Author's Note: Happy December, all! I'm so happy to finally bring you Chapter 7 of this story. In an ideal world, I would have completed this story by now, as we're headed into the Advent and Christmas season and winter, and moving on from fall…but it's not an ideal world where I finish my writing as quickly as I'd like, and thus, this story will be continuing on for a while. But I, for one, enjoy writing about fall at any time of year, as I love the aesthetic!
It's been almost two months since I updated this story, so let me jog your memory about what happened right before this chapter: Lillian and Sam went on a visit to the General Store together, where Lillian gained more practice in saying yes to help and eventually let Sam carry the big bag of flour they were getting for Eleanor's pumpkin bread. Once they made it back to the orphanage, Sam joked (sarcastically) about there being so many different kinds of flour to choose from—one of Eleanor's main excuses why he should go with Lillian to the store—even though there weren't, hinting pretty clearly to Lillian he knew Eleanor had been matchmaking. Later that night, Sam locked eyes with Lillian at the dinner table as a sort of continued inside joke about the flour, making her blush at first and then eventually struggle to hold back giggles. Yes, it ended on a pretty lighthearted note, haha!
Wishing you all a blessed December, Advent, and holiday season! I hope you enjoy this special time of year. And enjoy this chapter, a labor of love! :) If you enjoy it, please let me know—I so appreciate any and all reviews, as they are a big encouragement to me!
Autumn Leaps and Trust Falls
Chapter 7: Togetherness and Teamwork
The next day—Friday—blew in as swiftly as a blustery gust of multicolored leaves, literally and figuratively. In addition to bringing a few actual leaves to Lillian's doorstep, it ushered in another usual busy morning for her of tending to the animals; feeding the children with Eleanor's help, getting them ready for school, and dropping them off at school; and carrying out additional chores around the orphanage.
Finally at the tail end of her chores for the morning, Lillian was sweeping the fall foliage and other debris off the front porch while savoring the crisp autumn breeze that was kissing her nose and cheeks and restoring her spirit. After a good handful of minutes of conducting a thorough sweep, she decided it was time to rest her body and head inside the orphanage. Yet, right after she turned toward its front door, a soft but resolute salutation stopped her in her tracks.
"Ms. Lillian."
She immediately recognized the voice and turned around to greet its source.
"Hi Sam," she responded, equally softly, executing a half pirouette quite gracefully so she could face him and hearken to his call.
She detected specks of shyness in his soulful eyes, which surprised her. Sam could be quiet, but he had a self-assuredness about him that typically permeated his expressions, gestures, words, and actions.
"What is it?" she asked with a gentle kindness and warm smile, rather intrigued by the bits of bashfulness his eyes were disclosing and hoping to help encourage him to state what was on his mind. She rocked a little in anticipation, from one boot to the other, though just a sliver of the off-white boots she was wearing that day were visible under her long skirt.
Sam stayed speechless for several seconds.
Lillian wasn't aware of the effect she was having on him at that moment. She did not realize how her red hair, undulating in the wind, looked like majestic ocean waves dyed by the rust-colored leaves of the maple tree about fifty feet away; nor did she realize how softly and effortlessly her seafoam eyes were tossing their tides toward Sam's currently apprehensive aqua ones. Further, she did not perceive how her smile—springtime personified, in the midst of fall—was etching itself onto his heart as his favorite sight. Nor was she cognizant of how her little movements and expressions, so impressed with grace and elegance, spoke to his soul, lending it renewed life.
That day, she was dressed in a lovely long-sleeve ivory blouse, with touches of lace detailing at the neckline and sleeves, and a dusty lilac skirt that reached nearly to the ground. With her elegant outfit, her pretty cheeks flushed from completing a myriad of chores, and her willowy hands a tad smudged with dirt and dust from those chores, Sam thought she was the epitome of classy, selfless femininity.
With each passing day, he found her still more beautiful, and, as a result, he was finding his typically confident composure a tad shaken.
Sam took a breath, and he felt his eyes crinkle at their edges with his tender admiration for her. "I was...wondering...wondering if..."
Lillian kept smiling benevolently and encouragingly, but she could feel a touch of teasing sneak its way into her eyes, building with each successive pause of Sam's.
