Page 11 of Of Heather and Thistle

By the time dessert arrived, a shared tiramisu served on a delicate glass plate, she realized she hadn’t thought about her father, the letter, or the estate for the entire evening.

Sam caught her staring at him as he took a bite of the dessert, his fork pausing midair. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, looking away.

“No, seriously,” he pressed, his tone teasing but soft. “What were you thinking?”

Heather hesitated, then decided to take a chance. “I was just thinking… this is the first time in a while that I’ve felt like myself.”

Sam’s expression softened, and he set down his fork, leaning across the table slightly. “Well, for what it’s worth, I like you. The real you, no matter what that looks like.”

Her chest tightened at his words, and she didn’t know what to say momentarily. So she just smiled, lifting her glass in silent acknowledgment.

As they stepped out into the brisk night, the cool air kissed her flushed cheeks, but it did little to calm the warmth simmering beneath her skin.

The gentle buzz of the city surrounded them—the soft roar of distant cars and the occasional conversations of passersby.

But Heather was hyper-aware of the man walking beside her.

The heat of his presence beside her, the casual brush of his arm against hers, sent a quiet thrill through her as they walked to the car.

Sam glanced at her, his chocolate-brown eyes gleaming under the soft glow of the street lamps. “You’re quiet. You okay?”

Heather tucked a strand of curly red hair behind her ear, her freckled cheeks burning under his gaze as they walked.

“Just… thinking,” she said, her voice soft.

“Thinking?” he repeated, his grin tilting into something mischievous. “About how charming I am, or how much you regret letting me order the wine?”

A laugh escaped her, light and breathy. “You’re dangerously confident, you know that?”

“Confidence isn’t dangerous unless you’re resisting it,” he teased, stepping closer.

Heather rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her lips from curling into a smile. “You didn’t have to pay for dinner,” she said, her tone teasing but soft.

“Consider it an investment,” he replied smoothly, his hands slipping casually into his pockets.

Investment?

The word barely registered before he continued. His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if she were the only person on the street.

“Besides, it gives me a reason to see you again.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “An investment, huh? Sounds like a business transaction.”

Sam smirked. “And what exactly am I investing in?”

Heather tilted her head. “Depends. Is this business or pleasure?”

His brow flicked, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Why can’t it be both?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her, sinking under her skin like whiskey on a cold night. She should have said something clever, something to keep the upper hand. But right now, she didn’t want to win.

She just wanted to stay.

His voice dropped slightly, rich and warm as molten honey. “Unless this was a one-time deal?”

Heather looked up at him as they stopped beside the car door, her shining emerald eyes meeting his. How he held her gaze — like he was reading all her unspoken thoughts — sent a shiver down her spine.

“I don’t think it is,” she whispered, the words leaving her lips before she could second-guess them.

“Good,” Sam breathed, stepping closer, his body just a single breath away from hers. He dipped his head slightly, his gaze flickering to her lips before returning to her eyes. “Because I’ve already decided I like seeing you.”

The heat in his voice, the deliberate way he leaned closer, made Heather’s pulse race. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her stomach coiling with nerves and excitement.

“I think I like that too,” she said softly, her words barely audible over her heartbeat.

Sam’s smile was slow, wicked, and impossibly charming.

“Careful, Heather…” His voice was low and smooth, his breath brushing against her skin. “You’re making me think I’ve met my match.”

The air between them thickened, his proximity intoxicating. But then he stepped back, his hand brushing hers briefly before retreating. Sam opened the passenger door of his sleek black sedan for her, his fingers barely grazing the small of her back as he guided her in.

Heather’s heart pounded. She had expected to head back to Ivy’s apartment, recounting every detail over a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, when he’d casually asked, “Do you want to come over for a nightcap?”

She hadn’t even hesitated. Something about him—something magnetic—made her want to throw caution to the wind. As he slid into the driver’s seat, the glow of the dashboard lights cast sharp angles across his profile. He glanced at her, that easy, confident smile tugging at his lips.

