find another way to help her.

But before he could do that, he needed to apologize for suggesting that she move. If she wasn't thinking about that of her own accord, there was a reason, and he should have known better than to just blunder in the way he had.

"Hmm," he said in reply to her comment about Ryan before he stood up so he could look her in the eye. "Look . . . I shouldn't have said anything about relocation," he began, making sure she saw his sincerity. "It's obvious that you like where your shop is now."

She cut in before he had the chance to say anything else, and what she told him had him mentally gaping like an idiot, because he would never have suspected her of such . . . well, 'whimsy' was the only word he could think of.

"Because it is sacred ground," was what she said, and he blinked.

Maybe he'd mishe—

No. No, he hadn't.

She was serious.

Okay.

Well.

Okay.

"Oh?" he managed to ask in an even voice. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but now that she was here and ready to talk to him? He would cancel everything and sit here until Kingdom Come, because it meant that she trusted him, and wanted him to know what she was thinking and feeling.

A slight look of embar—no, discomfort, crossed her face, which puzzled him, until she told him that the Bell, Book, & Candle was where she and Jake had met.

Aaaah.

Sacred ground indeed.

He really, really envied Jake Russell sometimes.

"It was magical," she continued, unaware of his thoughts. "It's where I finally found my roots, my purpose . . . a home in Middleton."

Of course it was, and it made total sense.

It did.

And he really, really envied Jake Russell sometimes.

"You clearly loved Jake very much. He was lucky to have you," he observed in a gentle voice. He respected the hell out of that and wouldn't dream even for a moment of getting between it or trying to tarnish any memories.

She gave him a half-smile in return and said, "Every day, when I open my front door for business, it's like he's still there."

Sam had no response to that, other than a small smile of his own, so that's what he gave her, and an understanding nod.

Then there was that moment of silence that was becoming all-too-familiar, where neither of them wanted to end the conversation but weren't entirely sure what to say next. His office phone ringing broke the moment for them (dammit) and she gave him a quick look of gratitude before slipping out the door while he reassured Mrs. Moskowitz that no, her test results had not shown any signs of prostate cancer (ah, elderly people. Only Martha Tinsdale was more headache-inducing) and yes, she had an appointment tomorrow so they could go over her results and he would answer any and all questions.

His appetite had completely vanished by the time he got off the phone, so he chugged a bottle of water and headed back to get ready for his next patient, his mind whirling in confusion and what was beginning to feel a lot like panic.

Because, his (extremely) low opinion of Ryan Elliott notwithstanding, if Cassie still loved Jake as much as she clearly did, why was she dating someone else?

More specifically, why Ryan? He understood that she would want someone different from Jake in virtually every respect, but Ryan . . .

No, he still couldn't wrap his head around that, especially since she was so clearly unhappy in that relationship.

Which left him wondering how in the name of heaven he was going to ask those very questions (oh, there's where the panic was coming from. Good to know.), once he had found both the time and the courage to talk to her about his feelings and their relationship.

And let's not forget, he would have to answer them himself, which was fair, he knew, even if it was also terrifying.

Huh.

Maybe he should let Nick go to Hong Kong and get him out of the line of fire, so to speak.

He blinked.

Whoa.

He hadn't realized that he was this bothered about Cassie's predicament (well, the one to do with her shop; he strongly suspected that his feelings about her and Ryan were obvious to space shuttles in orbit), but his next patient was here, so he gave a brisk shake of his head to rid himself of all his extraneous thoughts and went back to work.

But the idea lingered.

And karma, who was watching carefully, bit her lip.

His . . . exchange . . . with Linda in his office later that day was . . . well, to be frank, it was confusing. She was her usual manipulative self, but she was — polite.

And that was very unlike her.

Also, he was getting more and more perturbed at her insistence on taking Nick with her.

In almost a decade — literally — she had never once indicated, not even as a throwaway line, that she wanted anything to do with Nick that was lasting or permanent. Hell, she'd failed to visit him so many times, he expected it . . . but NOW she wanted to be his mother? Badly enough to fight for custody?

Yeah, no. Pull the other one.

The problem was that he could not, for the life of him, figure out what she was really after. Reading her beyond the surface level was an ability he hadn't developed nearly enough while they were married, and it had definitely atrophied after the divorce. And straight-up asking got him nothing but the bullshit she'd just fed him, about wanting to be Nick's mother.

And he would be honest: he was so far beyond suspicious of that that they hadn't invented a word for it yet.

But.

The little part of him that Cassie had claimed for herself kept nagging at him, reminding him that just because a person did something bad one time (or a few hundred thousand), that didn't automatically mean they would do it again. It was also trying to convince him that maybe Linda did regret abandoning her son, and really did want to try again.

And if that truly was the case, then could Sam, in good conscience, stand in her way?

He sighed, rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache that had taken up residence five minutes after he'd gotten to his office that morning.

There was no guidebook for this, or a rulebook. All Sam had was his intellect and his love for his son.

But maybe . . . maybe if he let Nick go to Hong Kong, he'd actually see for himself who Linda really was. Sam knew the kid would never believe him, and while it rankled, he didn't hold it against him. After all, how many children would believe that one of their parents was so selfish that they had literally abandoned their child for a job, and done it without so much as a blink, never mind tears or even second thoughts?

Particularly when said parent couldn't even keep the commitments they bothered to make, but always brought something 'amazing' as a bribe when they did bother to show up . . . which invariably worked, to the frustrated rage of the other parent. But if he let Nick go . . .

Yeah. Yeah, he was starting to think that letting Nick go with Linda was a good idea. Carl Horton had let him know just that morning that he could rush a passport through, so that was the other giant hurdle taken care of.

(he had decided with no thought at all that he did NOT want to know how Carl knew why he needed a passport. He just didn't. His blood pressure couldn't take the knowledge.)

Huh.

Look at that. He'd found a new way to fight.

And he wasn't nearly as exhausted or bruised as he would have been.

Not that he was completely sanguine about this, mind, nor had he actually decided to do it. But it was an idea that had quite a few advantages. And as he started mentally making a list, it became clear that the 'pros' were quickly outweighing the 'cons'.

Go figure.

Especially since the biggest 'pro' for Sam right now was getting Nick and his snotty, poisonous attitude out of the house for a while.

Because he didn't feel a sliver of guilt at the thought, though he knew he would later.

But if he stayed firm and kept his son here, Nick would hold that over his head until his grandchildren were dead. The boy could hold a grudge better than most teenage girls could ever dream of, and wasn't afraid to admit it.

Yeah, letting him spend that much time with his mother, unsupervised (Geoffrey didn't count; he was little more than a child himself and how strange was it that Sam kept forgetting about him?) was a daunting prospect, if only because he knew she'd spend every second she could turning Nick against him . . . but it wasn't like they had a stellar relationship now, and Sam (and Cassie) had run flat out of options to change that.

And she was already whispering in the kid's ear anyway, so really, what did Sam have to lose by letting him go?

More importantly, he realized, suddenly sobering up from the sarcastic self-deprecation he was using as a crutch to help him stay upright while he tried not to drown in the whirlpool that was Linda Wallace . . . he really needed to consider the cost of fighting her. Now, he didn't give a tinker's damn about her feelings; point of fact, she could fall off a cliff and he'd roll a boulder after her just to make sure she couldn't climb back up.

But she had shown him quite clearly that not only did she have no scruples left, or any semblance of morality that he recognized, she also had no problem lying to Nick. So he knew that if he pushed her and kept his son here, Linda would destroy the fabric of Nick's life. Sure, she'd make it out to be Sam's fault, which would put him in the position of either telling Nick the truth — with the paperwork proving his words, God help him — or allowing his son to take that final lunge over the line of completely hating Sam.

Either way, Nick's life would be ruined.

Sam could live with being hated, he supposed, but only if he knew that Nick would get the support and encouragement he needed from Linda in order to not just live his life, but thrive in it, and enjoy it. Make something of himself.

But he wouldn't. Linda simply wasn't capable of that, and she never had been. Which meant that without Sam . . . Nick would be lost before he ever got to truly try to make his own path.

So . . . by letting mother and son have what they thought they wanted, maybe he could stop some of the decay of his and Nick's relationship. If they both saw reality for what it was . . . okay, no. Linda wouldn't. Or rather, she would, but it would be literally anyone else's fault, up to and including the bellboy at the hotel, before she would accept any responsibility.

But Nick . . . there was an even chance that, away from Sam and the automatic 'Dad is being mean' mode he was currently operating in, he'd correlate actually living with his mother with seeing who she was as a person, and come to the foregone conclusion that everyone else had already reached.

(three months later, after Linda bullied her way into his spare bedroom for what might have honestly been the longest nine days in human history, should one sit down with a ruler and actually measure time, Sam would remember this day and literally laugh himself sick. At least he knew he'd been right.)

Well.

It seemed that he had made his decision.

Go, him.

But he didn't feel relief, or nervous, or . . . he didn't feel anything, actually.

And that didn't alarm him nearly as much as it should.

When Stephanie came into her shop later that day, Cassie actually winced.

Was it too much to ask for even an afternoon's reprieve from the hell on earth her life seemed to be becoming?

Ah, but that wasn't fair.

Stephanie was genuinely concerned for her, and her offering of 'tea and carbs' was so sweet, Cassie almost teared up.

Hang on.

Tea?

Stephanie?

Wow.

Cassie had had no idea her negative feelings were this obvious.

"Aw, you gave up your mid-afternoon latte?" she asked her friend, genuinely touched.

Stephanie was remarkably pragmatic, all things told, and simply replied that Java Shed had had a negative impact on her love of . . . well, java.

It was understandable.

Naturally, that couldn't last, and when she immediately turned the subject to Ryan, Cassie's warm feelings headed for Iceland.

And left her behind in Middleton.

That was not cool.

But she couldn't show how she felt about it, much less tell Stephanie what was really going on, because . . . well, Stephanie didn't know they were dating and since Cassie fully intended to break up with him as soon as life settled back down . . .

For the first time, she found herself wondering if keeping quiet had been the best idea.

Not that it mattered, mind, so moving on . . . but it did linger in the back of her thoughts for quite some time.

She replied to her friend's relatively straightforward observation of Ryan using two phones to try to fix the mess he'd helped engineer with the information she had, which was a lot more than Stephanie did.

"Yeah, he's trying to get Jones to lease me back the space," she began, looking away as she remembered that phone call before turning back to the other woman. "But to do that, he first needs to get the Java Shed people interested in a different location."

In other words, he was pounding his head against a brick wall.