She waited a few moments, but when he didn't continue, she spoke up.
"Rest assured, I am wondering what you're wondering, Mr. Tremblay," she declared playfully, purposefully calling him by last name. "So please, tell me."
He let out another breath, and one after another, his words came tumbling out rapidly, but clearly.
"Would you like to keep me company and talk with me while I drill holes in the tree swing for the rope to go through? I could show you the process and we could just...spend some time together," he stated, the shyness in his eyes also making its way into his tone.
"Unless you're busy and have things to do...which I completely understand," he added in another rush. "Or perhaps you'd rather do something else."
"No, I just finished my chores, and I'd love to," she answered quickly, dispelling his doubts, her smile now one big sunbeam. Those leaves in her heart from the day before—when she went to the General Store with him—stirred again, spiraling in its chambers and making her feel a menagerie of delight, joyous anticipation, and nervousness. The fact that he wanted to spend time with her and had expressed it straightforwardly made her feel almost giddy.
Though she was indeed finished with her chores for the time being, she felt a little voice in her head pipe up with these words: Even if you still had one or two chores left, you'd postpone them for the chance to spend time with Sam, wouldn't you?
Chores would always be important, an inescapable necessity that needed to be tackled before too long—otherwise they'd pile up and get even more overwhelming. Yet, Lillian could feel her scale of priorities tipping more and more toward the handyman who made her heart dance in unfamiliar ways.
"How about I go get us two glasses of water from inside the orphanage, Sam, and meet you near the guest house?" Lillian offered.
"That sounds great," Sam responded. One of his signature wide-ranging smiles had overtaken his face, driving away the initial shy hesitation in his eyes.
"Perfect. See you in a few minutes," Lillian said happily.
Those few minutes passed as quickly as the final bits of dusky daylight during an autumn evening, though fortunately it was only currently a little before midday, and the proprietor of the orphanage and its handyman still had several hours of true daylight left. Soon, Lillian was strolling over to Sam, who was stationed outside his guest house with the wooden seat of the swing, the rope, and his work materials and tools, which were all placed and positioned nicely on a table. A stool stood off to the side.
"Your glass of water, swing crafter extraordinaire," Lillian teased as she handed it off to him. "It is rather important that handymen and crafters of swings stay well-hydrated, you know," she added, a certain concerned protectiveness punctuating her tone.
"Thanks to you, I will," he replied, grinning gratefully at her.
"I had to return your favor from the other day, when you brought me water when Maggie was here giving me a check-up after my fall," she acknowledged.
"Thank you. You even added a lemon slice," he observed appreciatively.
"I figured you could use a little extra something for refreshment, with all your hard work," she smiled, pleased he noticed.
"Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness," he responded easily. Confident Sam was back.
"I see you've worked your magic and made the wood you chopped into a flat seat. It looks nice and thick," she discerned.
"Yes. I did that earlier today by carefully sawing two of the logs I cut the other day into two strips of wood," he noted, looking toward the seat and making several sawing motions with his hands to clearly illustrate his prior work to Lillian.
"Then I glued the two strips of wood together for extra reinforcement," he added, also demonstrating that past action with his hands. "That way, the seat of the swing will be extra secure."
As he uttered the word secure, Sam's eyes landed on Lillian's, solemn and resolute, relaying to her that he was indeed taking the safety of the children into paramount consideration.
Those eyes. So sincere and serious at times, so sportive and prankish at others. Always looking like they were either shaped by the sea or sourced directly from it...
"Ex-extra s-secure for Karate master children?" Lillian half-asked, half-confirmed. She internally shook her head at the irony of herself tripping over the phrase "extra secure," but she couldn't help it. His earnest eyes and their tides of brilliant blue had made both her heart and speech unsteady.
"Yes." His grin from earlier resurfaced, so broad it seemed to be bursting at the seams. "And for us somewhat calmer adults."
"Only somewhat calmer?" Lillian questioned, one of her eyebrows springing up in bewilderment.
"I'm not sure about you, but I'm planning on channeling my inner Karate master at least a bit when I jump off the swing, like the children. It sounds a lot more fun that way," he remarked mischievously, waiting for her reaction.
