Thank you SO much for all of the feedback! It definitely kept me motivated to update!
10
She isn't the least bit surprised that Sam manages to bring a spark out in Amy over dinner. Her passion for medicine is equal to his own as they converse animatedly over recent developments in cardiac care. It's not a topic she's particularly knowledgeable in, but she enjoys listening to Sam and the medical language he speaks so fluently.
He's competent and sure, and she's a bit embarrassed to admit that she's a little turned on.
His arm has remained slung over the back of her chair the entire evening, his thumb sweeping back and forth against the nape of her neck.
He hasn't lost sight of her.
"I think I may have misjudged you, Sam," Amy admits. "You're not some small-town doctor."
"You know what?" Sam questions. "I think I am….I enjoy working at Hillcrest; I love the fast pace of the ER and working with everyone there."
"But?" Amy prompts.
Sighing, he rubs his jaw. "But I love my practice. I love the relationships I've built and I love being a part of the community. A part of Middleton."
She places a hand on his knee, and he looks over at her for a brief moment.
"You found what you love," Amy comments.
He takes her hand into his, interlacing their fingers. "In more ways than one."
She smiles, looking down. She can feel his eyes on her and she squeezes his hand.
Leaning back into her chair, Amy nods.
The band has started to play, and she watches as couples begin to make their way onto the dance floor.
Sam's gaze turns to the dance floor. "Amy, do you mind If we go dance?"
Amy smiles, shaking her head. "Not at all."
He looks over at her, a smile in his eyes and she takes his hand as they head out onto the dance floor. She settles into his chest as his hand slips around her waist to the small of her back. He's a confident dancer as he leads them into a gentle sway, her hand tucked in his. They dance in silence for several minutes, his gaze intent.
"Penny for your thoughts?" She questions softly.
His jaw jumps, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm not sure you want to know what I'm thinking right now."
There's a flicker in his eyes, and she dares to press him further. "Try me."
It's a minute before he answers as if he's warring with his answer. "I'm thinking about… how much I want to peel you out of this dress."
The heat rises in her face and she concentrates on no losing her step. His hand on the small of her back is suddenly a burning heat that she imagines in several different places.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He questions back softly.
She slides her arm under his jacket, around his back. "I'm thinking of where I want your hands right now." There's a flicker in his eyes and she gets a great deal of satisfaction that she has this effect on him.
"And where is that?"
His voice is huskier, and it causes a tremble to pass through her. Smiling, she lets her hand slide up and down his back. "I don't think you have enough pennies."
. . . . . . . . . .
"Thank you so much for dinner; I had a really great time."
Grey House is quiet for this time of night, and she wonders what time it is. They had enjoyed themselves so much at the brewery, they must have lost track of time.
She smiles, nodding. "It was our pleasure." Sam is behind her, helping her with her coat and his hands cause a slight shiver to pass through her.
"Hopefully you had the opportunity to see what Middleton is really like," Sam adds.
Amy nods. "I think I did….I certainly have a lot to think about."
"No pressure," Sam reassures. "You do what you feel is best for you."
Heading for the stairs, Amy nods again. "I will. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," they both echo.
Sam hangs her coat in the closet as she makes her way towards the kitchen. Grabbing her teapot, she fills it with water, setting it on the stove.
"I think tonight went well," he comments, joining her in the kitchen.
Turning, she leans against the counter. "I think so too." She's aware that he's stopped short of the island, his coat still on. "Do you want some tea?"
He shakes his head. "I think I'm going to go…"
A little surprised, she nods. "Ok."
He doesn't move from the island.
"Sam?"
He sighs, rubbing his jaw. "…when we were dancing….I just need to know. Are we on the same page?"
Her feet are crossing the floor towards him and she notices the way his breath hitches the closer she gets. Sliding her hands up his chest, she presses her lips to his. "We're on the same page," she breathes against his mouth.
His arm bands around her waist bringing her flush against him and everything about him in that moment is solid and warm and hard.
There are a million different things she wants to do in this moment.
Slide his jacket from his shoulders just so she can feel his arms fully wrapped around her.
Kick her heels off to submit to his masculinity in its encompassing presence.
Let her tongue dance with his.
Press her body so tightly to his that there will be no mistaking how she feels next to him.