Stephanie nodded at that, then sighed before carefully saying, "So you and Ryan . . . is this Jones thing gonna be a speed bump or a full stop?"

And Cassie had to stop and take a minute to wonder what it was about her that made the whole of Middleton so damned interested in her love life.

No, seriously. Why couldn't they show this same level of interest in Stephanie? Or Melanie Long? Or the lovely, widowed Mrs. Evelyn Ross?

Why was it always Cassie?

But that was a question she'd never get answered, so she mentally shook it off and gave Stephanie a long, level look.

The answer was 'full stop', and it was because of Ben Jones, but not for the reasons everyone would think.

Because Jones was just the catalyst. He had been the thing that brought clarity to everything else.

But she couldn't tell Stephanie that, for a plethora of reasons, so she played the indecisive woman she'd perfected over the last eight months.

"I don't know," she hedged with that nervous smile Jake had always hated. "I . . ." she sighed, because this was a lot truer than she'd realized it would be, though for reasons Stephanie couldn't begin to grasp. "I just don't know," she finished quietly, looking away briefly before meeting her friend's eyes again.

She was met with a gaze of gentle understanding, along with the equally gentle — and understanding — question, "You're just not so sure?"

And all Cassie could do was mouth wordlessly, not expecting so much restraint, and give a helpless, "Yeah," as her response.

There wasn't a lot else to be said after that, so Stephanie gave her a quick but heartfelt hug and headed back to work.

Cassie did the same, but thankfully, it was a light day for customers, because for the rest of the afternoon, she was . . . distracted. Little things she'd seen but not noticed came back to mind, changes both subtle and not, overheard conversations . . . and conversations held face-to-face.

All of this whirled around in her mind until it was time for her to close and head home, using the trip there to chew over the conclusion she'd only just reached but couldn't do anything with until she was alone.

Once there, Cassie took a minute to be grateful that Grace was her math club and wouldn't be home for a few hours, made herself a cup of tea, and settled on a stool at her kitchen island, her vision going hazy as she sank fully into her thoughts.

It had taken her an absurdly long time to understand that one of the main reasons Ryan was so insistent on working with Jones on jobs that were well away from Middleton was because he had come to the conclusion that her continued reluctance to be seen openly dating him was due to them living in Middleton. Therefore, if he could get her out of town (hopefully permanently, but if not, long-term absences would suffice, especially if she was with him for most of them. It was a very, very good thing she hadn't heard him telling his parents about his plans to move to Chicago. Or the marriage conversation, though even she would admit he'd done the best he could.), then it followed that she would finally be okay with moving their relationship forward.

And that pissed her off.

In and of itself, she admitted that it wasn't a wholly unreasonable thought, given that Middleton was such a small — and gossipy — town, but Cassie . . . well, she wasn't like most other people. And Ryan should know her better than that, dammit!

He certainly should have more respect for her.

Only he didn't. And she had been forced to realize that he never would, not really.

But . . . he genuinely thought they were in love.

The ensuing realization struck her like lightning, and that strike was so hard it blew power out in a three-block radius.

The thunder that followed was so loud that buildings actually shook.

People were afraid it was an earthquake.

And finally, finally, after more than six months (and three years) of frustration, unease, dissatisfaction, and just plain unhappiness, Cassie Nightingale clearly understood the actual root of all of the issues she had with dating him.

She wasn't in love with Ryan Elliott.

And she wasn't falling in love with him, either.

But perhaps even more importantly, she finally saw that he wasn't in love with her.

He couldn't be, because he refused to see her for who — and what — she was.

No. No, Ryan was in love with the woman he wanted her to be.

The weight she'd been carrying for so long she'd forgotten it was there fell away and for the first time in months, Cassie Nightingale could breathe. Her romantic relationship with Ryan, which had been hovering over her like the Sword of Damocles, was finally something she could understand and deal with. No longer did she have to feel leery of accepting a date or guilty for not wanting to kiss him, and she could stop doing things that she just flat-out didn't want to do simply to avoid bruising his ego. She would never stop being his friend, of course, but now she really could be.

If he would let her.

All she had to do now was tell him.

Oh.

Oh, no. She . . .

Oh, God.

She had to — she was going to —

Oh, God.

She had no choice but to end this romantic relationship, which would utterly break Ryan's heart.

It was going to devastate him, especially because he wasn't going to understand. He would think it was because of Jones and Java Shed, and it wasn't. By themselves, they had nothing whatsoever to do with her feelings or decision . . . but the timing simply could not be worse because it was the logical assumption to make, which meant that convincing him to the contrary was going to be virtually impossible. Especially since her tangled snarl of feelings wasn't something that she could explain, not clearly (or even coherently, she suspected), and even if she tried, how could she tell him that his feelings weren't re—okay, no, his feelings were very real. But the reality those feelings were based on was a complete fabrication.

Which was something he would never accept or believe.

And that left her in an impossible situation, because there wasn't a way on earth that doing the right thing was going to go well, not for either of them. The tiny part of her mind that possessed cynicism (which she'd been forced to acknowledge more and more since she had met Sam) sardonically noted that at least no one knew they were dating. If nothing else, the ripple effect should be minimal with regards to the population of Middleton.

This knowledge was really not useful at all, though, because things were about to get very uncomfortable. At least Ryan wasn't a confrontational man, which meant there was a good chance they could keep things civil, and that was the only silver lining in what was going to be a clusterfuck.

Wow.

She needed to cut back on spending time with Sam when he was pissed off, because his inner vocabulary was starting to manifest itself in hers . . . though it was probably the most accurate description that existed for what was going to happen.

And, to top everything off, dating or not, it would be all over Middleton before lunch; heck, his absence from her side would have rumors flying before The Bistro's 9am coffee rush hit and there was truly no way to know what — if anything — he would say.

She certainly wouldn't talk about it, and no one actually knew what was really going on, but that would make no difference. Martin Campbell would open a new book on things, which the town would gleefully join, and she — they — would be squarely in the middle of the mess she'd been trying so hard to avoid all along.

She was trapped.

She couldn't stay with Ryan, not as his girlfriend, but there was no way to break things off cleanly, because if she did what was best for her, it would destroy him. And if she stayed with him, she would lose herself.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, she found herself unable to breathe and gasped desperately for air as the walls closed in on her, bolting for her back door so frantically, she nearly lost a shoe. And as the weight and truth of the whole ugly, convoluted mess settled over her, Cassie Nightingale found herself needing to do something she had never done in her entire life, not even when her parents had died.

Not even when Jake was killed.

She took a deep breath and tilted her head back, opening her mouth to scream her anguish, her rage, to the heavens.

What the fuck was she supposed to do now?!

"Cassie?"

That soft voice, filled with concern, was so unexpected and yet, somehow, not, that it pierced her veil of agony, calling her back to earth, and helped her find some composure. After a few deep breaths, she slowly turned her head, meeting those gentle, concerned eyes.

Here was unconditional support. Stability. Strength. Protection.

"Sam . . ."

When Ryan told her what she'd known all along late that evening, Cassie was honestly surprised to discover that she was disappointed. There was no logical reason for it whatsoever, but she really had been hoping that he would somehow find a way to pull a rabbit out of a hat.

Why, she didn't know, since she wasn't faring any better and, given that she possessed the gifts that might make said rabbit-pulling possible, it did seem a tad too optimistic, even for her.

But that was her: Cassie Nightingale, Perpetual Optimist Extraordinaire.

Her talk with Sam the night before, about the way things didn't always work out like you thought they would and how 'having' was rarely as satisfying as 'wanting' (so she was a Star Trek fan; sue her), had been more helpful than she would have expected, given that she hadn't actually said anything about the real reason she was asking.

Though she strongly suspected he knew more than either of them was willing to admit, especially since he didn't ask once for any kind of clarification.

And Sam wasn't remotely stupid.

His advice of 'tell the truth' had been somewhat redundant, of course, but it been the perfect segue into his subsequent offering of 'this isn't court, Cassie, so you don't have to tell the whole truth. It's okay to keep things to yourself if the telling won't serve any purpose other than being said.'.

It was a little shocking to see how helpful that was.

And a lot embarrassing that she hadn't realized it for herself.

Because, now that it had been pointed out to her, she could easily see that there was no reason to tell Ryan that his doormat tendencies were suffocating her; it was part of who he was and somewhere out there was a woman who needed that exact quality. But she could — and should — tell him that she just wasn't ready to be in any kind of romantic relationship, which was the honest truth. It had taken far too much time for her to really understand that, she knew, and Ryan would justifiably be upset by this.

Still, he would understand, she knew, and accept it, however reluctantly.

But he wouldn't stay, not as her friend; he'd invested too much of himself into being her boyfriend, her lover, her next life partner, so going back to 'just' being her friend . . . no, that wasn't an adjustment he could make. She knew that, understood it, and hated it, because this was going to cost her one of the best friends she'd ever had and a relationship that had helped sustain her for nearly three years.

But she had to do what was best, both for herself and for Grace . . . and staying with a man she didn't want to be with wasn't good for anybody, including him. Was it fair? Of course not. But then, life wasn't.

If it was, she wouldn't be worried about losing her beloved Bell, Book, & Candle.

If life was fair, Jake would still be with her.

Her somewhat maudlin thoughts were disrupted by Grace wandering into the kitchen and offering to help with dinner. Since her daughter wasn't the world's most enthusiastic cook, Cassie agreed, but watched her with concern. And, sure enough, after maybe two minutes of awkward silence and lackluster vegetable handling, she sighed inaudibly and decided to broach the subject.

"Something tells me you're not here just to help make a salad," she observed gently, and Grace looked up, eyes bright with a fear she didn't know how to handle.

"Why can't Bell, Book stay where it is?" she asked with genuine, heart-rending confusion, and Cassie swallowed hard. She should have expected this, she knew, but she hadn't realized that Grace — well, Cassie hadn't said much to her about the situation, but this was Middleton. Of course she'd heard.

Dammit.

"It's not my building," she replied softly, hating the hope that instantly sprang up in her daughter's eyes.

"Why can't you buy it?" was the logical follow-up question, and she had to close her eyes against what she had to confess.

"I can't afford it," was the brutally honest answer, and it hit Grace like a sledgehammer.

"Why does everything have to change?" the girl almost wailed, and Cassie swallowed again. She'd been asking herself that same question for the last two days.

And still had no answer.

"Losing Dad, Brandon moving away, the Bell, Book . . . why can't things stay the same, Mom?" Grace continued, voice almost shaking with her fear and heartache.