"Jumping off the swing like a Karate master sounds a lot riskier and a lot more nerve-wracking to me," she argued plainly, shaking her head and shuddering.
"But if you jump from a secure swing, like the one I've built here, it's bound to be at least a little less risky," Sam ricocheted back, his eyes oscillating spiritedly.
"I contend there is still much that could potentially go wrong between letting go of the swing and hitting the ground, but I will admit this looks like an exceptionally secure swing so far. I'd be hard-pressed to find a sturdier one in all of Brookfield and its surrounding towns. Nice work, Sam."
Lillian was careful to use his first name, as per their agreement, to show him he had—at least so far—passed the test of constructing a sturdy swing. Granted, he still needed to get it hung properly and safely on the maple tree and to carry out several more steps to get it to that point.
She noticed his cheeks turn a touch ruddy as his smile transformed from one of teasing to one of humbled gratification. It was rare for her to see Sam Tremblay blush, and she found a sweet satisfaction in knowing her praise had prompted it. With eyes that twinkled like seafoam sapphire, she beamed right back at him, her own cheeks becoming rosy. She was then struck by a sudden impulse to nudge his left boot with her right in a display of playful tenderness.
Now, would that really be displaying proper decorum, Lillian Walsh? her conscience spouted.
Not exactly, she admitted internally; but even with that admission, she found she had to grit her teeth in the fight to resist moving her boot out from under her long skirt to bump his.
"So, what are the next steps with this swing, Sam?" she inquired, in hopes talk of the swing would distract her from her still-lingering capricious thoughts of wanting to give him a supportive yet teasing little kick in the foot.
"Well, I need to drill holes in the swing at its corners, four of them total, for the rope to go in. Then I should really seal the wooden seat so it can better withstand the elements it'll be up against. And finally, I'll need to properly measure out four strands of rope that'll reach up to our tree branch of choice, actually put the rope through those holes, and hang the swing on the tree."
Lillian liked listening to Sam provide a clear, logical rundown of the action steps that remained in his quest to get the tree swing done and hung for the children. She greatly enjoyed being the recipient of the knowledge he imparted, learning more about the process, and—most of all—simply being in his presence. His nearness, she found, was a balm to her soul, bringing it serenity and stability, even as it made her heart feel markedly unstable.
"It's drilling time, then?" she asked rhetorically, and he nodded.
Lillian watched as Sam took a ruler and pencil from the table. He then measured 2.5 inches inward from the upper left edge of the swing with his left hand, making a small pencil mark on the wood with his right. Next, he set the ruler and pencil aside and grabbed his hand drill on the table with his left hand. He went on to position the drill bit at the pencil mark he'd established, before cranking the drill's gear into motion with his right hand and arm, his muscles set into masterful motion.
Though his hands moved and worked with swift agility, they simultaneously commanded their brisk work scenes Lillian observed them in, filling up the space around them with their broad expanse and making their striking presence known. The sun's autumn rays spotlighted their strongly constructed tendons and here-and-there callouses, as well as the gentle way they glided over the wood seat and treated it with care as the children's soon-to-be-swing.
As of late, Lillian had already been experiencing an instinctual pull toward those hands. And now, as she was observing them more closely and intently, she couldn't help but perceive still further how distinctively attractive they were.
Before long, Sam had finished drilling the first hole into the seat of the swing. He started repeating the same process of making a hole in the upper right corner of the swing, by first grabbing and using the ruler and pencil once again, and then drilling a similar-sized hole across from the first.
Meanwhile, a renewed longing to have one of Sam's hands soundly nestled in hers again soon had swept over Lillian's heart, and her mind had taken a detour away from paying heed to the actual scene before her as she pondered the loveliness of that notion.
Moving on to the bottom corners of the swing, Sam perceived Lillian had refrained from speaking for a while.
"Thinking 'bout something deep?" he asked casually, yet his eyes betrayed his keen curiosity regarding what she might be thinking about, washing over her with a particularly blinding blue.
In answer, Lillian felt her face flood with an intense pink.
Darn it. It sure was hard to get anything past this sharply astute man.
