A/N: I've struggled with writing and I'm trying to find my muse again. To those returning to this story, thank you for being patient. If you're finding it for the first time, I hope you enjoy it.

Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and feedback are appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter Five: Heat Wave

June 7, 2011

This is crazy. Surreal. Unbelievable.

I've never done anything this backwards in my life. It was completely unexpected given our current situation - especially since we've already had sex - but Sam and I had what could only be considered a date today...

Sitting across from Sam, I watch as he picks at his salad. He looks almost relaxed. It makes me feel warm inside, cozy even. There's something boyish about him. He's been through a lot... but he's survived. Not only that, he's incredibly kind despite everything that's been thrown at him.

"What?" he asks, returning my smile as he lifts his glass of ice water to his lips.

"Nothing," I answer. Feeling a blush heating my cheeks I reach across the table top, tear off a piece of his roll and pop it into my mouth.

He shakes his head and steals a potato chip from the pile next to the abandoned quarter of my club sandwich. I flick the crumpled paper from my straw at him and it bounces off the center of his palm when he moves to block it. It's like we're teenagers... only I never had this much fun as a kid.

"So," he says, his features becoming serious. He licks his lower lip. "I was thinking maybe we could get out for a bit..." His eyes drop to the table top, his cheeks coloring as he rubs his neck. "I mean... I just thought..." He smiles shyly. "It'd be nice not to be stuck in the room, you know?"

"Is it safe?" I ask, looking around.

Sam pulls out his wallet. He taps it on the table, turning the leather corner to corner. "I think so," he says thoughtfully. "I checked for signs of activity and came up with nothing. I think we're good. That is... I mean, if you want to."

"Can I get you kids dessert?" the waitress asks. She reminds me of one of Dad's parishioners, with her silver hair and orthopedic shoes. Her smile is warm and kind, grandmotherly.

He looks at me, his eyes seeking confirmation. I smile at both of them and hold up my hands in surrender. "I couldn't possibly eat another bite."

"Just the check," Sam laughs.

"Wait!" I call her back to the table. "We're looking to do some exploring. Is there someplace you can recommend?"

Tucking her pencil behind her ear, her brow furrows in thought. "Have you been downtown yet?" she asks. "All sorts of shops and what not. I'm afraid there isn't much else around these parts."

Sam walks over to the counter to pay the tab. Even as I continue talking to Betty and getting directions, I feel his eyes on me. My face grows hot.

"Your young man seems quite smitten with you," she says behind her notepad.

I look down at my hands and shake my head. "We're just friends," I say quickly. "Traveling companions."

Her eyes move to Sam's back and I feel her hand drop to my shoulder. "Trust me, honey," she chuckles. "Last man who looked at me like that gave me five children." She smiles wistfully. "James. May God rest his soul. We were married for 42 years."

I swallow thickly, my gaze sweeping over his muscular form. He turns his head and we smile at each other for a moment. Sighing, I tell her, "I think our time, if we had one, has passed."

She laughs heartily. "He isn't dead, dear. Pretty little thing like yourself?"

"I'm not his type..." I stumble.

"You sure about that?" she asks. "I may be an old fart, but I know chemistry when I see it."

"How do you know though?" I ask. I wanna know what to look for, how to tell if she's right.

Betty smiles. She looks at Sam and then back at me. Her answer isn't what I was hoping for. "You just do..."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It's hot. So hot the wisps of hair escaping my ponytail cling to the skin of my neck. We spent twenty minutes trying to agree on a movie before wandering the shops. Antiques, souvenirs, assorted junk. A little of everything, but nothing special.

We make a game out of trying on old hats and making up stories about the owners of random items. At least I do. I have a feeling Sam is merely indulging in what my father would've affectionately called my non-sense. It's what he doesn't say that's telling. I'm drawn back to a world of monsters by the way he seems to avoid or dismiss certain items.

After rummaging around for a few hours, we end up in a little ice cream parlor. The place is from another era, like it was plucked from an old movie and dumped onto a quiet street in a town time forgot. Neon soda signs buzz over the old counter and a jukebox plays doo wop numbers that make it hard not to hum along. Even the clerk looks like he stepped out of the 1950's with his crisp white shirt, paper hat and jaunty red bowtie.

We order a pair of soft serve cones and sit at a quiet table in the corner. My stomach flips as I watch Sam, his tongue slipping along the treat to catch a drip before his lips curl around the frosty peak. I find myself swallowing and trying to avoid blushing by rambling about the atmosphere. "Who knew places like this existed outside of movies, huh? I mean, wow."

To stop myself, I close my mouth around my own ice cream. Sam is quiet. I can feel him watching me more than he is our surroundings. It makes me nervous. Here's this gorgeous guy and he's looking at me. It's something I'm not used to. Before it was as though he looked through me.

"You've got a little…" Reaching out, he slides his thumb over the corner of my mouth and my face flushes with embarrassment. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the smear of chocolate on my face.

And then he does it. Licks the pad of his thumb without thought, dragging the digit over his bottom lip. The gesture is raw and intimate. It's as right as it is wrong. And I have to fight not to moan as my panties grow damp.

There are little sparks - jolts that make you tingle like static electricity - where things change. Betty was right. You just know. And in that moment with Sam, I knew things were going to be different.

It was more than just the way he touched my lip. That seemed to be just the first sign. When we got up from the table, his hand wrapped around mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sam Winchester has big hands. They dwarf mine. And the way his thumb draws unconscious circles on my skin makes it difficult to breathe. A gentle giant. Protective and tender. If I thought my encounter with him a year ago was exciting, it was nothing in comparison to the butterflies swarming and taking flight in my belly now.

"I don't wanna go back yet," I pout. As hot as it is, the sun feels nice. Being in the fresh air and not cooped up in the car or some musty motel room is… liberating.

Dragging Sam toward an empty park, we exchange smiles and he willingly moves behind me when I sit on the swing. He pushes me, his palms gripping my waist rather than the chain as he sends me floating. The sensation of his fingers sliding along the barely exposed skin between my shorts and top makes me shiver despite the heat.

"I haven't done this in forever," I mention. I've never played like a child with a man, I add to myself.

The thought is silly, perhaps even sillier than our situation if that were possible. A laugh bubbles out. The sound is pure and it takes me by surprise. What's more of a surprise is Sam's reaction to it. He's smiling too and even manages a lighthearted chuckle.

"Hey, Sam?" The swing creaks to a slow stop and I shuffle my feet in the sand, biting my lip as he lowers himself onto the one next to me. I glance sideways at him, my voice so soft he inches closer. His fingers curl around the chain on my swing. It's impossible not to hold his puppyish eyes. "Thanks for today. I've hand a really nice time."

His gaze drops to my mouth and his palm cups my cheek. For a long moment I think he's going to kiss me. Then I feel a splash on my cheek and Sam and I both look up. That's when the sky opens and the humidity breaks. It starts raining so hard we're both soaked through to the skin in seconds and the mood is spoiled.

Because that would be my luck. To be sitting on the edge of kissing him for the first time in a year only to end up the wrong kind of wet.

They say timing is everything… but as disappointed as I was to miss out on the sensation of feeling this version of Sam's mouth on mine, I think I'd disagree. It's not the timing that matters. It's enjoying the time you have with the people who matter.

And learning not only to dance in the rain but laugh when it ruins the moment. I can't tell you when I'll kiss Sam again, but I know that I will… more than that I know it'll be worth the wait.