Being stabbed would have hurt less.

"Oh, honey," Cassie murmured, fighting down her own tears as she tried to comfort her daughter. "Change is a part of life."

And it was. But—

"Bad change," Grace said quietly, almost grumbling, and Cassie was amused despite herself. Grace so rarely acted like a typical teenager that when she did, it was always more humorous than was strictly warranted.

"Hmm . . ." she mused, giving her daughter the same knowing look that she'd seen on her foster mother's face too many times to count. And Olympia! Her friend was The Champion of the 'I know you know better than this' look.

And while it was infuriating at the time, that look had always served to jolt Cassie out of her mental rut and start thinking again. Hopefully it would work for Grace; despite Jake's death and the circumstances behind it, she hadn't reacted like this. No, that devastation had been a completely different creature. What Grace was facing now was life-altering, but not all-encompassing the way her father had been.

"So you're looking to avoid pain, to avoid the unpleasant and unhappy things in life?" she asked next, and almost smiled at the 'duh!' scoff she got in reply.

It was kind of astonishing how much relief she felt at getting a typical teenage response (two in a row, and that was unheard of), even though Grace wasn't your usual teenager. It meant she hadn't lost herself.

"Well, it's completely understandable," she began, closely watching the girl's face. "And completely unrealistic."

Grace's 'just bit into a lemon' expression and disgruntled, "Yeah," made Cassie giggle, which pulled an answering laugh from Grace.

But it didn't last, though at least the atmosphere wasn't as heavy now.

Grace heaved a sigh and said, "So you're saying that stuff like this is just gonna . . . keep on happening to me?"

Oh, wow. Cassie felt an almost visceral shock as she was faced, for the first time, with the knowledge of just how sheltered Grace really was. And how shockingly naïve she had remained, despite everything she'd experienced in her short life.

This . . . this was not good.

At all.

But — but she had always responded well to the pain of others, so Cassie gave her a soft, "To all of us," and followed that with a heartfelt mental 'thanks' when her daughter heard the worry Cassie was unable to suppress and gave her mother her full attention. "But we aren't defined by what happens to us," she continued gently, relieved when Grace nodded. "We are defined by how we react to what happens to us."

"Like the shop?" her daughter asked in tones of realization, and Cassie nodded.

"Exactly," she confirmed, thankful again when she saw that Grace did understand.

There was a short silence, and then—

"Mom?"

And something Grace's voice unnerved her mother, though she couldn't say why.

"Yeah?" she said cautiously, watching the girl a little warily.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked bluntly, and Cassie took a deep breath. Every so often, Grace's abilities at sensing what was hidden just flat-out rattled her.

Like now.

But she refused to lie, so she took another deep breath and laid the ugly truth out.

"Jones won't budge on the rent, so in order to stay, I'd have to pay double," she told Grace forthrightly, and mentally winced when she saw and felt the full impact of that register with the young woman.

There was no way they could afford that, and Grace knew it.

She stared at her mother for a long, silent minute, her eyes troubled. Then, without another word, she caught Cassie in a quick, fierce hug, then bolted for the stairs, her fear and anguish unfurling behind her so strongly that Cassie had to close her eyes and just sag against the counter.

She'd managed to conceal it from Grace, but she could no longer hide it from herself.

Cassie Nightingale was afraid.

And no matter how hard or how closely she looked, there didn't seem to be a way out.

For any of them.

When he got home that night and saw Cassie checking the mail, Sam was so grateful to see that she was her usual Zen self, he had to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep from hugging her in sheer relief. Finding her the way he had the other night had been . . . nerve-wracking, to say the least. And even though he believed he'd been able to help, he still hated to see her so . . . hopeless.

And floundering!

Cassie Nightingale, the world's most unflappable person, had once again been flapped.

He would have destroyed the world in that instant if it would have made her happy.

Yes, she'd calmed down and also perked up a lot by the time they both headed for their respective homes, but seeing her that way . . . yeah, he'd die a happy man if he never saw that again.

But she'd opened up — well, not so much 'opened up' as 'posed a hypothetical question without providing any specific information', but the sentiment was the same. And because he was pretty sure he knew what she was really asking, he had felt comfortable telling her what he thought, and subsequently had slept well for the first time since Linda had arrived in town. It was interesting (and a touch alarming, he admitted) how much her unhappiness affected him. And while most people would think it was weird (and probably wrong) that Cassie's situation troubled him more than this thing with Linda and Nick, the truth of the matter was plain: he understood, more or less, Nick's motivations. Linda's not so much, sure, but since her primary character trait was 'self-centered bitch', Sam didn't need to know why she wanted Nick so badly; the way she had gone about trying to achieve her goal was more than enough for him to have a handle on the situation.

Cassie, on the other hand . . . her obvious unhappiness at whatever was bothering her was bad enough, but it was her flat refusal to confide him, even in code (as it were) that disturbed Sam so much. He had gotten surprisingly good at reading her in the last few months, but he was far from an expert, even though she wasn't nearly as skilled at hiding her emotions (well, from him, though it would take months for either of them to realize that) as she clearly thought. So he was left in the maddening position of knowing that something was wrong without actually being able to see what it was.

Grr.

All of which meant it had been a fantastically miserable few days for everyone, so when she'd FINALLY decided to ask for his advice, Sam had nearly bounced to the moon from sheer happiness at being allowed to help.

And if he'd been giddy after they'd parted ways, to the point that he had to force himself NOT to think of this all day, lest he get nothing done and walk around with a giant, shit-eating grin — well, if he was right, then Cassie was giving serious thought to breaking up with Ryan.

Even now, the thought was enough to make him want to jump up do and that little 'kick' thing you saw in old movies.

He didn't, of course; he had no desire to throw his back out.

But he wanted to.

"Hey!" he greeted brightly, giving her a genuinely happy smile. The situation with her shop hadn't changed at all, he knew, but he was trying to focus on the positive here. It had worked surprisingly well for him so far, so he saw no reason to rock the boat just because 'cynical realist' was his habit.

Her expression was a little . . . well, she wasn't nearly as happy to see him, though he took no offense. Given what time it was, and also given that Middleton gossip spread like wildfire, it took no great leap of logic to figure out that either Ryan or Grace was causing her current bout of stress.

Both, probably. And, because karma had a twisted sense of humor, it would be about the same thing (he was right about that, and there was the added issue of Cassie dating Ryan, which Sam didn't know that Grace a) hadn't known about and b) had kinda-sorta found out about the day before, as up-close-and-personal as you could get).

"Hey," she greeted him, sounding a touch lackluster, and he mentally nodded. He knew that particular shade of 'jaded' very, very well.

So he decided to try a new tack: he wouldn't ask what was wrong. There was no point, and she probably didn't want to think about it. Also, it was a given that literally every single person she came into contact with would ask and/or say something about it, which, for Cassie, could only make it worse.

So . . . Sam would be different.

A breath of fresh air, as it were.

"How are you?"

This he felt safe in asking, because even if she lied to him, he could still read her body language.

"Tired of looking at real estate," she replied with blunt honesty, which threw him a little.

Go figure.

"Spent the afternoon looking at commercial space," she added, which, oka—

Wait, what?

What the hell had happened to 'sacred ground'?

"You didn't want to move," he observed, astonished. "What changed?"

She licked her lips before meeting his eyes, and the hopelessness he saw almost knocked the breath out of him.

"Ryan got Jones to offer me a lease," she said forthrightly. "But he knows I can't afford to pay double the rent. So it's basically an empty gesture."

If Ryan Elliott and Ben Jones were standing in front of him right now, Sam honestly wasn't sure which one he'd hit first.

Useless, wormy, arrogant bastard.

Bastards.

He scoffed, shaking his head in rather scornful disbelief, and she sighed her agreement before continuing.

"Feelings and emotions aside, whether I want to or not, I have to keep the shop going," she told him, her expression tight with frustrated, bewildered pain and making his heart bleed for her. "It's how I pay the bills. Single mom . . ."

When she trailed off after giving a helpless shrug, he nearly hugged her, just so she would know someone cared.

But that would be a bad idea for so many reasons, so instead, he voiced the observation he'd absently made as he was heading home from work, in the hopes that it would help. Or, well, at least be a starting point.

"Hey, there's an empty space a couple of blocks from us."

He did his best to sound cheerful and upbeat, though he didn't think he was too successful.

"Yeah," she replied quietly. "Half the square footage, twice the price, no charm."

Well.

So much for being helpful.

He laughed ruefully and said, "Practically sells itself," hating that this was necessary. Hating that he couldn't help her more than he had.

Because he had given about thirty seconds of thought to offering to pay the increase that Jones was demanding . . . but the thirty-first second had brought him back to sanity. Not even under pain of death would Cassie Nightingale accept charity, and that's what she would see.

So all he could do now was just be there, to listen when she needed to scream.

Or . . .

When she gave the same rueful laugh and agreed, "Practically," he Had A Thought.

"Well, I've got a short day tomorrow," he began, watching her reaction carefully. "If you . . . want some company."

The pleased smile she tried so hard to tamp down warmed his heart, because he could see her acceptance — and her pleasure at his offer — shining clearly in her eyes.

"Sure," was all she said, and he nodded.

"Great!" he almost chirped, wondering again at the affect this woman had on him and yet too happy to question it further. Plus, he could both vent some of his own spleen while simultaneously distract her, at least a little, so it was win-win all around.

And he said so, though not in those exact words.

Mostly.

"We can look at overpriced commercial real estate for you and I can tell you how my ex is going to sue me for custody of Nick."

Yeah, he still didn't understand that.

But more and more, he didn't think he was going to.

And he didn't have a clue how he felt about that.

Unaware of his short mental tangent, Cassie smiled more brightly than she had in days and said, "Okay, fun," before . . . heading back to the house.

Ah. The conversation was over. Well.

Okay, then.

"Great," he replied, turning to his own home.

One of these days, they were actually going to have a conversation that ended naturally, with everything they wanted or needed to say being said.

It was now Item #3 on his list of 'Goals Sam Radford Wants to Achieve'.

But at least he — no, they — were making progress on the trust . . . well, it wasn't really a trust issue. Brian and Eve had proven that in spades.

No, their problem was communication. Neither of them was particularly good at sharing words and explanations, Cassie's status of Town Counselor notwithstanding, but they seemed to slowly be overcoming that handicap.

(he would remember this thought about a year and a half later and once again ask Liam to hit him. That time, he wouldn't)

And karma was suspiciously quiet, something he noticed but couldn't do anything about, other than giving her a hairy eyeball.