Now, upon seeing her facial reaction to his question, Sam's eyes were brimming with an even more pronounced curiosity.
Yet, there was no way Lillian was going to admit out loud to him that she was admiring his hands...and thinking about holding one.
Quick, come up with something, Lillian...
"Yes. Th-thinking deeply is the norm for me, rather than the exception," she replied, shrugging a little, trying to act nonchalant even as her cheeks' pink persisted and gave away her flustered state. That statement about her deep thinking was true, even if it didn't completely answer his question.
"I can relate to that. I tend toward deep thinking myself, at times," he divulged, holding her eyes steadily for a few seconds before looking back down at the swing and calmly carrying on with his measuring and drilling.
By now, he was working on drilling the third hole, positioned on the bottom left of the swing. As he drilled, little shavings of wood flew upwards and outwards from the hole and onto the top of the swing, in a small pile of red-brown flakes that kept growing, much like the pile of leaves under the maple tree kept increasing with each passing day.
"The whole process is very satisfying to watch," Lillian remarked, genuinely intrigued.
"You want to drill the last hole? It's also a satisfying process to carry out," Sam stated.
"Okay!" she exclaimed, happy he was letting her try her hand at the process and excited by the prospect of drilling wood for the first time in her life.
After Sam measured where to place the final hole with the ruler and pencil, he positioned the drill in that exact spot and handed it off to Lillian, instructing her to take hold of the drill's base firmly with one hand and turn the gear with her other.
At first, she cranked the gear just fine, but as the drill bit got deeper into the wood, she struggled to turn the gear successfully. The wood was putting up resistance, and she needed more power. She huffed and puffed, albeit in a manner that was as dignified and ladylike as possible, trying to rotate the gear of the drill with every fiber of her being. Though she was deeply determined to come out victorious over the stubborn wood, it was putting up too fierce a fight.
"Ughh! Gah!" she sputtered in deep frustration, yielding to the obstinate wood and giving up on cranking the drill for the time being, her hands setting it down on the table. Her cheeks burned with mortification—she felt weak and incapable, two feelings she absolutely despised—and she wished at that moment that she had a stronger constitution.
"It's alright, Lillian," Sam assured her serenely.
"I just wish I was stronger, and I could do it," she conceded with a sigh, her independent streak flaring again.
"You are strong. Perhaps you just need a little help with this," he remarked kindly.
"I can...help?" he added, his pitch cautiously rising so that his words formed a half-statement, half-question. His eyes were a solicitous slate grey now, the blue in them still present but retreating to the background.
She nodded. She remembered Sam's words from yesterday, his gentle encouragement about how it really was okay for her to accept help.
"Pick up the drill again, and position it in the hole you've started, one hand at its base and the other on its gear, just as you did a few moments ago," Sam instructed.
"Now, start cranking it. Good, I see some of the wood shedding into flakes. But it's still resisting, isn't it?"
Lillian nodded, one side of her lips slanting downward into a discouraged frown.
"Here, I'll give you a boost and help you turn the gear."
Sam continued to stand by Lillian's side as he promptly reached for the gear, gently yet deliberately putting his hand over hers so he could help her turn it. He also provided extra reinforcement for the underside of the drill, putting his other hand atop hers on the base so that the drill would be extra steady as they worked together to make a fully complete hole in the wood.
In response, Lillian froze. Even though Sam had clearly volunteered his help, her brain hadn't fully processed that that might involve their hands convening; she hadn't expected her wish from mere moments ago would be fulfilled so soon. Nor was she expecting to suddenly have the double security of both his hands holding hers.
It was for the purpose of crafting the tree swing, yes.
Yet, Sam could have easily helped her by picking up the drill, taking it into his own hands, and finishing the drilling on his own, if he'd really wanted to.
But no, Lillian surmised. Instead, he wants me to feel capable and accomplished and for us to truly work together, and...
It seems he wants to hold my hands, too, just as I want to hold his.
Perhaps this tree swing was turning out to be an even more proficient matchmaker than Eleanor.
Sam quickly shifted his focus from the drill to Lillian, the shyness from when he'd first asked her earlier if she'd like to spend time with him having reentered his eyes.