Touch him if only to see the pleasure flicker in his eyes.
She pulls back, letting her forehead connect with his. He's breathing a little heavily and her heart is pounding within her chest.
"I want you," he admits huskily.
"I want you too, Sam."
"But?"
She presses another gentle kiss to his lips before pulling back to meet his gaze. "The timing…."
He exhales, loosening his hold on her. "The timing," he echos in agreement.
"I'm sorry."
He's shaking his head, his hands framing her face, his thumb sweeping over her bottom lip briefly. "Don't apologize….Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."
She smiles. "Aristotle."
He presses a kiss to her lips to which she returns.
"We'll find the right time," he reassures, stepping out of her embrace to zip up his coat.
"When we do…it will be magical," she says softly.
"Magical, huh?"
She nods, smiling.
A slow smile crosses his face, as he ponders her words. "Promise?"
Laughing lightly, she leans in to kiss him softly. "Promise."
. . . . . . . . . .
She had only just fallen asleep after blocking out the sound of Sam's late-night basketball game, when she's woken by the smell of something sweet.
Her mother's baking.
Climbing out of bed, Grace makes her way down to the kitchen. Her mother is perched at the island, a cup held between her hands. I fresh tray of cookies sit in front of her, cooling.
"A little late for cookies, don't you think?" She comments.
Her mom gives her an apologetic smile. "I didn't wake you, did I?"
Grace slides onto a stool beside her, reaching for a cookie. It's still warm, and she bites into it. "Sam's late-night basketball game beat you to it."
Her mother sighs, taking a sip of her tea. She knows her mother only bakes when something is bothering her, and if she were to guess, Sam doesn't play basketball this late for the exercise. "Is everything alright between the two of you?"
Cassie blushes, rising from the island. "Everything's fine." Heading for the cupboards, she searches for their cookie jar and a spatula.
"Really?" She questions. "…you only bake like this when something's up."
"I guess I'm a little restless," she admits, sliding the cookies off of the tray and into the jar.
"What about?"
"About a lot of things…"
Her mother's voice trails off as her brows furrow, her gaze turning towards the sitting room.
"Mom?"
"Grace-"
Unexpectedly, a loud crash comes from the sitting room setting the alarm off. Her Mom is out of her seat pulling her into her embrace. From upstairs, guests are spilling out of their rooms.
"What's going on?" George questions, bounding down the stairs.
"I...I don't know. The sitting room," her Mom stammers.
George heads to the next room.
"Grandpa, don't!" Grace calls after him.
"Is the house on fire or something?" Abigail questions, joining them in the kitchen.
The guests have emerged from their rooms, standing on the staircase unsurely.
"Cassie?!" Abigail questions.
Her mother is still beside her, and she jolts, refocusing. "Could you stay with Grace while I check on the guests?"
She doesn't get the chance to protest as her mother heads upstairs.
"You better call the police," George calls.
Making their way to the sitting room, they see the broken window and the brick lying on the floor.
. . .
"Dad!"
He stirs, rolling over to find Nick standing over him. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"There are police and ambulances over at Grey House!"
If it were possible, his heart would have dropped to the pit of his stomach. He's already scrambling out of bed, grabbing the first bit of clothing his hands can find. Nick is already dressed and heading downstairs and he's right on his heels.
His mind registers that he should put on his coat but he's already out the front door practically sprinting over to Grey House. There are two police cruisers and an ambulance parked out front, lights going, but otherwise silent.
He lets himself in and there are guests congregating in the lobby, police tape blocking off the sitting room. A quick scan is all it takes until he finds her, his eyes connecting with hers. He relaxes a fraction making his way to where she's standing with Derek and Brandon in the kitchen. "Are you alright?" he questions immediately. She gives him her best reassuring smile, but her eyes belie her; she's shaken. As soon as he's close enough she's sliding into him and he holds her tightly against his chest. "Where's Grace?"
"She's fine," she answers softly. "She and Abigail are upstairs with some of the guests."
He pulls her back, framing his hands around her face. His heart is still beating widely in his chest and he has to repeatedly tell himself to breathe, to relax. "Are you alright?" He questions again.
Tears well in her eyes for a brief minute before she pulls herself together, nodding.
"What happened?" Nick questions.
Derek gestures to the brick-laying on the counter in front of them. "Someone threw this through the sitting room window."