Still, it was a breath of fresh air, a breather, so he grabbed the chance with both hands and just breathed.

It was a start.

When Tara came in, lamenting the situation about the Bell, Book, & Candle, Cassie almost rolled her eyes.

And then instantly felt guilty.

It was so sweet that people were concerned, but she was . . . well, every time a different person commiserated about it, it just made things worse.

Because, see, Cassie was The Calm Center of Middleton (thank you, Martha), so she wasn't allowed to be upset or show any negative emotions in front of people. If she did, there would be chaos in the streets and possibly a riot as well (and oh, she wished she was joking, but, again, thank you, Martha).

Still, seeing her stepdaughter-in-law gave her An Idea that she'd been trying to find since she'd learned Tara was coming home.

The root problem with Brandon and Tara was that they'd been apart too long, and not just physically. They hadn't called or written each other, at least so far as she knew, and so now there was a massive disconnect between them. It was understandable, of course, but that didn't solve the immediate problem of bridging said gap.

And Cassie couldn't help herself right now, no . . . but she could help Brandon and Tara.

So she did.

And as Tara left the shop, skating paraphernalia in hand (or, well, arms; hockey skates were bulky), Cassie felt a sense of peace and accomplishment settle over her for the first time in three days.

At least she could still find solutions for others.

She hadn't lost everything.

When Linda sauntered into the kitchen, wearing her normal 'I'm a bitch and proud of it' expression, Sam took a second to be thankful he'd that had a short, albeit frustrating, day (his and Cassie's hunt for real estate had not borne fruit and thus had taken about an hour before they'd exhausted their options), which meant he had been home for several hours, which in turn had allowed him to find some of his desperately-needed inner calm. Both he and his patients needed and deserved a reprieve from him after he'd dealt with his ex-wife.

But he wasn't nervous, or upset, or even angry.

He'd made his decision, and was going to let her take Nick to Hong Kong.

One of three things would happen: Nick would finally see his mother for what she really was; Linda would get tired of being 'The Only Parent' and ship Nick home before the month had elapsed; or Sam was completely and totally wrong, and this trip would solidify the mother-son bond and the two of them would do fine together.

As it was the only viable option left, Sam was resigned t—well, he was reconciled to it. He didn't like it, of course, but he had come to realize that there was literally nothing else he could do. Sure, he could refuse to let Nick go . . . but if he did, he'd still lose him. It would just take longer and be more painful for everyone involved.

So.

Well.

His decision was made and Sam was okay with it.

So when Linda tried to start the next battle, Sam took no small amount of satisfaction in cutting her off at the knees.

"I don't have any representation. Because I'm not going to fight you," he told her, and experienced not the slightest hint of shame at enjoying the hell out of the stunned look he got in return.

"Excuse me?" she demanded in disbelief, to which he just shrugged, before giving her a hard look.

"You have a second chance with Nick. Don't mess it up," he warned, his voice firm and unrelenting. He'd made the decision, yes, and still thought it was the right one. But he was damned if he was going to just her leave without understanding the facts of life: he was Nick's father and had sole custody. So if Linda fucked things up with Nick and hurt him because she couldn't help herself, Sam would destroy her. Would she listen to him or take him seriously? Yeah, probably not. But she couldn't claim she didn't know.

Now she just looked bewildered, which again, he enjoyed more than he should. But it was rare for him to have the upper hand, so he was going take full advantage of it while he could.

"So you're just . . . you're just handing him over?" she asked in pure disbelief, almost gaping at him.

He shrugged again.

"I thought maybe I'd try winning by not fighting, this time," he replied, wondering how much — if any — of that she would understand. "That way, Nick wins."

Because at the end of the day, that was the only thing that mattered to Sam.

He despised the fact that it wasn't true for Linda, but that wasn't something he could change, or fix.

So this was his best alternative.

Karma was going to die.

Her expression still gobsmacked, Linda leaned back but said nothing, so Sam threw a little more wood on the fire.

"I'm going to honor what he wants, which is to live with you," he told her, and when her expression shifted from 'stunned' to 'smug', he mentally sighed.

The last hope he'd had that she still possessed a spark of genuine motherly love, or even basic human decency, was snuffed out in a heartbeat.

But at least he knew.

And his decision was unchanged.

They were all going to have to live with it.

After Linda disappeared — he spared a moment to wonder where, exactly, she kept going before realizing that he didn't actually care — Sam headed to Grey House. He needed to see Cassie and let her tell him that he was doing the best thing for Nick.

Therefore, when she let him in the back door after a perfunctory knock, his mind was completely focused on his issues.

They exchanged greetings as he came in, but he was so distracted, it took him entirely too long to realize that she had turned away from him immediately and . . . whoa. She wasn't paying the slightest ounce of attention to him or his words.

What the fuck had happened?!

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, deeply concerned . . . and then she turned back to him and he knew.

No.

Nononononono.

NO.

This wasn't happening, not to Cassie.

"Oh, no," he breathed, his throat clogging with his own emotions as he took in her distraught expression.

"I'm gonna lose my Bell, Book," Cassie whispered, sounding so heartbroken, Sam nearly collapsed for her.

No. That wasn't right. It couldn't be. There was a solution, an answer, something that would work out for her.

There had to be!

"No," he said in completely illogical denial. "You don't know."

But she kept talking, shattering his hopes and her own as she laid out the truth of the entire miserable mess.

"I can't afford a new store because the rents are so high. And even if they weren't high, there's nothing available on Main Street."

Her devastation washed over him so hard that Sam couldn't even catch his breath for a minute.

When he did, his first action was to curse karma for the next fifty generations.

Because he'd been looking as well, and not just on Main Street, so he was all-too-familiar with the truth of her words.

"Oh, Cassie," he almost whimpered, staring into those dark, desolated eyes and wishing right then for — for—

"Ryan's going to Chicago to, uh, have a face-to-face meeting with Jones. One last try to get him to give me space back at my old rent," she added, inadvertently interrupting his train of thought, and he swallowed hard, then a second time when she looked away, visibly fighting back tears, and somehow managed to say, "Looks like my anniversary celebration is going to end up being a going-out-of-business-sale."

He broke.

Seeing her crumple in front of him because of something that was neither her fault nor solely her responsibility almost brought Sam to his knees.

And never in his entire life had he loathed anyone as much as he did Ben Jones and Ryan Elliott.

But she didn't need or want to hear that, and it wouldn't do her a damn bit of good, so he forced it down until he could deal with it later. Right this second, she needed support and comfort and he wanted — no, he needed — nothing so much as to take her in his arms and hold her until the world was either set right or ended, because that was the only thing he could give her.

So he did.

When she melted into his embrace as though she were made to fit in his arms, utterly trusting in his support, Sam took a deep, shuddering breath.

And drew her that much closer to his heart.

That afternoon, Grace's complete turnaround from 'depressed and almost traumatized' to 'bubbly teenager' probably should have worried Cassie more than it did, but since 'bubby teenager' was her daughter's default setting right now, she was mostly just relieved to see it. She was also puzzled by whatever the girl was planning, but got no sense of impending doom (good Lord; The Lord of the Rings was coming off her reading list — and her movie watchlist — as well, it seemed) and Brandon's arrival completely distracted her.

His decision to stay was . . . Cassie didn't know how she felt about it.

On the one hand, the support was nice, and she loved having her family in one place.

On the other hand, it wasn't right or fair that Brandon and Tara both felt like they had to put their lives and dreams and marriage on pause so they could hold her hand.

And she said so.

His response nearly flattened her from absolute shock.

It had been so long since anyone other than Sam had challenged her, or chosen to disregard her advice (she didn't count Stephanie's pursuit of Sam: God Himself could have come down and told her it was a bad idea, and been summarily ignored), that she found herself utterly unable to process it.

Possibly even more so because it was true.

No, she wasn't particularly happy about Brandon staying for her . . . but that didn't mean Brandon (or Tara) was obliged to agree with her. And he was absolutely right: he didn't need her approval or permission.

Therefore, as he walked away, having said what he needed to, Cassie could only blink after him.

It was humbling to see how selfish your good intentions could become sometimes.

So she would swallow her pride and accept the support he was offering. No, she didn't like it, and wouldn't . . . but it would be the height of foolishness to refuse him just to prove she could.

And it would utterly devalue and make a mockery of the sacrifice he was making because . . . because he'd promised his father, yes. But also because he loved her, and wanted her and his sister to be happy and safe and okay.

So she would gladly let her son do what he needed to do, and be thankful that he loved her and wanted to protect her.

Just like Jake.

(and if she accidentally made sure he and Tara would be at the skating rink at the same time, well . . . weren't coincidences wonderful?)

When Sam came home after a very hectic Friday — in which he had seen neither his son nor his ex-wife and he had been too busy to have any thoughts about that other than 'thank God' — new medical book in hand so he could do a bit of reading on some updated procedures, he paused in surprise to see Nick on the couch, looking pensive and futzing with . . . huh. It was the scroll Linda had gotten from Cassie. But before he could ask, his son beat him to the punch.

"So, you're really okay with me going with Mom?" he asked, sounding . . . a lot less happy than one would have expected, given the number of tantrums he'd thrown about this very thing.

Sam debated for just a second, but decided to go ahead and get this conversation out of the way.

That way, when he got up — or after Linda showed up, picked a fight, and left — they could just go straight to the next one, and wow, he was feeling bitchy today.

Somewhat justifiably, sure, but still.

But when he took a second look at his son's obvious confusion, his temper faded and he sighed quietly.

"Yeah," he told Nick gently, shoving his free hand in his pocket. "If that's what you want."

The disbelieving look he got in return confused the hell out of Sam, as did the rather plaintive questions about why he hadn't fought Linda and why he'd just given in.

If he were less exhausted, Sam might have had a mini shitfit about that, because really? Nick had been literally throwing screaming tantrums for four days now about Sam refusing to let him go to Hong Kong. But now that he'd changed his mind, the kid was hurt?

The brain-eating amoeba could be killed with cyanide, he knew. Hopefully, it would have the same effect on karma.

But now wasn't the time to plan their demises, so he mentally huffed and turned his full attention back to his son.

And took a vice-grip on both his temper and his patience.

The slightly-bitter chuckle, he couldn't do anything about — even his self-control had its limits — but oddly, it helped him solidify his thoughts so he could . . . well, gather his courage and actually express his emotions.

To his teenage son.

Out loud.

Then he caught sight of the scroll again and its quote came to mind.