"Is this...alright?" Sam asked, worried he had overstepped, sensing the way she'd stilled in surprise.
Lillian reflected for another moment. Working with Sam Tremblay and creating something wonderful together for the children, drilling wood for the first time in my life with his assistance, and experiencing the warm security of his hands...being given the chance to let him take the lead and guide my hands in drilling, to humble and free myself to accept help and even affection...
This is all more than alright...I know, deep down, that this is all, in fact, really good for me.
"Yes," she answered him resolutely after a pondering pause. He felt the tension in her hands ease and detected the way they relinquished control and surrendered to his lead.
He also witnessed flickers of light come to life in her eyes, flickers that signaled her fusion of joy and continued shyness at the synergy she and Sam shared. Taking her illuminated eyes and verbal confirmation as the go-ahead to help her crank the drill's gear, he helped her set the drill into motion, continuing to exercise extra gentleness as he held and guided her hands.
With each passing day, it was becoming more and more evident to Lillian that Sam Tremblay was simultaneously a man of keen sensitivity and of great strength, and the combination was proving to be a rather formidable force for her heart. The way he channeled his physical and mental strength with a conscientious softness spoke volumes about his character.
His strong-but-soft manner is true strength, Lillian thought appreciatively, and she shot a quick prayer up to God to thank Him for Sam and the good man he was.
After just a short series of seconds, the fourth and final hole had been fully and officially drilled. It's too bad there aren't any more holes that need to be drilled, muttered the cheeky voice in Lillian's head, for Lillian found she would have been quite content to let Sam hold and guide her hands in drilling several more holes, had they needed to be done.
"You did it!" he exclaimed graciously, smiling at her proudly as he set down the drill and her hands with care.
"No," she replied, refuting his claim, "You did it. I didn't have enough strength to drill the hole on my own."
And you were so upset about that fact at first, Lillian Walsh, but...now you're quite happy it worked out the way it did and quite happy that Sam had to give you an extra boost, aren't you?
That cheeky voice in Lillian's head sure seemed to be enjoying making wisecracks these days. It was on a roll...
"We did it, Ms. Lillian. The both of us."
"That's still a generous assessment," she argued, stubbornly, but her mint-colored eyes were peppered with playfulness. "It was 95% you. Truthfully, more like 99% you."
"But even if that's the case, you still supplied anywhere between 1% and 5%," he pointed out, his blue eyes bouncing like a stirred-into-motion ocean, triggered by the winds of her teasing admissions.
He figured Lillian could not argue with math...or could she? On second thought, he concluded she could if she wanted to. Sam had noticed, from his time on earth, that women seemed to defy logic, and he'd deduced from his time around her that Lillian was ingenious, clearly the kind of woman who could outsmart anything.
Yet, surprisingly, she didn't provide any sort of rebuttal. She simply smiled from ear to ear at him, October fireflies frolicking in her eyes, flicking their warm flashes of light his way.
"Besides, your hands helped anchor mine so I could rotate the gear more efficiently," he pointed out, his grin tilting playfully to one side. She detected a fair bit of flirting from his choice of words.
"Is that so?" she couldn't help but flirt back, pink besieging her cheeks.
I do rather like the thought of being his anchor, and he being mine...
What is happening to you, Lillian Walsh? Flirting so freely...
The voice of reason was back in her conscience, fighting to usurp that cheeky one that had momentarily taken over its throne.
Sam kept grinning at her, his countenance back to looking rather like that of a pumpkin carved with a mischievous smile.
"You actually held back and let me take the lead, Ms. Lillian. Just like you did yesterday with letting me talk to Fred," Sam observed. His eyes danced and flickered with their own fireflies, even as he said seriously, "I'm proud of you."
"Maybe this whole accepting help thing isn't too bad after all," Lillian admitted, reflecting the warm glow of his eyes with her own.
"Now...is it time to seal the swing, Sam?" she asked him after a few moments, shifting back into business mode.
"Yes, just about," he acknowledged.