“…‘sure about this?”

Heather exhaled with a mix of nerves and excitement buzzing under her skin.

“Yeah. I am.”

* * *

The drive to his house was quiet but comfortable, the tension between them simmering just below the surface.

Heather’s fingers played absently with the hem of her dress, her mind racing with a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

Sam seemed so effortless, so sure of himself.

She couldn’t believe she was sitting beside him, heading to his house.

When they arrived, Sam pulled into the driveway of a modern townhouse, sleek and understated, much like him. He parked and turned to her, his gaze soft but intense. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Heather smiled, trying to steady her breathing as she exited the car. The air was crisp, and she wrapped her arms around herself as he unlocked the front door and gestured her inside .

The interior was warm and inviting, with dark wood floors, leather furniture, and shelves lined with books and records. A low fire crackled in the living room, casting a golden glow.

“Wow,” she said, slipping off her heels and looking around. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

Sam raised an eyebrow as he hung up his coat. “What were you expecting? Beer cans and a beanbag chair?”

Heather laughed. “No, I mean, I knew you had good taste. I couldn’t picture it.”

He smirked, stepping closer. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Make yourself comfortable—I’ll grab us something to drink.”

She wandered into the living room, her fingers grazing the spines of the books on his shelf. It felt strange to be here, in his space, surrounded by pieces of his life. When he returned, holding two glasses of sweet port wine, she sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a glass before sitting beside her, close enough that their knees brushed.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. The smooth undertones of sweet summer berries and richly-dark chocolate coated her tongue, warming her from the inside out.

Sam leaned back, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, his easy confidence drawing her in. He gave her an amused smile, tilting his head.

“So… what’s your favorite book? I’d imagine a girl who spends her life surrounded by stories has to have one she’s devoted to.

Let me guess—Bronte? Austen? Maybe a little Dickens?

Or one of those grocery store romances you like so much?

” He gestured toward his bookshelf, the teasing lilt in his voice unmistakable.

Heather chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I wouldn’t say I’m devoted to literature. I enjoy it, sure. But I don’t think I’m really devoted to anything.”

Sam’s grin faltered slightly, replaced by something more curious, almost tender. “Nothing? Not even one thing?”

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the stem of her wineglass.

“It’s not that I don’t care about things—I do.

It’s just…” She paused, searching for the right words.

“… devotion requires freedom—time… space… room to breathe. And for so long, my life has been about survival. Knowing when to step back, when to keep my head down, when to let things go. You learn quickly not to hold on too tightly when leaving is easier than being left behind. I’ve never had the luxury of giving myself over to something completely. ”

Sam’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression thoughtful as he studied her.

“That sounds like a heavy way to live.”

Heather offered a slight, self-conscious shrug.

“It’s all I’ve ever known, really. But now, with this whole Scotland thing…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, brushing away the thought. “…maybe things are changing. I don’t know.”

Sam leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee. “If you could pick one thing to devote yourself to—one thing that’s just for you—what would it be?”

Heather blinked at the profound question, caught off guard.

“I… I’m not sure. I’ve never thought about it.”

She glanced down, a faint smile tugging at her lips to pull the conversation somewhere lighter. “But if we’re talking books, Anne of Green Gables is probably the closest thing I have to a favorite.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Anne of Green Gables? That’s not what I expected.”

She laughed, the sound lighter than she felt.

“I read it when I was a kid. I think I fell in love with Anne because she saw the world differently, you know? She made things brighter, even when they were hard. She wasn’t afraid to dream.”

Sam smiled, his voice softer now. “Sounds like she left an impression.”

Heather shrugged, her cheeks warming at the intimacy of the moment. “I think I wanted to be like her. Brave, hopeful… open to life, even when it doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re more like her than you think,” Sam said, his tone genuine.

Heather’s eyes widened slightly. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he said, holding her gaze.

Her breath caught, the sincerity in his eyes disarming her. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think. And maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe there was more of Anne in her than she gave herself credit for.