Page 12 of Of Heather and Thistle

“Anyway,” Sam said, leaning back with a grin, the tension breaking as quickly as it had built, “I have to say, I’m impressed. Anne Shirley is a solid choice. But now I’m picturing you roaming the Scottish Highlands in puffed sleeves and talking to trees.”

Heather snorted a laugh, grateful for the sudden levity. “Hey, don’t knock puffed sleeves. Anne made them iconic.”

Sam grinned, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Noted. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for puffed sleeves next time I see you.”

Her heart fluttered at how he said it and the promise laced in his words. For the first time in forever, she let herself imagine what it might feel like to be open to something new. Let someone like Sam see the world through her eyes—and maybe help her see herself differently.

His gaze was steady, thoughtful. “You deserve something good, Heather. Something that’s just for you.”

She looked at him, her heart skipping at the sincerity in his voice. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

The room fell quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Then Sam shifted, his fingers brushing hers lightly where they rested on the cushion between them.

“You’ve been on my mind for a while, you know,” he said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers.

Heather’s breath hitched. “I have?”

He nodded, leaning in slightly. “Yeah. You’re smart, funny, and beautiful… and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So when I saw you yesterday at Evergreen, I figured, why wait?”

Her heart raced as his words settled over her. “I… I’m glad you didn’t.”

He smiled, his hand slipping over hers, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “Good.”

The space between them disappeared as he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly, testing before deepening the kiss. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face to him as his other hand rested lightly on her waist.

Heather melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss grew more heated. The warmth of the fire seemed to wrap around them, her thoughts spinning as his touch sent sparks through her.

When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “Stay,” he murmured, his voice rough, almost a plea .

Heather hesitated for only a moment before nodding, her pulse thrumming. “Okay.”

Sam smiled, brushing a wayward auburn curl from her face before pulling her into another kiss, and Heather let herself get lost in him: in that moment—in the feeling that, for once, she didn’t have to hold herself back.

Heather’s pulse raced. His forehead rested against hers, breath warm and steady.

Then—

He laughed.

Low. Awkward. Wrong.

And everything cracked.

Heather pulled back slightly, her brows furrowing in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

Sam shook his head, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

The taste of him was still on her lips.

Her breath was uneven, her body still thrumming from the way his hands had just gripped her waist, the way he had pressed into her like he needed her. And now—now he was acting … off .

Sam shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips, but something in his eyes flickered—like he was already bracing for impact. “It’s not a big deal.” His voice was too casual, too dismissive.

Heather let out a breathy laugh, still catching up to the moment. “You’re really going to say that after that ?”

His smirk faltered. “I just don’t think we need to do this.” A slow wave of unease crept over her skin. “Do what ?”

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Heather—” He leaned in again, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“No,” she cut in, the remnants of warmth still clinging to her skin now turning cold. “Don’t Heather me. Just say it.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not what you think.”

Her stomach twisted. “Then what is it? ”

Sam let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re overreacting.”

Heather’s eyes flashed. He was the one acting weird, he was the one hedging, but she was the dramatic one?

“I wouldn’t have to ask if you’d just tell me what’s going on instead of dancing around it,” she snapped.

Tension crackled between them like a live wire. Just minutes ago, this space between them had been electric , pulling them together like a force she couldn’t fight. Now it felt suffocating.

She sat back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, grounding herself. Steady.

“Tell me the truth.”

Sam hesitated. And then—

He snapped .

“You wanna know? Fine! ” His voice sliced through the quiet. “Ivy and I were talking the other day, and she suggested —”

Her stomach dropped.

The air turned cold.

“Ivy suggested?” she repeated, her voice like broken glass.

The room spun—memory slamming into place. Ivy, rolling her eyes: “He’s never spoken to me.”

But he had.

She lied.

Heather felt her breath lock in her throat, her skin turning to ice.

Sam reached for her then—maybe to reassure her, maybe to soften the blow, maybe just out of habit.

But the second his fingers brushed her arm, she flinched .

Sam went still. Heather forced herself to look at him, even as her vision blurred at the edges, even as the truth ripped through her like a knife.

“Ivy suggested?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, dangerously quiet. Sam didn’t speak. Not right away. And that was enough. Heather swallowed hard, her pulse roaring in her ears. Heather shook her head, her breath coming in shallow bursts. “So this wasn’t even your idea?”

Sam exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples like she was the one exhausting him. “You’re twisting this.”

Heather let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m twisting this? You just admitted my best friend pimped me out like some social experiment, and I’m the one twisting it?”

His jaw clenched, his frustration slipping through the cracks. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it, Sam ? ”

He raked a hand through his hair, his voice sharper now: “Damn it, Heather, you act like I hated the idea. Like I had to be forced to take you out.”

The words landed like a slap. Heather’s chest tightened, her breath hitching.

“ Wow. ” She pushed to her feet, putting space between them.

Sam must have realized what he just said, because his eyes flickered with instant regret.

“Heather, I didn’t mean—”

“No, you did… That’s the thing, Sam… You did mean it.”

His hands flexed, tension rippling through him as he leaned forward, settling on the edge of the couch. He gripped his hips like he was barely holding himself together.

“I—Shit, Heather! …Yeah, Ivy suggested it. …Yeah, I said yes. …But I didn’t do it out of pity! I did it because I thought—” He cut himself off, exhaling harshly with his gaze snapping up to hers. .