"Tell you what, though," Lillian noted. "It's now past noon, and we both need a bite to eat to get us energized for all our duties that lie ahead this afternoon. How about I go inside and bring out some ham, left over from two nights ago, along with some cheese slices? You can work on sealing the swing in the meantime, and then I can help you with threading the rope through the swing before I go pick up the children from school. How does that sound?"
"That would be great." On cue, Sam's stomach let out a loud rumble, and he bashfully blushed a little. "I am getting really hungry, to be honest."
"You're putting in lots of diligent work with this swing, so that's no surprise," Lillian told him, grinning at him all the while.
Blushing Sam is extra adorable. Seeing two instances of him blushing in one day is rather curious, Lillian thought to herself. Though I'm a fine one to talk, with how often I blush around him...
"Some hearty ham and cheese for tree swing master and Karate Master Sam coming right up," she teased him, making a play-on-words on his words he'd sent her way that pivotal day she'd agreed to his tree swing proposal: "One tree swing that withstands Karate master children coming right up."
He was doing quite a masterful job in crafting the swing, and right before drilling holes in the swing, he had, after all, pledged to jump off it in Karate master-style like the children, so her play-on-words fit well.
She was about to waltz on over to the orphanage in her graceful Lillian Walsh way, yet, before she did that, she did something that wasn't very sophisticated or refined.
Before she could hold her right boot back, it shimmied out from under her long, elegant skirt and gave Sam's left boot a swift little kick.
"Lillian Walsh! I dare say you have some Karate master of your own within you," Sam declared, surprise turning his eyes an electric blue.
"Maaayyybe I do," Lillian slung back impishly, her eyes scampering and scuttling.
"Well, since you've christened me Karate Master Sam, then maybe I should return your little kick by giving you a soft kick, too?"
"Or maybe you should save all your Karate moves for when you freefall from the swing," she laughed, freely and fully. If a butterfly could laugh on the tails of the wind as it flew, Sam surmised, it would sound like Lillian's laughter, buoyant and effervescent and full of vivid life.
"Hmmm...I'm not completely convinced...I think I can spare one little kick toward your boot," Sam concluded, and at that, Lillian didn't waltz toward the orphanage door—she positively darted.
But her small, petite stride was no match for Sam's much larger one, and he caught up to her lickety-split as Little Fred would say, and then ran ahead of her so he was waiting for her on the front porch steps.
"If you give me one little kick of my boot, will that permit me entry into the orphanage to assemble our lunch?" Lillian inquired from the bottom of the steps. "I may have to pay the price," she sighed, mock-dramatically, in gamesome surrender. "I'm rather hungry, too."
"Actually, instead of allowing me that little kick...can you please just bring out a slice of Eleanor's pumpkin bread along with our lunch? The children informed me that Eleanor did indeed make her pumpkin bread last night and you packed it in their school lunches as a snack today. I really would love to try it, if it's okay with Eleanor."
"Ahhh, of course! I'm so sorry we didn't offer you some at breakfast. I forgot!" Lillian apologized.
"No need to be sorry," Sam assured her. "I'm excited to try it shortly."
"And I'm excited for you to try it. It's life-changing, Sam. And I'm not joking!"
"Life-changing, eh? I can imagine it is, if it's as good as Eleanor's pies!"
"It's better. You'll see!"
"Maybe we should just bypass the ham and cheese, and instead, you should just bring out a whole loaf of her pumpkin bread for lunch."
"A very tempting idea, honestly, but we should probably still eat the ham and cheese for more nutritional value," Lillian giggled.
"If you say so," Sam teased.
On a mission to go get their lunch and dessert ready, Lillian set herself into motion to start climbing up the porch steps.
"Ms. Lillian? Would you like a hand?" Sam inquired.
She stopped, her right foot having made it to the lowest porch step and left foot hovering above the second. She had ascended the porch steps countless times on her own and certainly didn't need his help for this. Yet, staring into his kind eyes of crisp blue, knowing how lovely it was to hold his hand, and having already had practice shedding off some of her mulish self-reliance, she only hesitated for a second before conceding her hand to his.
"Th-thank you. I appreciate it," Lillian proclaimed as he helped her up to the front porch, feeling her mood shift from playful to deeply serious and a touch shy as she connected her hand to his. It felt odd to be letting herself accept nice-to-have help she didn't absolutely need, odd to be conceding her hand to a man's and simultaneously letting go of just a bit of that fierce independence that had seemed to stamp itself on the core of her being throughout her life.
