“You still haven’t answered my question. Why. Are. You. Here?”
Sam sets a paver down carefully. “I was finishing the fire pit. You always said you wanted one at each cabin so guests could sit by the river, watch the sunset. I figured I could?—”
“You figured you’d just insert yourself intomyproject?” My voice cuts. “You didn’t even want to build this with me, remember? You were too busy building someone else’s dream.”
He doesn’t take the bait. Just looks at me like he’s memorizing my face.
I scan the site. Then it clicks. “It’s you. You’ve been doing the extra work, not Bennet.”
He hesitates.
“There was no kickback, was there? Why haven’t I seen Bennet? Did you threaten him?”
Sam runs a hand over his neck. “Not exactly. And I didn’t know the quality of his work, so I didn’t want to risk it with you.”
“Oh,that’srich. Now you’re worried about pulling me into something sub-par? What about Rick? Mandy? Hell, the salon business as a whole.” I sputter, my blood boiling.
Sam’s jaw tightens. “I'm looking into it.”
“Youshould havelooked into it. Before giving away everything we saved.”
I grab my paint samples and stalk toward the cabin. He follows but doesn’t speak. I start testing colors, brushing them in side-by-side swatches. Trying to ignore the feeling of him standing behind me.
But I do. God, I do. He leans in, warm breath against my ear. “Good choices. Which one’s your favorite?”
I keep my voice even. “Option three. Clean. Soft contrast with the scenery.”
“Perfect,” he murmurs. I hear his phone click; he’s snapping a pic of the paint name.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“Picking it up for you. I’ll start painting this week.”
I whirl around. “No. You don’t get tofixthis by swinging a hammer and playing helper. This is mine. I’m doing this without you.”
“I know. I just … want to contribute. However you’ll let me.” His voice is too soft, too damn sincere.
“Youhadthe chance to contribute, Sam. And instead, you gave it away. You chose Holly.”
“I know.” He’s pacing now, agitated. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About why I did it. About how I’ve always tried to be the fixer. The one who saves the day. And with Holly … I’ve always been her hero.” He stops and looks at me. “But you neverneededsaving, Becca. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
“You think because I keep it together that I don’tneedto be taken care of?” My voice cracks. “You know what it does to me—feeling insecure about money. How hard I’ve worked to feel safe. Just because I don’t fall apart on the outside doesn’t mean I’m not screaming inside.”
Something moves across his face, not guilt exactly, recognition.
“I know. I see that now.”
“No. Youdon’t. Because if you did, you would’ve never drained our accounts behind my back.”
He doesn’t respond, his mouth opens slightly then closes. But he looks as devastated as I feel. I storm away toward my car, needing the space between us. Before I open the door, I turn and look at him.
“You didn’t just break my trust. You made my worst fearreal.”
He swallows hard, jaw flexing. “I want to fix it,” he says quietly. “I know words aren’t enough, but I swear—you’re the only woman I ever want to take care of. The only one whoevermattered.”
I say nothing.
“I’ll go,” he says at last. But he walks to his truck and returns with a small box. “Here. For you.”