"'He who wishes to fight must first count the cost'," he said, almost to himself, because wasn't that the whole reason he'd decided to acquiesce to his son's wishes? Because fighting would only hurt him more in the long run?

That earned him a puzzled look that slowly faded to dawning comprehension as Nick fingered the scroll, and murmured it out loud, his voice thoughtful.

And also asking the obvious question.

Sam carefully seated himself in the recliner facing the couch and looked Nick dead in the eye, giving a soft, resigned sigh as he did so, and then, carefully, attempted to explain with some semblance of coherency.

"I . . . counted the cost of a prolonged fight with your mother," he began, watching his son carefully for any kind of negative reaction. To his eternal shock, there wasn't one, so he kept going. "And the price is just too high for you to pay," he said forthrightly.

There was no response from the young man gaping at him over the coffee table, and Sam suddenly found his own feelings welling up and demanding to be heard.

So he let them. He literally had nothing to lose, now.

And maybe . . . maybe Nick would start to understand if Sam actually said what he meant instead of simply alluding — and vaguely at that — to it.

"All I've ever wanted was for you to be happy," he said with a quiet intensity that clearly startled his son, if the wide eyes and slack jaw were any indicator.

He didn't have a chance to continue, though, because Nick blinked and then hesitantly said, "So, that's why you aren't fighting Mom?"

He clearly didn't know if he was right or wrong, and the knowledge tore at Sam's heart.

No child should ever feel that uncertain about the fact that his parents wanted him to be happy and have a good life.

"That's why I do everything," he replied with a slightly-helpless shrug, because it was true. Nick had stubbornly refused to see it for too many years and Sam had exhausted himself trying to get this fact through his offspring's stubborn head, but everything he'd ever done had been for Nick and had been from the moment he was born.

Only slightly surprised to discover that he was near tears, Sam didn't try to hold back his rueful, unsteady smile. It was almost a relief to actually voice this, to let his emotions finally have their say.

Because he'd said it to Cassie, hadn't he?

He could — he should — tell the truth and nothing but the truth.

And the truth was that he loved his son deeply.

The truth was that Nick deserved to hear that, in those exact words.

The truth that his mother was . . . not what she was representing herself as?

He would eventually figure it out, even if he never completely accepted or even acknowledged it.

The truth that she had abandoned him?

There would NEVER be a reason for him to need to know that.

But Sam had gotten so caught up in trying to protect Nick from one truth that he had completely neglected the only truth that mattered.

Well, that stopped here and now.

It had to.

He sniffled hard before he spoke again, because he was fighting back tears now, and then said in a mostly-steady voice, "Nick, I . . . I love you," as he met his son's eyes so Nick could see his sincerity, but he didn't try to read his face. Not yet. "And I want things to go smoothly for you with your mother and Geoffrey."

The last was an afterthought, because he kept forgetting about the man.

And that was odd, because now that he'd had the thought, he realized that Linda hadn't mentioned her boyfriend to him at all, which was very unlike her.

Nick's flinch at his last sentence caught Sam's complete attention and he instantly abandoned that train of thought, turning his full focus on his son . . . and the heavy reluctance he was so strongly projecting. As Nick looked down and away, Sam leaned forward, trying to catch his eyes again, because something was clearly wrong here.

But he knew that he couldn't just demand an answer; that would only make the young man clam up and refuse to speak. Instead, he made the mad decision to try the truth again, and simply told his son that he didn't have to go.

Because he didn't, and Sam would never force him to go or do something this huge, this life-altering, against his will.

Ever.

"I do," Nick replied quietly, his eyes tormented but resolved as he looked up, and Sam tensed.

"No," he said just as quietly and just as resolutely. "You don't."

"Mom needs me," his son said, leaning forward a little as he implored his father to understand this and accept it.

And Sam.

Was.

FURIOUS.

What in the hell had she been telling Nick?!

And what the fuck did he mean by 'Mom needs me'?

Linda Wallace had, by her own words — in three languages — expressed the exact sentiment of 'I don't need anything or anybody, I can and will do just fine on my own.'

Many, many times.

Which was fine. Sam could respect that (mostly; it had stung to realize that he was included in 'anybody').

So why did the woman who didn't need anything or anyone suddenly need the child she had abandoned?

The child.

Something was really, really wrong here.

And the world would end before he let this go any further.

But not now; he didn't need to alarm Nick by losing his temper, so he just sighed heavily (again; his chest was starting to hurt), held his son's eyes, and gently asked, "Why?"

He was hopeful that he might actually get an answer, so when Nick just shook his head and looked away again, Sam's heart fell. But he didn't push it; he had other options to look at before interrogating his teenage son became something to consider. So instead, he nodded and said, "Okay. That's . . . okay. If you're hungry, dinner's ready."

It almost killed him, but he left it that and stood up, heading for the stairs so he could change and maybe shower. He knew from experience that if he stayed, Nick would get more and more uncomfortable and twitchy, and that would inevitably start a fight, so Sam just . . . needed to be somewhere else for a bit.

But not Grey House.

No. No, he needed to think about what he'd just learned and then start looking back at everything Linda had said and done since she'd dive-bombed Middleton.

Because she had forgotten — wait, no, this was Linda. She'd refused to learn — that Sam had a backbone made on the planet Krypton. He'd let Linda manipulate him because he had, quite frankly, gotten tired of the constant, never-ending fights and tension and all the bullshit that happened when two fundamentally incompatible people were living together as a married couple or getting divorced because one of them had cheated on the other. It was easier to let her have her way than it was to argue, especially over the trivial stuff.

It had been far too late before he'd realized that giving in, giving up, had been the worst thing he could have done.

So yes, while she still possessed the ability to screw with his emotions and wind him up, that was only for him. But if she honestly thought he was going to stand back and let her have Nick under false pretenses, she was a hell of a lot stupider than he thought.

And given some of the thoughts he'd had, that would make her pretty damn stupid.

So he would hide himself away tonight and think, and let Nick have his own alone time without feeling like he needed to be in his room. He'd probably go there anyway, but at least it would be by choice instead of 'oh, Dad. Awkward. Need to leave.'

And as he pulled his book out and started to read, knowing he needed to calm his thoughts before he started thinking, Sam felt a smile come to his lips. It wasn't a pleasant smile, or a happy one.

No, this was pure satisfaction.

He was finally going to stand up to Linda the way he should have from the beginning.

Nick needed him and by God, Sam was going to be there.

And karma AND that brain-eating amoeba could both go fuck themselves if they thought they were going to stop him.

Not this time.

His encounter with Abigail at The Bistro was enlightening.

In every possible way.

But he couldn't even be annoyed (with himself or with her, oddly enough), because, smugness aside, Abigail had given him the last hint he needed to start figuring out what in the hell was going on with Linda.

For that alone, he could have hugged her.

He didn't, and wouldn't, but he could have.

And he was thrilled for Stephanie, though he didn't have the time (or, frankly, the inclination at that moment) to say anything more than 'nice' to her announcement. He had his hands full with Cassie, Nick, and Linda . . . and truthfully, if they could keep Cassie where she was, Stephanie's plight would vanish. If they couldn't, well . . .

No need to borrow trouble.

So Sam headed off to work, breakfast in hand, and was beyond thankful that he only had two patients scheduled that morning and an equally-light afternoon, because that gave him time to do some research (oh, fine. He was digging like a man possessed.).

And what he found was . . .

In hindsight, what he found wasn't all that surprising, once he started putting the pieces together.

He found it hilarious that Geoffrey had dumped 'The Cougar' (his words), and a very fitting punishment for his ex.

But.

He was infuriated that less than a week later, Linda had gotten back in touch with Nick . . . which helped explain the sudden massive attitude problems he'd been hit with. Yeah, Nick had always been a smart-mouthed brat, but he was a teenage boy. Apparently, that was a requirement of life.

But as he remembered again that damned 'fun run and ball', he could also see that was where the major, obnoxious disrespect to him had started.

Just after his mother got in touch with him.

Sam was a big fan of Occam's Razor, so it took no effort at all for him to do that math — especially when he remembered seeing her texts on Nick's phone the time he'd taken it away from the kid in an effort to — ha. In an effort to curb the attitude.

And you know, he could live with Linda whispering in Nick's ear, especially now that he knew why it was happening.

But if she really thought for one minute that he was going to let her use his son as a teddy bear because she didn't want to deal with her own issues, she had lost her cotton-pickin' mind. Especially because she'd waited. She hadn't wanted him with her in New York.

Oh, heaven's, no!

That would require work and effort and the disruption of her life.

No, she'd waited until this trip, and then upped her game.

And Sam would reluctantly admire the planning and skill that had gone into this. If nothing else, she was thorough.

But it still wasn't happening. Now that he knew? No. Hell would freeze over first.

And he would send karma, that stupid amoeba, and Linda with it.

Cassie felt Ryan's joy long before he knocked at her window, though his presence still startled her. She was stuck in despondency now, having accepted the reality of the situation, and had spent much of her afternoon looking blindly at her store and trying, in somewhat of a daze, to decide how to best display things for a cheap, rushed sale.

Just the thought made her sick.

So she sensed Ryan's happiness but didn't realize it was Ryan, and was therefore taken aback to be greeted by the largest grin she might ever have seen.

When he came through her door and made a point of gently closing it, she was puzzled. When he made the announcement to 'stop the presses', she was downright mystified.

"What?" she asked, giving him a confused half-smile, one that dropped when he stepped up to her and reached over to pluck up her 'closing sale' sign.

. . . why was he doing that?

His face solemn and his eyes serious, he held it up, looked at her over the top edge, and said, "Not anymore."

What?

Wait, what?!

Had — had he done it? Had he found a rabbit?

"I can stay?" she breathed, trying not to let herself hope and failing utterly.

He gave her the most heartbreakingly sincere smile she'd ever seen, tossed the sign face-down on the table with a magician's flick of the wrist, and said, "Just the way it should be," with so much satisfaction, she blinked.

"Wait," she . . . well, not objected, but — clarified. Yes, that was it. She was clarifying things, because this made no sense. "How did you do that?"

And she desperately wanted to know, because Ben Jones had been adamant about not working with her even a little bit, and there was no way that was going to change. Period. The man was as stubborn as an ox and as ill-tempered as a goat.

So what had changed? Why would he suddenly decide to be reasonable?

He looked at her in phony disbelief, but with satisfaction in his eyes now, and asked, "You want me to tell you how I worked my magic?"

Yes!

Because if he didn't, she was going to turn him into a frog.