Her arm slides around his waist as she leans into him, and he rubs her back in comfort. "Was anyone hurt? Why is the ambulance outside?"
"It set off the alarm here at Grey House; they're here out of protocol," Brandon answer. "My Dad had the system set up."
There are a lot of things he has to thank Jake Russell for, this included. "Do you have any idea who did this?"
Both Derek and Brandon exchange looks.
"If you know something, Cassie deserves to know," Nick prompts.
Derek sighs. "I don't think this is an isolated incident."
"The same person who vandalized my shop," Cassie provides softly.
He presses a kiss to her temple, rubbing her back.
"For the time being, I think you should relocate your guests to the hotel in Blairsville," Brandon reasons.
"You, Grace, George and Abigail can stay with us-"
"-Sam," she begins to protest.
"Cassie, please. You're not staying here. Not tonight. Not after this."
That familiar spark is gone from her eyes and she nods, conceding.
. . . . . . . . . .
"George is set up on the couch, Abigail is in the guest room, and Grace is passed out on the air mattress in Nick's room."
She's perched on the window seat in his room that overlooks Grey House. The police are still parked outside, and they've put up more police tape as the few reporters in the small town have congregated outside.
Sitting across from her, he offers her the cup of tea he's made. She's been on auto-pilot the past few hours getting her guests situated at the hotel in Blairsville, filling out police reports and reassuring Grace. Now that they're here, in the silence of his room, he can see more than just fatigue in her eyes.
"I thought you might like this."
She takes the mug between her hands gingerly and he can tell that she's still shaken.
He's still shaken.
Things like this don't happen in Middleton. His instincts are telling him to protect her at all costs, but what does he know about that? He's not Jake.
He's a surgeon.
"I'm scared, Sam," she whispers.
He exhales, covering her hands with his own around her mug of tea. "I can't imagine what you're feeling right now, Cassie."
Her gaze is out the window, and she slides her hands from his setting the mug on the window sill. She wraps arms around herself." ….for my guests, for my family...my daughter was there tonight and I..." her voice catches as the tears well in her eyes. "...I can't stop thinking about what could have happened tonight...what if it wasn't just a brick? What if-"
"-don't do this to yourself," he reaches out, only she pulls away, rising from the window seat. "Don't think of the what if's."
She's pacing the room, and as much as he wants to go to her, he realizes that she's trying to process everything. She covers her face as she lets her guard down, letting the emotions of the night finally pour out of her.
Rising from his seat, he goes to her then, pulling her gently into his arms. She goes without hesitation, falling into him completely.
He wants to carry this for her, be what she needs right now and he struggles to find the right words. Her pain is palpable and he can feel it now, as it seeps out of her in every tear that falls from her eyes.
"Cassie, I want you to listen to me," he begins softly.
She nods into his shoulder.
"You're guests are safe. George and Abigail are safe. Grace is safe."
"She is," she agrees.
"You are safe."
Pulling back, she meets his gaze. Her eyes are, like always, so expressive, and he can see her worry there on the surface.
"Derek and Brandon…they're going to do everything they can to find out who did this."
She nods, wiping her eyes.
He holds her gaze for a moment, letting the truth in his words settle. She exhales, and he can feel the shift in her, feel the weight of her worry dissipating just a fraction.
"Everyone is here, safe, and sound asleep."
"Everyone but me," she points out.
There's a little light in her eyes, and he smiles gently. "Well that, we can fix. C'mon." Taking her hands, he pulls her from the window seat over towards his bed. It's in slight disarray from when he had scrambled out of it earlier, but she doesn't seem to mind as she crawls between the sheets. He settles in beside her, turning to face her as she tucks the pillow beneath her head.
"I love you," she whispers.
He brushes the hair from her eyes, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "I love you too."
Scooting across the bed, she rests her head on his chest, wrapping her arm around his torso.
. . . . . . . . . .
Nick is snoring soundly from his bed as she stares at the ceiling. The night's given way to morning, and what sleep she did manage to get was fitful at best.
Her mother is hurting. She can feel it in every fiber of her being.
Rolling over, she climbs her way off of the air mattress making her way downstairs. She closes the door to Nick's room, careful not to wake him. Though she doubts she would the way he's snoring.