But, truthfully, it also felt wonderful. A change was taking place in her spirit, heart, and soul. New colors were emerging and showing themselves, and a willingness to let herself fall for Sam and die to her old ways of self-sufficiency and stubborn pride was gradually materializing. It felt very freeing—and her conscience was telling her it was nothing but good and right, and, in fact, deeply necessary for her self-growth.
As she finished climbing up the steps, she stayed quiet, continuing to reflect on the transformation taking place within herself as well as the increasing tenderness she felt for the man beside her. Sam sensed the shift in her mood and felt it rub off on him, too. And something about holding hands with her made him suddenly grow more serious and contemplative, consistently and without fail.
Lillian turned toward Sam but didn't speak as they returned their hands to their sides. She kept her focus down toward the floor of the front porch with its many white wooden beams. Sam just let her think and be as she stood beside him. Though he was hungry, he had no intention of intruding on her pensive moment with words beckoning her to go get their lunch. And he himself took the moment to do some pondering of his own related to what had started to take shape between them.
After a handful of seconds, Lillian's empty stomach reminded her of her pledge to go retrieve some ham, cheese, and pumpkin bread for herself and Sam, effectively putting her brain back on its original track.
"S-s-sorry, Sam," she apologized, eyes slowing rising to his. "Another bout of deep thinking returned to me there."
"I figured," he responded, his eyes kind but also probing hers as if to try to pinpoint if she was thinking about what he thought she might be thinking about.
Something related to the growing possibilities and realities of them.
She saw that question clear as day in his eyes, and her heart responded by beating rather quickly and loudly. She barely resisted the urge to look back down at the porch's wooden beams, a now intense shyness having taken hold of her, though she wasn't completely sure why it did. Because the truth was, she had been thinking about her and Sam, and those beautiful possibilities, and her great personal growth that was coming about as a result of this special something that was coming to life between them.
Perhaps it all came down to the fact that allowing oneself to be vulnerable and take leaps of faith in surrender was indeed wonderful, but nonetheless still intimidating.
And it didn't help that Sam's eyes persistently did mystifying things to her heartbeat.
"I...I'm going to go get our lunch and d-dessert...I won't be long," Lillian managed to sputter out, skirting the question in Sam's eyes for the time being and ultimately losing her brave battle to maintain eye contact with him.
"Thanks, Ms. Lillian. And thank you for spending time with me and helping me with the swing. I couldn't have asked for better company. Yours is hard to beat."
Put at ease by his words, she felt the rhythm of her heartbeat regulate some, and her face relaxed into a comforted smile as her eyes promptly met his again.
Say it, Lillian. Say it, her conscience compelled her. Tell him you like spending time with him, too.
"I could say the very same for your company," she disclosed. Then, right before she opened the front door of the orphanage and temporarily disappeared within it, she pointedly added two words to her statement, addressing the benevolent handyman in a specific way she hadn't before.
"Mr. Sam." Playful affection danced in her tone, and the seafoam waves of her eyes, struck by the sun of his kind words, swept over his with warm endearment. A small smile played at her lips.
She'd called him Mr. Tremblay many times, and Sam a good number of times, too, but never Mr. Sam directly—she'd only used the appellation when speaking to the children about him.
Perhaps Lillian was answering Sam's wordless question from moments before, after all, by way of her tender moniker and expressive eyes that conveyed so much, even with so few words.
Sam seemed to sense the significance of the moment and returned Lillian's tender address and sweet look with a smile so winsome and soulful that it almost made Lillian forget about opening the front door to go retrieve the food.
Almost.
The last thing she wanted was for Sam to go hungry, and she had to prove to herself that her head wasn't totally in the clouds. So she pulled herself away from the moment semi-reluctantly and turned the doorknob of the front door, her formerly small smile now swiftly sweeping up her cheeks.
When she made it inside the orphanage though, before closing the door, she made it a point to fully turn back around and spiritedly flash Sam her now-unbound smile in answer to his.