Or maybe a bat.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, actually rocking forward on her heels, and he grinned.

Then, as she listened in stunned disbelief, he explained how Jones had lied to everyone — literally — and Ryan had caught him in it, which had killed the sale and thus the deal.

Unable to really process that, Cassie hugged him in sheer, unrestrained happiness, still not quite believing that this was really happening.

She didn't have to close.

She didn't have to lose her shop, her first connection to Jake, her roots.

She was safe.

She could stay, here, in Middleton, and raise her and Jake's daughter in the town that meant so much to both of them. She didn't have to give up the store that was her lifeblood, the reason she had been given her gifts, and the place she had learned how and why to use them.

She didn't have to leave, because if Ryan hadn't . . . worked this miracle . . . she could not have stayed.

But she didn't have to go.

She was safe.

Unaware of her thoughts, Ryan kept talking, explaining about future sales and long-term leases and the like, with Cassie only giving him half of her attention. He'd go over it again with her, she knew, and she would also call Bill, both to thank him and see what kind of legal arrangement they could make, now that she was aware of the necessity.

But . . . hold on.

Bill had been gone for . . . oh, at least six years, maybe more. So why would he still remember her? Or be willing to go to this much effort for her?

Even as she had the thought, Ryan told her, "Bill thinks some things are worth more than money," which made her blink. "And he says 'hi'," he added, and she just . . . had to take a minute and process.

"Wow!" she finally exclaimed quietly, rubbing the tears out of her eyes as things started to sink in. "Ah . . ."

And Ryan kept going.

"And just to make sure that you and he are both taken care of," he started, following her as she headed to the sales counter. "He hired a new agent to handle the sale of the building. Me."

He had?

Oh, that was amazing — for both of them! It would be a nice boost for Ryan and she didn't have to worry about being taken advantage of again!

She laughed in pure joy as she turned to look at him.

"You did it!" she exulted, squeezing his arm. "You did it. You saved the shop."

For that alone, she would cherish him for the rest of her life.

So when he demurred and refused to take the credit, she was understandably confused.

And said so.

And then stood there and listened, once more in stunned disbelief, as Ryan explained how that one, long-ago act of kindness for Bill's granddaughter had been her salvation.

Cassie . . . she couldn't even begin to fathom that. It had been nothing, just a summer job for a troubled girl.

And yet, it had just saved her life. And Grace's.

They were safe and secure now. They weren't going to lose everything.

For the first time in four days, Cassie could breathe.

But after just a minute, she saw something . . . dark . . . in Ryan's eyes, and wondered.

"And Jones?" she asked gently, assuming the worst.

But Ryan just shrugged. "Ah, I quit," he replied, clearly not unhappy about it. Off her startled expression, he added, "I definitely don't want to be working with a guy like that."

No, he wouldn't be okay with that kind of business ethic. Even if it hadn't been Cassie, Ryan would still have done his best to stop it, because he was, at heart, a good, ethical, kind-hearted man.

And she loved him for it.

But then he kept talking.

"This . . . this is where I want to live. With you," he told her, his eyes full of sincere resolve as they held hers.

And Cassie went very still.

Oh, no.

Nonono.

Nonononono.

Not now. She wasn't ready to have this conversation now.

Unable to think coherently, much less speak, Cassie just stared at him, feeling trapped.

But he didn't see her anguish, only his hopes, and so he continued.

"I think we have something really special," he said tenderly, not looking way, "and I would like to see where it goes. Openly and honestly."

Oh, God.

Oh, sh—

Oh, God.

Cassie looked into those warm, loving, tender eyes, and couldn't do it.

She could not bring herself to break his heart.

Not after he'd just saved hers.

But she couldn't, wouldn't, give him what he wanted, and so she simply stood there and stared at him in an agony of indecision.

After a few awkward seconds, Ryan frowned a little. "This is where you should say something," he told her, sounding . . . something. Unhappy, maybe, or nervous.

And he was right.

She should.

After all, it was a decision she'd already made.

So she broke his gaze and looked down, trying to gather enough courage to say it, and then looked back up, finding his gaze.

After working her mouth soundlessly for a few seconds, she sighed, "Oh . . . I'm just not ready for this."

She meant telling him that it was over, romantically, between them.

He heard something else.

"Really?" he asked gently, searching her eyes, and she nodded.

"It's not you," she told him — which wasn't true, but there was no reason for him to know that. Not when the other issue was very much real and present. "It's just . . . I'm not ready to move on, with anyone," she explained, feeling that familiar stab of grief at the reminder.

He blinked at that but didn't look angry, before asking, in a surprisingly level tone of voice, "Cassie . . . is there someone else?"

Yes.

His smile, his eyes, those adorable dimples she loved to poke.

Jake.

But his voice had also been . . . accepting? No . . . resigned . . . no. Oh, it had sounded like he expected her answer to be 'yes' and it wasn't. At least, not the way he meant it.

"No!" she exclaimed gently, earnestly, as she looked intently back at him, surprised when he tilted his head and studied her for a minute in silence.

Then he quirked his lips in a tiny, lopsided smile, and said, "Jake, maybe?"

And Cassie nearly lost it.

He understood.

He knew, and he understood, and he wasn't holding it against her.

But she couldn't bring herself to hurt him by admitting it, and so she just stood here, looking and feeling guilty, and swallowed hard when he simply nodded and murmured, "Yeah, I guess he'll always be there."

His acceptance brought a tearful smile to her lips and she realized that she could explain this to him. Maybe it would ease the hurt.

"You know," she began, watching him carefully, "what keeps me going and . . . and gets me through the toughest times is the fact that I know he's there."

Ryan was quiet for a bit, clearly absorbing that, and then he smiled softly. "Yeah," he agreed.

There was another beat of silence, and then, with a selfless acceptance that took her breath away, he met her eyes once again and asked, so gently, "Don't forget about me."

As if she ever could.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised him, and she wasn't.

He had helped make that dream a reality.

"Me, either," he whispered.

And Cassie found herself desperately hoping that was true.

That she really could have it all.

But as he walked away, she couldn't help but wonder.

Because the last card in her slowly toppling house blew out the door with him.

As the day progressed, Sam found himself getting more and more aggravated with both Linda and the situation she had engendered, but instead of going somewhere to cool off for a bit after closing for the day, he chose to head home. He was aching to confront her now that he knew what was going on and why, and the anger that was driving him was the kind of icy rage that would keep him focused and prevent her from twisting things around.

Mostly.

There was still a little bit of fire, the last embers of his rage at not just discovering the truth, but at letting himself be so thoroughly hoodwinked when he knew damn good and well what Linda was, how she operated.

Which meant that the ice was currently being held at bay by the fire, and to his irritation, he charged into his own living room like a bull: smoke puffing from his nose, red eyes, flaring nostrils. The works.

Seeing her perched so elegantly on his sofa, like it was her home instead of his, did not help matters.

Pissing him off even more, she looked up, took him in, and gave that careless 'hello' that made him want to hit something every time he heard it.

Thus, his brain-to-mouth filter experienced a temporary short.

"He doesn't want to go," he told her, firm resolve lacing his voice as he gave her a hard, angry look. "And I know why."

That was meant to be more of a threat, and she actually heard it this time, because she put her laptop away.

Of course, then she gave him that 'you're such a dumbass' look, so she clearly wasn't concerned, but still. She'd heard it.

"He loves me, Sam," she informed him, sounding for all the world like she was talking to a seven-year-old with special needs: gentle, reasonable, using words of one syllable.

Yeah, no.

Not happening. Not this time.

He. Was. DONE.

Ah.

There was the ice . . . fed by flames.

"And that's why he feels like he has to go," he snapped, his anger rising as he was faced yet again with the knowledge of how long she'd been manipulating the situation. "To take care of you," he added contemptuously.

When she flinched and looked away, biting her lip, he took savage satisfaction in it.

"You two broke up months ago. Geoffrey changed his status on your social media accounts," he revealed, fighting back a dark smile when she flinched again, casting him a look of surprise. Clearly, she hadn't expected him to find out — which, given he didn't follow, keep tabs on, or give a rat's ass about anything to do with her life, wasn't unreasonable. But just because he didn't follow it didn't mean he couldn't find it.

And he had no problem whatsofuckingever using it against her.

"Right about the time you started texting and e-mailing Nick," he continued, making sure she understood that he knew everything. Her expression now was that of a trapped animal, but he felt no guilt. She had brought this on herself with her lies and manipulations, and it was time to pay the piper.

Of course, this being Linda, once she rallied, her first act was to deny responsibility and try to deflect him.

Just like always.

Well, not anymore. His patience with her bullshit had evaporated and he had nothing holding him back. Not from her.

"It's not Nick's job to fill a void in your life," he told her, his voice heavy with condemnation.

He still couldn't believe she'd actually tried this — using her teenage son as a teddy bear because she was lonely. It was beyond despicable and Sam had no intention of keeping his feelings to himself.

"Sam—" she tried to object, but he was done.

Just . . . he was done.

"No," he harshly interrupted her, dropping into his recliner. "No," he said again, shaking his head before meeting her eyes. "There's a reason I have full custody, and it still holds," he began after a second, refusing to let her look away because he was bound and determined to make sure she understood that he was serious. "He's better off with me. And deep down, you know that."

Her eyes had filled with what looked like genuine sorrow as he spoke and against his will, he softened a little in response. As much as he wanted to rage at her, he couldn't, not when she wasn't fighting back. There was no chance of him giving in, but he wasn't going to be the bull in a china shop, either.

Dammit.

Even after all this time, she could still do this to him.

But . . . you know, he was okay with that. He had vowed during their divorce to never let her drag him down to her level, and that was a promise he intended to keep. But he could stay calm and mannerly, and still make his point, because he was a grown man who didn't need to throw tantrums to get his way.

And he wasn't afraid of her anymore — or, rather, he wasn't afraid of what she'd do to Nick. She'd already lied to him about the custody thing, which had been her trump card, and that was the only thing she'd been holding over Sam's head. So if she pushed him too far, he would joyfully shove her back.

Over a cliff.

And she might be mean as a snake, with the morals to match, but he was a father protecting his son.

So—

"I recalculated the cost to Nick if I don't fight you on this," he told her, still refusing to relinquish her gaze. "And it's too high for him."

Because that was the crux of the matter: Nick's ultimate well-being.

Sam would do whatever he had to in order to ensure that Nick had the best opportunities he could get, and the chance to make something of them.

Everything else was secondary.