Heather stepped closer, her voice quieter but razor-sharp.

“Because you thought what , Sam?”

His eyes met hers, something raw and conflicted flickering in them before he scoffed, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Her heart cracked, her pulse roaring in her ears.

“It does matter.”

Sam’s expression hardened, but guilt still tugged at the edges.

“I liked you, Heather.” His voice was rough, like the words cost him something. “…not just because Ivy told me to. …not just because of her . ” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hell… if I had a brain, I would’ve realized she was using me just as much as I was using you.”

Heather swallowed, her throat tight. She suddenly felt like a stranger in her own skin—dressed in Ivy’s clothes, painted in Ivy’s colors, like she had stepped into a role she hadn’t even auditioned for. The realization curled in her stomach.

“But you didn’t have a brain.”

Sam shook his head.

“No. I didn’t.”

His eyes searched hers, desperate now.

“But then I got to know you, and I—”

Heather flinched back as if he’d touched her, holding up a hand.

“Don’t. ”

His mouth clamped shut.

Heather let out a shaky breath, anger and heartbreak swirling together into something unbearable.

The last time she had felt like this, she was standing over her father’s grave, realizing closure would never come.

Looking in the mirror, wearing Ivy’s choices instead of her own.

Always playing a role, always adjusting to keep people happy.

“You don’t get to find something real in this and expect that to undo what you did, Sam. You don’t get to pretend this was a mistake that just… happened.”

Sam’s face twisted, frustration and regret warring in his expression.

“It wasn’t—”

“—Yes, it was.” Heather’s voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “You used me. She used you. And I’m the only one who didn’t know I was playing a game.”

Sam took a step toward her, but she held her ground.

She crossed her arms, her voice trembling as she pressed him.

“So, what is this really, Sam? Yours and Ivy’s idea of a joke? A charity case? Or—”

Her stomach twisted as the worst possibility came to mind. Sam’s jaw tensed, his gaze darting away from hers.

That split-second of hesitation was all she needed to know the truth.

Heather’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “ Oh my God .“

He exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, it’s not like that. Ivy thought—”

“—Don’t you dare say that she thought I needed help,” Heather cut him off with her voice rising. “Because of this? This is worse than help! It’s humiliation!”

Sam stepped back, his hands raised as if to calm her.

“Ivy just wanted to give you a push. She thought maybe if you went out and had a little fun…”

Heather’s laugh was bitterly sharp.

“Stop sugarcoating it. What was the deal? …you’d take me out… play nice… and then—what? Get a gold star for effort?”

Sam flinched at her words, but after a moment of silence, he blurted out, “You want the truth? Ivy said if I took you out…”

He hesitated.

“She’d sleep with me.”

The silence snapped. And so did she.

Heather stood frozen, her pulse roaring in her ears. The warmth of Sam’s home, the soft flicker of the fire, the way he picked up the expensive tab—it all felt like a cruel joke now.

She thought she might be sick. Ivy had betrayed her. Her gaze flickered over Sam. Searching. Desperate to find something—anything—that wasn’t a lie. But there was nothing. Merely hesitation. Only regret. It was just… too late to fix it.

She let out a shaky breath, stepping back.

“Wow…” she murmured. Her voice was hollow, the word empty—devoid of the anger clawing at her chest. The sick feeling threatened to pull her under, the same way it always had.

The same way it had every time she bit her tongue, swallowed the hurt, let someone else decide who she was.

But not this time. This time, the weight didn’t sink her—it ignited her.

Her jaw tightened, breath quickening as the fire roared to life. She thought: You know what? No! —Fuck this .

She lifted her chin with dignity and in a voice that was no longer hollow—no longer small— she shouted:

“So is this some trade-off, Sam? …take out pathetic Heather and get rewarded with Ivy? …did you even plan on following through, or was I just a box to check off your to-do list before you get to have Ivy?”

Sam’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing—not with cruelty, but with frustration, like he wanted to deny it and couldn’t.

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, his tone almost pleading.

He closed his eyes briefly as though trying to summon the courage to respond. “Ivy might’ve promised me that, but Heather, I swear—after tonight, after being with you—”

“—Stop,” she cut him off, her voice breaking. “Just stop! Don’t try to turn this into some epiphany! You didn’t ask me out because you like me; you did it because you were chasing her. And now, I’m supposed to believe you suddenly care?”

Sam’s face crumpled with regret.

“Heather, I messed up, okay? I didn’t think it through. But tonight… tonight was real for me.”

Heather shook her head and took another step back, her voice quieter. “No, Sam. It was just convenient for you.”

Sam reached out to her once more.

“Don’t!” she said sharply, her voice cracking again as the betrayal and humiliation bubbled over. “You know the worst part? For a second, I actually believed you! I thought maybe—just maybe—you were different… but in the end, you were just another guy waiting for Ivy to pick you.”

Sam flinched.

Good. Let it sting.

“Enjoy your gold star.” She turned her back before he could answer .

“Heather—!”

She didn’t stop for him…

Didn’t look back.

She did not break…

…not here.

…not in front of him.

So she walked out.

The cold night air burned her lungs, but she barely felt it. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her breath coming fast, uneven. She kept moving, kept pushing forward, until the first tear slid down her cheek. Then another.

She wiped at them furiously, swallowing hard, but it was too late; the dam had cracked. She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she couldn’t stop. Not until she found somewhere safe to fall apart.

Not yet.