A family comes in behind us, and the mom is nicely dressed in a pink sundress. Her daughter who looks to be about four or five is wearing a matching dress. They look so freaking cute, and their infant son is coordinating with the dad. The mom has a designer purse hanging from her shoulder and the hostess looks at them with a smile.

“Hi, how many?” she asks, and the mom looks at us, a bit confused.

“I think they were ahead of us.”

“Yes,” Sam says pointedly. “We were.” He looks at me, resting his hand on my arm. “Unless you want to go somewhere else, Chloe. I know you’re short on time since you have to work on your next bestselling book.” He says it on purpose, I know, and I love this slightly petty side of Sam.

“You’re Chloe?” the mom behind us asks. “Oh my goodness, I thought you looked familiar. Russ, this is Chloe Fisher, the girl who wrote the Nightfall series! Her photo is up in City Hall!”

The hostess’s face pales when she realized how incredibly stupid she was to stereotype us based on how we look. I turn, smiling broadly, and chat with the mom for a minute. She has a worn copy of the first book of the series in her car and sends her husband outside to get it. I sign it, take a photo with her, and then link my arm through Sam’s as we’re led to our table.

“Sorry if that embarrassed you,” he tells me once we’re seated. We’re on the rooftop, and only two other tables up here are occupied. Most people had enough sense to eat inside in the air conditioning today. We get a table along the balcony railing, with a green umbrella in the middle, giving us shade from the hot sun. “Maybe it was just me, but that hostess was bitchy.”

“Oh, she was, and it didn’t. It’s weird coming back here, though. I promise I don’t get recognized like this anywhere other than Silver Ridge.”

“Everyone loves a success story.”

“You’re successful.”

“I am,” he agrees. “But it’s not the same.”

“It’s not at all.” I open the drink menu, debating on getting a spiked lemonade for a second. It’s way too hot to drink alcohol, and sitting here with Sam is intoxicating enough. “You’re saving lives. I’m just writing about fictional people.”

“When you put it that way, I do sound awesome.”

I lean back in my chair, trying to stretch my shoulders. My bad posture all night paired with almost falling down a ravine has created a knot in my muscles. Sam’s phone rings, and he silences the call again, but not before I catch the name on the screen.

“Who’s Stacey?” I ask.

“My ex. We’ve had an on-and-off-again thing for a while,” he admits, looking right into my eyes. “I ended things for good a few months ago.”

“Should I be sorry?”

“Nah, not at all. I don’t want to sound heartless, but I never had high expectations for the two of us.”

“That does sound a little heartless.”

“We got along fine,” he goes on. “But there was never…never…”

“A spark?” I ask, heart skipping a beat as our eyes meet. Sparks are flying over here, threatening to ignite. Or at least they are for me.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“So, you’re single now?”

“I am.” He closes his drink menu. “What about you? Are you with anyone?”

My last public stint with Charles was two years ago. I’ve gone out on dates since then, and dated Aaron for three months before things fizzled out. “Single as well.”

Sam looks at me for a few seconds, gaze so intimate it makes me blush.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Remember that promise I made you?”

My mouth goes dry. Of course I freaking remember that promise. It was my first day of high school and the day had gone to hell by lunch. Sam swooped in and saved the day. He drove me home, told me I wasn’t undateable like I thought…and promised he’d marry me if no one else would.

“We’re both over thirty. You’re single. I’m single. Why not see where things go?” Sam grins, and my heart flutters.

“Just like that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I swallow hard. All I’ve ever wanted was to see where things go with Sam, but this…this feels contrived. It’s not the way I saw things going down, and I feel like I’m at an obvious disadvantage here. He had to have known the effect he had on me back in the woods, and he is more than aware of how incredibly good-looking he is. Add in that he’s all grown up and a successful doctor now…and he’s a heartbreak waiting to happen.

“I…I…” I don’t know what to say. How many times did I wish for just one chance with Sam? I was so sure that one chance was all I’d need to have him fall in love with me, to see me the way I see him. But this? This feels more like convenience—for him. Sunlight bathes his handsome face, causing the light blue specks in his eyes to sparkle. I should say no, that this is a bad idea. That this is only to end in heartache and pain for me.

But I can’t.

Because what if it doesn’t? What if things were to work out and I’m left wondering what if for the rest of my life if I did turn him down? The unknown is more torturous than any mistake I might make, and if Sam ends up being one, then he’ll be my favorite mistake.

He reaches out and puts his hand on mine. “How about we go out for drinks after dinner?”

“It’s Sunday. Is The Cantina open on Sundays now?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it.” Sam slowly trails his fingers down my hand. It’s nearly ninety-five freaking degrees out today and I’m sitting in direct sunlight, yet that man just sent a shiver down my spine. “I could always bring a bottle of wine over and we can sit by the lake while we drink it.”

Damn you, Samuel James Harris. That sounds wonderful.

“It’s been a long time, Chloe.” He gently flips my hand over and traces his fingers along the vein on the inside of my wrist. “We have a lot to…to talk about.”

“Yeah.” I quickly bob my head up and down. “T-talk…we should talk.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder if he really has. He tried contacting me for weeks after the incident at the party, until Farisha blocked him from my contacts. I got a new phone the next year when I went off Dad’s network plan, so he didn’t even have my number to call after that even if he wanted to.

But I’ve had a social media presence for years now, and my email is very easy to find on my website. My assistant handles all the emails sent to my “author address” and she definitely would have flagged a message from a former friend if Sam had tried to contact me that way.

“Mh-hm,” I squeak out, nodding once again. I’m getting hotter by the second, which has nothing to do with Sam’s hand on my wrist, long fingers still tracing the visible veins. Long fingers I’m imagining somewhere else.

“So what do you say?” He leans back, taking his hand off me and making me miss his touch immediately. His lips curve into another cocky grin, confident enough to be sexy but not arrogant. “Should we make good on that promise?”