‘Yep,’ she nodded, her chest feeling full and heavy with the pleasure of sharing his secret.
‘Ah. You always were desperate to escape to the big city,’ Sam said.
It wasn’t a question, so Amy didn’t answer.In all honesty, she couldn’t wait to taste true independence– not to mention enjoy a little urban anonymity.
As she and Sam approached the bridge over the stream that separated the old and newer halves of Rowton-in-Arden, Amy admitted to herself that he’d been right: blackness had smothered the village like a blanket, and she might have felt jumpy walking home on her own– even though Rowton’s extremely zealous Neighbourhood Watch group had arguably rendered it the safest place in Warwickshire. She didn’t tellhimthis, obviously. Instead, she teased him: ‘When was the last time you set foot on my side of the water? I hope you’ve had your jabs.’
It was a joke, but like all wisecracks it contained a kernel of truth. The wealthier residents of the village lived on the Rowton Hall side of the stream, which had been mentioned in the Domesday Book and was where almost all the buildings were deemed ‘of particular historical significance’. Over the water was a hotchpotch of pretty old cottages, allotments, the village primary school and newer housing, much of which dated from the 1970s when the village had expanded.
Sam laughed and shook his head. ‘No, but you’re worth the risk. Can’t have you heading back to Dodge with no defender.’ His voice was low and rich. It made her feel like something inside her was melting.
As Amy and Sam crossed the bridge, their fingers somehow twined loosely together. Amy wasn’t sure who’d initiated the hand-holding or even how it had begun, but the sensation of his skin on hers was electric. The touching of their palms felt like a circuit being completed– like a light coming on. She didn’t dare to look at him in case it flickered off again.
Neither of them spoke as they walked towards Amy’s house. Max lolloped along just behind them, tired now and clearly wondering why he was being taken on such a long walk at this time of night.
When they reached the small, timber-framed cottage owned by Amy’s grandmother, she led Sam away from the front door and instead stopped outside the old lean-to her long-departed grandad had built onto the kitchen before she was born. A large-ish window, waist-high from the ground, had been left slightly ajar.
‘You’re going in throughthere?’ Sam asked.
Amy nodded. ‘Makes less noise than the door, and she doesn’t know I’m out.’
Sam stared at her, eyes wide. She realised he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or disapproving and laughed out loud at his baffled expression: pleased, just this once, to have left him lost for words.
He glanced down at their still-joined hands, then raised his eyes to her face and said: ‘I like you, Amy. Really. Like, a lot.’
It came out in a rush, as if he hadn’t planned to say it but couldn’t hold the words in. He made a wincing face and then brought his gaze up to her eyes, searching them.
She said nothing, but thrilled at the tightening of his fingers around her own. She squeezed back gently– her hand apparently several steps ahead of her brain, which was yelling at her that she needed to stop this before she got hurt. Sam’s easy charm meant he was never short of female attention, but he also never seemed serious about anyone he dated or hooked up with. By contrast, Amy wasinherentlyserious– totally incapable of letting someone in and then shrugging it off as if it didn’t matter.
‘I’m pretty sure you think I’m a posh twat,’ Sam went on. ‘And I find you absolutelymaddeningmost of the time. But I like you. I argue with you even when I don’t disagree with you just to get your attention … Youarewrong aboutMuch Ado, though, just for the record.’
Amy threw him a withering look. ‘Do you have a point, My Lord?’
‘Eurgh,’ Sam said, kicking the toe of his trainer against a gap in the concrete slabs beneath their feet. ‘You know I hate that,Amaryllis.’
Amy grinned, pleased that she’d undercut the tension between them and scored a point– even at the expense of being called by the hated name on her birth certificate. Sam smiled back, then stepped closer. Her breath caught in her throat.
‘My point,’ he said, in a voice that was almost a whisper, ‘is that there’ll be no more classes, now. No more heated debates about Shakespeare or war poetry or Arthur Miller. So it’s time to settle the argument I’ve been having with myself for two years and justaskyou whether or not you like me back. Whether it might be okay for me to kiss you.’
His hair was shining like warm caramel in the weak light from the window and his dark eyes, almost black in the dimness, were wide. She felt like he could see right through her, right down to her bones, which seemed to be slowly dissolving.
Amy’s heart stuttered in her chest, her lungs beginning to burn as she reminded herself to breathe. Sam stepped a little closer and her pulse jumped, blood rioting in her veins. He dipped his head towards hers and she exhaled softly as she nodded, his lips grazing her mouth and coaxing it into a kiss.
Every romantic trope she’d ever scoffed at felt too small and tame for the sensation that seized her as Sam’s hands found her waist. The kiss deepened. Her fear of feeling it all too much diminished with every press of his lips, until what was left was a simple, frightening fact. She liked him, too. Really. Like, a lot.
Even now she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words out loud– she just kissed him harder, hoping that when they broke apart her shining eyes and shy nod would say enough.
Sam gently tucked a lock of inky hair behind Amy’s left ear, his thumb skating across her cheekbone as he withdrew it.
‘So …’ he said, sounding shyer and less sure than she’d ever heard him before. ‘Does that mean you’ll come to Mike’s birthday with me this Friday? To the party for his eighteenth?’
‘Yeah. It does,’ Amy said, despite her general aversion to social events and a vague dislike of Mike. He’d once referred to her as ‘spooky doll girl’ on account of her (lack of) height, goth-y wardrobe and huge blue eyes– and the nickname had stuck, becoming widely used among their peers, even though Mike had no doubt forgotten he originally coined it.
Sam’s face split in a smile that made Amy feel like her heart was fracturing.
‘I should go in,’ she told him. ‘Gran’ll do her nut if she realises I’ve sneaked out.’
‘OK,’ Sam said. He touched his lips to hers again: a light but lingering kiss this time.