She can smell the coffee as she descends the stairs heading towards the kitchen. Sam is there, still in his pajamas, scrolling through his iPad at the small island.
"Morning," she greets.
Glancing her way, he greets her with a smile. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"
Sliding onto one of the stools beside him, she helps herself to some of the coffee that he's placed out. "Nick snores."
Sam chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. "He gets that from his mother."
She smiles, looking at the assortment of muffins, bagels and fruit that have taken over his kitchen table. "That's a far cry from cereal."
"Stephanie brought it by; you just missed her actually."
"That was sweet of her."
Sam nods. "It was….she heard about what happened at Grey House last night."
She can't seem to think of anything but.
The way her mother had frozen. The fear that was in her eyes.
"Want to talk about it?"
Holding the mug between her hands, the warmth helps to settle some of the emotions inside of her. "I don't really know what to think," she answers truthfully. "…I just feel…" she can't seem to find the right words.
"A lot of things," he provides for her.
She nods, looking down into her mug. Something in the air shifts and she knows that her mother is awake. The weight of her unease is considerably lighter compared to last night, but it still lingers. She can feel her before she sees her, and she's sliding off of the stool and into her arms the minute she walks into the kitchen.
. . . . . . .
Grace is there in her arms and she holds her tightly. From across the room, Sam gives her a look that says everything he won't. It's funny how they've gotten to this place where they can read each other almost intuitively.
"The best way to start my day," she muses softly, sifting her fingers through her daughter's hair. "Do you want to talk about what you're feeling?"
Pulling back, Grace catches the few tears that have welled in her eyes.
"Honey," she soothes. "Talk to us."
Grace looks over at Sam who looks at her. She can tell that she's caught both of them off guard. "You know, when scary things happen, it's so much better to have support from people who care about you."
"When I saw the police and the ambulance last night, my only thought was of you and your mother….getting to you both to make sure that you were alright," Sam admits.
Her eyes connect with his and she can feel the fear that he hid from her last night surface.
"I know it's been just you and your mom for a long time….it's been just me and Nick for a long time too, and I don't want to push you to feel like you have to be a certain way with me….I just want you to know that I'm here, for whatever you need me for."
Grace wipes a few tears from her eyes, nodding. "Thanks, Sam."
Setting his mug on the island, he gestures for a hug. "Come here."
Laughing a little, Grace moves into his embrace, and he hugs her tightly. "I was scared to death last night. I can't imagine how you're feeling right now."
Pulling back, Grace looks between them. "I'm really scared," she admits softly. "…after what happened at Bell Book and now this…who would do such a thing?"
The doorbell rings and Sam excuses himself to answer it. He returns with Derek and Brandon behind him.
All it takes is one look at her son, and Cassie knows. "You found something."
Derek opens the folder in his hand, spreading the photos out onto the counter. "The bank across the street picked up these images the night your shop was vandalized."
"Any chance you recognize him?" Brandon questions.
She slides a picture across the counter for a better look. It's a bit grainy and only a side profile, but she's certain of who it is.
Grace looks over her shoulder, her face pailing. "….Him."
"You know him?" Derek questions.
"Of him," Grace corrects. "He was following me one day downtown."
Cassie's brow furrows. "You never told me that?"
Grace shrugs. "I just thought I might have been overreacting."
Sam takes one of the photos for a closer look. "The guy from Abigail's shop," he comments.
"What happened at Abigail's?" Derek presses.
"He was giving Abigail a hard time about some flowers she didn't have….he was pretty confrontational."
"His name is Jackson Weld," Cassie provides. "He's been in my shop."
"You've had contact with him?" Brandon questions further.
She nods. "He's in town on unfinished business."
"What does that even mean?" Grace asks, worry settling into her voice.
Derek gathers the photos back into his folder. "It means we have a place to start."
"He's escalating, Derek," Sam comments. "What will be next?"
"We catch him," Derek reassures. "Until we do, I don't want you worrying-"
"-that's kind of hard to do, don't you think?" Grace blurts. "Are we in danger?!"
Derek shifts on his feet, looking down, a telling sign of his uncertainty.
Brandon looks over at his chief, before turning to his sister. "I know you're scared; stuff like this doesn't happen in Middleton. Let us do our jobs, ok? We're going to find him."
Tbc