Sam and Cora's first story appeared in the 'First Time' category. Quite a few readers asked for more (thank you for such lovely feedback) and so, with more than a little trepidation (because it's hard to send characters out into the world after spending so much time with them), here's a second chapter about them.
It can be read independently of their first encounter, although it's probably better to get their backstory before reading this installment.
If you're nervous of being left on a cliffhanger, don't be. This episode has a beginning, middle and end that are hopefully satisfactory.
Everyone in this story is over the age of 18.
Please leave a comment if you'd like to, because I really enjoy reading them.
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The bus is inching its way along the road and I can't stop myself from tapping my phone with tight impatience. I stare out of the window, made grimy by the sharp sunlight, willing the bus to move faster, but it makes no difference. In fact, the opposite happens as the bus grinds to a complete standstill. I grimace; tap out a message to Sam.
'Bus slower than a Very Slow Thing. Be there when I can. X'
It's been seven very, very long weeks since we've seen each other. And I've missed him more than I thought possible. Missed him so much it's felt like physical pain. Up until then, we've been managing to see each other at least every couple of weeks since I went back to college in September. But at the beginning of May his mum, Mary, had another stroke just the day before Sam was due to come up to see me. She's ok now, hopefully.
Anyway, the following weekend I'd booked advance tickets to go down to London the trains were cancelled, because some cretins had stolen the overhead lines. That happens, apparently. Sold for their scrap value. And then I was into finals - a three-week purgatory of black coffee, revision, sweaty palms, bad sleep and examinations.
I look up to see a couple of passengers banging on the doors, demanding the driver let them off the bus. A loud argument ensues until, after five loud and sweary minutes, the driver capitulates (and breaks all health and safety regulations) and opens the doors. Everyone starts piling out of the bus.
'Looks like an accident up ahead,' the woman sitting next to me says before she, too, stands up and steps off the bus.
I sigh.
'You getting off, love?' the driver calls to me.
Even now, the universe is conspiring to keep me from Sam. I start walking. It's probably only just over a mile and the sun is out, so it could be worse. My phone vibrates in my hand. It's Sam.
'No worries. I'm just here doing some work and waiting for you. X'
My heart does a little flip. Huh. I'm nervous. It's been so long since I've seen him. But that's not the only reason. We've also had a bit of a scare. My period was late last month and, for a few days, we'd contemplated the possibility of me being pregnant. I wasn't. But it'd been a tough thing to deal with when we couldn't be with each other. I've worried each time Sam sounds distracted or distant on the phone. What if the prospect of a baby has made him realise I wasn't who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with? What if he's regretting the whole thing? What if I'm not living up to his ideal of me? Scary thoughts.
I'm coming up to where the accident is, except it's not an average looking accident. A white van has mounted the pavement on the other side of the road, smacking into a phone box in the process, but the van itself is empty, the doors flung wide open, no sign of a driver or any passengers. A plastic bag abandoned on the road. Two police cars look to have been in pursuit; now stationary behind it. More unusually, it's completely surrounded by armed police. Pedestrians like me are being kept away by incident tape and more police of the average kind - no guns - who wave us on, encouraging us to keep moving.
My phone vibrates again.
'How much longer? I'm missing you x'
I smile and almost hug myself. I can't wait to see him. And I've got a little surprise I hope he'll like. I quicken my pace.
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'Hi! I'm here, finally! Sam?' calling up the stairs as I push the front door closed with my foot. 'Sam?'
'Up here. I'm on a call with Sanjeev.'
I take the stairs two at a time, duck my head into my room at the front of the house. He's sitting at my desk talking to Sanjeev on Skype. I dump my bag on the floor then retreat to the bathroom for a pee and to wash my hands and face. He's still talking when I get back, so I walk over and wave.
'Hi Sanjeev.'
'Oh hi, Cora. We're just about finished here, so you can have Sam back.'
He's smiling at me, then looks back to Sam. They start drawing their conversation to a conclusion. I lie my hand flat on the back of Sam's neck and feel the tremor skip through his spine. I love the way his body responds to my touch. I leave it there, anticipating what it will feel like to rub my palm over his hair where it's so short at the back, where it feels smooth one way and rough the other. He's just had it cut, by the look of it. Huh.
I rub my thumb against the gold chain he wears, pressing it into his skin. He squirms in the chair a little bit and I smile. Sam's really here. At last.
He finally reaches forward and kills the screen. And swivels in the chair, grabbing me to pull me down to his face.
'Hey, beautiful,' as he tips his mouth to mine and kisses me.
He's a little bit tentative. It's not just me who might be nervous, then. Huh. I open my eyes to look into his. They're as blue as always and, yes, they seem full of questions. I pull back.
'I'm so happy to see you, Sam,' I say.
'Me too, C. Me too.'
He pulls me down for another kiss. Less tentative. Nice. We lose ourselves in it until his laptop dings. An incoming email.
'Mmm, sorry Cora, but I said I'd look at what Sanjeev has written now so we can get the application off by the end of today.'
'Ok,' I shrug. They're applying for another round of funding for their business. 'Want me to help proofread it?' I offer, and Sam nods.
I look around my room. I've packed all my stuff into boxes and plastic crates, ready to move out and for us to drive it back to London tomorrow. I pull a couple of the crates over to the desk, pile one on top of the other and sit, looking over Sam's shoulder at what he's got onscreen. We read it together. I make some suggestions to improve the language and spot some typos. He makes the changes while I sit there feeling happy to be this close to him, breathing in his distinctive smell of soap and washing detergent and - well - just him. Watching his fingers tapping over the keyboard. I shuffle myself closer, close enough that my breath brushes his skin and I look, fascinated, as his short hairs rise up in response. He shivers.
'That tickles,' he murmurs as he taps away at the keyboard.
I smile. To myself, I suppose, as he can't see me, the way I'm sitting just behind him.
'You're just over-sensitive,' I tease him.
He hits 'send' with a flourish, then hooks his arm up and around my head to pull me down to his face again, dropping his head back to meet me, treating us both to another very nice kiss. His tongue strokes mine in a slow, deep exploration of my mouth. My body starts to heat up. It's been so long. I slide my hand up into his hair; feel the tremor down his back and his intake of breath.
'Sam,' I whisper against his lips, pulling away to see the look on his face. 'I've missed you so much.'
He nods, his eyes flicking open, a pink flush crawling up his throat.
'Me too, Cora. It's been much too long.'