When he saw that Linda was obviously trying not to cry, Sam mentally grumbled because he desperately wanted to just unload on her, but that wouldn't be right (dammit!), so he relented and let her look away so she could regain some composure.

And he couldn't help but cynically wonder what she'd try next.

"You can't keep him from me," she said hoarsely, and he nodded slowly, understanding now both the tactic and the emotions behind it.

And for what was probably the first time since he'd met her, Sam felt pity for Linda. The only thing she knew how to do was use people, which meant that it was the only thing she expected in return.

Because Sam had never — would never — keep her son away from her.

Never.

But the cold truth was, she'd never bothered to ask.

And that wasn't something that could be changed.

She had abandoned her child.

But . . . if she genuinely wanted to try now, Sam would not stand in her way. He wasn't sure how much he could facilitate it, to be brutally honest, but if she was willing to make the effort, he would work with her.

Starting now.

"Never have. Never will," he gently replied, the truth of that ringing in his voice and causing her to flush with shame that he took no satisfaction in, not this time. He'd made his point and stood his ground. This battle was over and done with, and he had no cause or desire to start another one.

But when she visibly fought back the urge to cry, he sighed quietly and leaned forward a little, trying and failing to catch her eyes, which were glimmering with tears.

Ah. Yeah, he could understand that.

"I want you to know him, too," he told her sincerely as he leaned back, because if she was serious about finally taking a place in Nick's life, then he wanted it, too — if only for Nick's sake.

She flicked the quickest of looks at him before turning away again, tears threatening to slide down her cheeks, and he paused for just a second to decide what he wanted to say.

Because at the end of the day, this was all about Nick and what was best for him.

And Nick . . . Nick loved his mother.

She didn't need to buy that, or manipulate it, or steal it. It was hers for the asking.

But she didn't really understand that, so Sam . . . stepped up to the plate.

"Hey," he said almost tenderly, relaxing a little when she finally looked at him. "He loves you. You're his mother."

As that sank in, her tears started to fall and Sam . . . decided to take a calculated risk. She was vulnerable at the moment, which . . . oh, he didn't really want to take advantage of that, but he knew he had to. Right now, with all of the truths she'd been forced to confront, she might see reason. If he waited, the unfortunate reality of things was that she would go right back to her normal self . . . only even more determined to get her way, because she despised being seen as vulnerable or weak.

"Come on, Linda," he coaxed softly, carefully. "Do the right thing."

Those two minutes lasted an eternity, but with tears running down her face and her eyes full of sorrowful understanding, she slowly nodded.

She nodded.

He — he had done it.

His son was safe.

He could breathe.

When Stephanie came to get her that night so they could celebrate, she was so excited, Cassie was hyped-up just from watching her pull in the driveway. Her friend was remarkably restrained about Ryan, all things considered, and it was almost a surprise to realize that it didn't hurt anymore.

She was still a little stunned how one summer job had saved her livelihood, but she suspected she would be for a while, and as such, was trying not to dwell on it.

It had been exactly what she needed and that was more than enough.

Stephanie's comment about how many people she, Cassie, had touched, was just as startling, because Cassie . . . didn't see it that way. She just . . . she liked to help people and was good at it, and helping them helped her, so everything evened out, you know?

She would never in a million years have predicted what was about to happen.

Karma gave a triumphant smirk.

When Sam, who was already running late for Cassie's 'Yay, You're Staying!' party (that had been the happiest phone call of his life, even if Ryan was the one to save the day (as it were). Also, one of the most confusing: Stephanie had been so overjoyed, she'd not only been babbling, but skipping words as well. For a good three minutes, he'd honestly thought she'd been telling him he had to come to some kind of casserole party.), turned from locking his office door only to see Linda waiting for him, he couldn't help but tense in both surprise and nerves.

He could not have said why under threat of torture, but something told him this was not going to end well for him.

Or maybe he was just paranoid.

"Well, hey," he greeted her as cheerfully as he could. "What's up?"

When she met his eyes with a surprising candor and told him that she had farewelled Nick, it took a great deal of control to keep his explosive sigh of relief contained.

She was leaving.

Hallelujah.

And it was with utter sincerity that he told her not to let him hold her up.

Please.

If he needed to fetch the car himself in order to speed things up, then he would joyfully do so and everyone would do well to get the hell out of his way.

She nodded to his statement, a certain satisfaction filling her eyes that unaccountably sent a chill down his spine, and then said, "I wanted to let you know what I'm gonna take you up on your offer to spend more time with our son."

Really?

Well, he'd believe it when he saw it.

"Oh, great! That'll make Nick really happy," was what he said, and she nodded again.

"Yes," she answered around a laugh. "But will it make you happy?"

Well, not particularly, but he was a grown man. He could handle the occasional weekend arrangement.

Which he said.

Thus, her statement of not only planning to relocate to Middleton but also having already spoken to a realtor knocked him flat on his ass.

SHE WAS WHAT?!

"You can't be serious," he almost spluttered, giving her a hard look. This was a woman who could not — well, would not, at least — live less than ten miles from a Neiman Marcus.

But she was going to live happily in Middleton? A town that didn't even have a mall?

"You asked me to do this," she told him, sounding affronted that he might think otherwise, and he nearly choked again.

"No, I didn't!" he denied fiercely, even knowing it was a losing battle.

"You did," she insisted, staring at him. "Thank you."

Well.

Fuck.

And damn and hell's bells and oh, shit and every other curse he could think of.

Maybe the world would end before she came back from China?

Wait.

He was getting ahead of himself.

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Well, this was Linda.

He'd deal with that bridge when — and if — it landed on his head. If necessary, he'd set it on fire just to make sure it was gone.

But all he said was, "You're welcome," with sarcasm that was so dry, the Sahara Desert gave him a speculative look.

Astonishingly, she said not a word about his tone; instead, she gave him a quick smile and a 'good night' and then . . . paused, raking him with a look that he couldn't decipher and didn't want to deal with.

But she wasn't leaving, so he finally asked, "What?" simply to get her to go away.

She simply shook her head and replied, "I've always hated that tie."

Yes. That was the only reason it was his favorite . . . though he hadn't even been thinking that when he put it on; it had simply been the first one he'd touched.

Still . . . yeah, she had this coming.

"I know," he replied laconically. "That's why I like it."

And she . . . laughed and left. No bitching, no moaning, no fighting.

She just . . . walked away.

Leaving an incredulous, disbelieving, and yet, not remotely surprised Sam in her wake.

Well, as least some things remained constant. That was more comforting than he would have thought (and yet, still a little terrifying. What if she really meant it?).

Karma.

This was all her fault.

Okay, fine. He'd been dealing with her for months, and he'd just spent a week living with and battling a woman the devil wouldn't stay married to. He supposed it was only fair that the bitch (karma, not Linda) take some satisfaction in the knowledge that she had achieved her goal.

But if karma wanted to survive this little brouhaha unscathed, then she needed to haul ass to a desert on the other side of the world.

Five minutes ago.

And she'd better take that damned brain-eating amoeba with her.

But that was for later.

Right now, Sam had a party to get to, and thankful congratulations to bestow. Everything else was just going to have to wait.

His place was at her side, and by God, that's where he was going to be.

Cassie didn't realize just how badly the events of the day — the week — had shaken her until Stephanie took her to the Bell, Book, & Candle and she didn't sense anything other than her friend's excitement and happiness.

So being greeted by a store full of people she'd met and helped over the last thirteen years was a bit of a shock.

If she hadn't been Cassie Nightingale, she might actually have fainted from the aforementioned shock.

And to discover that Grace had done this, with help from Martha and Stephanie and Abigail was . . . the most beautiful, sweetest thing she'd ever experienced.

She would never know how she managed to keep the tears at bay, but as she moved into the throng of people who had come to — oh, wow, it was just starting to sink in. All of these people had come to support her, because at some point, she had helped and supported them.

And they wanted her to know that they appreciated and loved her for that.

When the reality of that finally hit her, Cassie had to excuse herself to the restroom and cry. Never in the whole of her life had she experienced anything so amazing.

She would cherish this until her dying breath.

And there, safe in her beloved shop, filled with people who loved her and appreciated her and wanted to support her, Cassie finally let go.

She cried everything out: losing Jake, her fear of losing her shop, her home, her and her daughter's safety. Her fear of losing Ryan. Her humbled awe at seeing just how much support she had, not just in Middleton, but from all over.

She wasn't alone.

She wasn't an island.

And she wasn't going anywhere.

As the tears tapered off and she regained her composure, Cassie took another minute to just close her eyes and say a soft 'thank you.'

Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror and winced. With one last hard sniff, Cassie washed her face and reapplied her foundation and lipstick; the mascara was a lost cause and, quite frankly, her hands weren't steady enough right now anyway. Besides, it was doubtful anyone would notice.

As she circulated through the crowd, accepting hugs and handshakes, she just let herself soak in the goodwill and happiness she was being flooded with. It was a balm that went a long way to healing her tender, wounded heart, and a jittery restlessness that she hadn't realized she was suffering from slowly faded as Cassie saw more and more why this, the Bell, Book, & Candle, was her life's purpose.

Seeing Brandon and Tara, happy and together, settled something else in her and she felt positively radiant as she left them to their newfound intimacy. She would always miss Jake, but he would always be here, in their son's laughter and their daughter's smile. And never again would she take that for granted.

Or what she and Jake had been so lucky, so blessed, to share.

And — oh!

Sam was here. She felt his presence but didn't see him, and turned, a smile coming to her lips as she caught sight of him edging his way around the champagne table.

More than anyone else, he'd been her saving grace throughout this, and she wanted to see him, and let him see her so he'd know she was okay.

As if reading her mind, he looked up and met her eyes, and gave her a dorky wave that made her laugh.

"Nice turnout," he greeted her as they threaded their way through the crowd to meet each other, giving her a soft smile that she happily returned.

"Yeah," she replied. "Thanks for coming."

A careless shrug was his answer, and an equally careless, "Nah."

Then, in a completely unexpected conversational change, he said, "You know, Nick really loves the scroll that you gave him."

Okay. That was random, but Sam always had a reason for saying something . . . and she remembered again the feelings that had led her to the scroll in the first place.

"Yeah," she answered. "It had a special meaning for me when I was just a little older than he is now."

Her words brought an intrigued look to his eyes, and he was clearly hoping for more with his hopeful, "Yeah?"

Smiling, she obliged him.

Well. A bit.

"I was a little lost then," she told him, enjoying his befuddled look.

"You?" he asked dubiously, which earned him a warm smile.

"Yes, me," she replied, but said nothing more.

There would be time for that later.

Sam being Sam, he understood immediately and simply said, "Well, I'm here if you need me."

Yes.

Yes, he was.

And she was starting to realize how much she liked that, and relied on it.

"I know that," she replied just as simply, and then Suzanne caught her sleeve and she was pulled away from him.

But she didn't lose track of him, nor did he let her too far out of his sight.

Which, frankly, she appreciated to no end when he brought her tea as Martha was leaving.

She adored Martha, truly, but—

Tea was definitely appreciated.

However, she wasn't going to say that to him, because he'd get all flustered and embarrassed and stop rescuing her from Martha.

Instead, she poked at his taste buds.

"See? You do like my tea," she teased, grinning.

When he asked if he could be honest, her eyebrows went up as she insisted on it.

When he told her that her tea tasted like tree bark, she almost choked on the tea in question.

And laughter.

Oh, it was so nice to just be able to relax and joke with him. And he looked so much lighter, and the unhappiness he'd been suffering from for days had vanished. Add to that the contentment she could sense from Nick, and it wasn't a huge leap to assume that Linda had left town.

Good for them. They all had something to celebrate tonight.

As they bantered, him asking with wide-eyed, faux innocence if he'd been too honest and her telling him 'yes' through her giggles, Cassie felt like herself for the first time in months.

And she was honest enough to admit that a lot of it had to do with him.

Before she could do anything with that thought, she was drawn away from him and back to her guests with only a little regret at leaving him so abruptly.

But for the rest of the evening, she felt Sam's gaze licking along her skin like tiny embers, making her feel warm and cherished but without the fear of those flames blazing up to burn her.

Only, she wasn't at all in a position to deal with that, so Cassie determinedly ignored it and turned all her concentration to circulating among her guests — her friends — tearing up yet again as she saw just how much love and support she had from her town. And as things slowly wound down and people began to leave, Cassie refused to let them clean up, not after this unbelievable gathering, but she took each hug and positive word into her heart until she was finally able to let herself accept that this nightmare was over.

It was really over.

She and Grace were safe, and she wasn't losing the place that was as much a part of her as her gifts . . . and one of her last links to Jake.

She hadn't lost everything.

Sniffing back another bout of tears, Cassie began to clear away the detritus from the party, thinking again about how blessed she was . . . and she was so lost in thought that she didn't realize someone had stayed until Sam put a dustpan in front of her broom and gave her a tender, lopsided smile.

His thoughtfulness made a lump rise in her throat and it occurred to her that she could get used to it.

That thought didn't make her feel nearly as guilty as she would have imagined, especially with everything else that had happened today, and she was finally able to allow herself to appreciate his honest desire to support her, hidden though it was behind gentle teasing.

That freedom was . . . nice.

And she was still safe, because Sam had proven so many times that he would never willingly or deliberately hurt her. More, she knew that her wellbeing was of the upmost importance to him.

So when he offered a hug as an expression of relief and simple happiness for her, Cassie didn't hesitate and melted into his arms, murmuring his name and marveling anew at how right it felt.

When he shifted back, she tilted her head to meet his eyes . . . and froze.

Because they were full of the tender protectiveness that had been his gift and promise to her for months.

But they were also full of desire.

And intent.

Oh.

Oh.

He wanted to . . . he wanted to kiss her.

He was going to kiss her.

Oh.

She . . . oh, wow.

She wanted him to.

And—

OH.

She wanted to kiss him back.

She was going to kiss him back.

But as their breath mingled, with his lips a heartbeat away from hers, a sudden surge of hurtagonybetrayalpain washed over her and she blinked, jolted unpleasantly out of the intimacy of the moment.

Slowly, as if she was in a dream, Cassie looked past Sam to meet Ryan's stunned, hurt, accusatory gaze.

And heard again his hopelessly complicated question: 'Is there someone else?'

Then her truthful (but not the whole of it) denial: 'No!'

Because Jake would always be in her heart and mind, and so she hadn't let herself realize until just this moment that maybe she could want something new . . . but it wasn't going to be with Ryan.

And Cassie Nightingale could only stand there and watch as her past, her present, and her future collided while the world as she knew it ended with a whimper.

She was unable to look away from Ryan's bewildered, burning eyes, filled with breathtaking pain, even as she felt Sam squeeze her waist while he gave her other arm a reassuring caress but said nothing, merely stood calmly beside her.

At his silent support, Cassie drew a shuddering breath and relaxed into him and his solid, unwavering presence, knowing that Ryan would make more of the gesture than she meant, but also knowing that there was no choice. She utterly despised the fact that she had to hurt him, especially like this, but she knew him too well and was finally able to admit just what that really meant for both of them. He thought he was in love with her, which affected everything in his life, and that simply wasn't true.

He wasn't in love with her.

He never had been.

But that was something he wouldn't be able to recognize on his own, because he'd put so much of himself into that dream. Which was just not . . . well, this particular situation wasn't what she would have chosen (it would have been her last option, actually), but maybe . . . maybe it was fate. Ryan had to accept that there was no hope of her falling in love with him, because it was the only way he could finally learn his own heart and find out what he really wanted for his life.

And she genuinely, truly, wished him all the best. That just . . . it simply wasn't going to be with her. And not even as a friend, she realized with sadness tinged by the tiniest amount of relief. He wouldn't stay, not now, and she really couldn't ask him to, nor would she dream of holding it against him. No matter what happened with Sam — or anyone else — it would be heartless cruelty for her to ask Ryan to stand by and watch while (if) she fell in love with someone who wasn't him.

Oh, but she was going to miss him — the friend he had become after Jake was taken from her, his steadfast support, his gentle humor . . . everything he had been before his — their — feelings had gotten so complicated.

As though sensing her inner turmoil, Sam suddenly wrapped his fingers in a loose grip around her wrist, his thumb tenderly caressing her pulsepoint, and she swallowed hard, watching with teary eyes and more relief than she could have imagined as Ryan accepted her unspoken decision and walked away, radiating despondency.

And her best friend said nothing; he merely pulled her a little closer to his side and they stood in silence for a few minutes, letting everything that had happened over the last week wash over them.

When he finally spoke, it was only to offer her a ride home, and it was utterly ridiculous that his easy acceptance and understanding made her tear up yet again. But she saw his gesture for what it was — one friend looking out for another — and nodded, deciding for once to take the help, and remained tucked into his side as he grabbed her purse, pressing it into her hands as he walked her to the door.

Well. At least she knew now what Sam wanted.

She also knew what — who — she didn't want.

And for the first time since Jake had been taken from her, she saw the possibility of a bright future.

But only time would reveal the desires of her own heart.

Sam had been so close to tasting Cassie that his tongue was tingling, and then.

And then.

Something had pulled Cassie and her acceptance — her reciprocation — of his kiss away.

And then he wanted to scream, because her acceptance had faded to guilt. And uncertainty.

But she didn't step away from him, or even try to get out of his embrace, which kept a spark of hope alive, though the mood had been broken and there was no hope of salvaging it.

So . . . what had happened to derail things so spectacularly?

Twisting, he followed her gaze . . . and drew in a sharp breath. One hand absently skimmed over Cassie's shoulder and down her arm as he absorbed the sight in front of them, while the other fell to rest against her waist so naturally he didn't even notice he'd done it.

Seeing Ryan Elliott standing at the window nearly pulled Sam away from her for the sole purpose of punching the other man directly in the throat. Was he forever doomed to be tripping over the little bastard every time he tried to get close to Cassie?

But that heartbroken expression made Sam pause, hating the surge of sympathy he felt for his finally-acknowledged rival.

Cassie's obvious guilt and regret, mingled with a frustration that matched his, had Sam back to wanting to hit her ex-boyfriend.

Oh.

Right; she'd broken up with Ryan . . . earlier today. She had to, or he would have been here, glued to her side.

So his absence could only mean that Cassie had ended things.

Today. It had to have been, if only because the possibility of losing her shop had been the only thing she could really concentrate on.

So she had been unattached for less than eight hours.

And then she had nearly kissed Sam.

Ah.

Well.

Damn.

And damn karma for getting in one last laugh at his expense.

Because now he owed the man for stopping them, since it was way the hell too soon for either of them to start down that path.

And his life was back to being a cosmic joke.

Could he at least get a new punchline?

The sudden movement of Ryan turning around and walking away jarred Sam out of his musings and he swallowed, closing his eyes for a few seconds so he could calm his thoughts — the first of which was to wonder how in the hell any man could just walk away from Cassie Nightingale.

Wild horses couldn't drag Sam away, and to leave of his own accord?

It wasn't physically possible.

But Ryan had.

And Sam suddenly wondered if the brain-eating amoeba that had tormented him for so long had finally found a new victim.

But—

Maybe Cassie would be happier now, without that awkward 'used to be' that would inevitably hang between she and Ryan every time they saw each other. And with him gone, she might not be as skittish about the possibility of finding someone else, when the time was right.

So . . . well.

Okay, then. He would never speak ill of the other man in front of Cassie, but he would also never stop being grateful (and, he would admit, smugly pleased) that Ryan was gone. He was only human, after all.

All right.

And at least Sam now knew that Cassie felt the same pull that he did, even if she clearly wasn't ready to acknowledge it.

Which was . . . he was surprisingly okay with that.

If nothing else, they were in the same book now, and Sam was content to wait a bit before trying to get them on the same page; he had his own considerations to work through and the last thing he wanted to do was push either of them. Stephanie and Ryan were excellent examples of how poorly forcing things would turn out and neither of them was dumb enough to ignore the lessons they'd learned from their experiences.

And this was soooo not the time to be thinking such heavy (and depressing) thoughts.

After a minute of silence that somehow managed to be both slightly-awkward and yet still natural, Sam gently cleared his throat and gestured to the door.

"Come on," he murmured softly. "We can finish this tomorrow. I'll drive you home."

He saw the objection flare in her eyes and gave her a tender, appreciative smile when she immediately wrestled it down and simply nodded, accepting his offer — of one friend to another, nothing more — to help without question for the first time since he'd met her.

"Okay," she replied, squeezing his hand and resting a little more firmly against him, just for a second. "Thank you."

And without another word, in perfect accord, Sam Radford and Cassie Nightingale stepped into the dawn of a new possibility.

The night that Ryan Elliott left Middleton was normal.

Uneventful.

Completely and totally unremarkable.

Just a man leaving one town (one woman) in search of a fresh start.

It changed everything.

Only . . .

It didn't change anything.

~~~
fin