“You know,” Sam says, “when I was young, I was a huge crybaby.”

I laugh. “Isn’t everyone?”

“It lasted longer for me than other kids. Even when I was twelve, I cried over the littlest things. Everyone made fun of me, but I didn’t care. I was terrified of everything. I didn’t even like to go outside because I was afraid of being hurt.”

“That’s a little…”

“Embarrassing?” Sam laughs at the memory, and the sight of his wide, easy smile leaves me kind of breathless.  “Definitely embarrassing.”

“So what changed? You’re not like that at all, now.”

“I was walking home from school one day when a group of kids ran past me, pushed me into a lamppost. I hit it hard, broke my collar bone. It was the worst pain I’d ever experienced in my life, but you know something? I didn’t cry.”

“Why not?”

“Something changed in me when I broke that bone. For the first time, I felt real pain, and somehow it made all the other little pains so much less frightening, so I didn’t worry about them anymore. And it’s the same, I think, when we face real danger, real hardship. Suddenly all the little things from our comfortable lives, all the worries and anxieties that were pilling up, the mountains we made out of molehills, they all come into perspective, and they’re not so scary anymore.”

“Are you trying to tell me something? I’m not smart enough to read between the lines.”

“Now, I don’t believe that. Not for one moment,” he says, twinkling faintly at me.

“Really, I don’t. I’m not good at any of this. Please, Sam. Tell me what you mean plainly.”

He gets a serious look, and his face turns just a little hard. “You’ve been comfortable all your life, Frances.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying you’ve had it easy, growing up the way you did. But it was still comfortable. You said so yourself, camping at the crossroads, where things were familiar.”

“I guess…”

“But life… life happens outside your comfort zone. That’s where you gain new experiences. And it’s where you grow. Before you told me that preacher’s wife said you were immature. But I’ve watched you mature before my very eyes, in the space of just a few days. You know why?”

I shake my head, wide-eyed.

“Because you pushed out of your comfort zone, and tried hard things. And I believe, if you continue like this, bravely venturing outside your comfort zone again and again, you’ll find the person you were meant to be.”

“But a person can’t spend all their time outside their comfort zone, surely,” I say.

“Well, that’s true. Then you’d never rest.”

I consider his words, continuing to watch him as he watches me back over the top of his little table.

“I think you’re right,” I say at last. “I have been outside my comfort zone a lot recently, and it’s made me a little stronger. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed about me. I’ve found a new comfort zone. And I like it much better than the one I had before.”

“What do you mean? What new comfort zone?”

“You,” I say simply, and his pupils dilate slightly at my words. “You are my comfort zone. This, right now. It’s so comfortable. I want to stay here just like this forever.”

He swallows, reaches for his coffee, and I get the feeling his mouth’s gone dry.

“But, I can’t,” I continue. “If I don’t venture outside my comfort zone, things will never change.”

“Frances—”

“You don’t mind, do you?” I say, lifting out of my chair, leaning across the table so my face is mere inches from his. His lips part and I taste his breath as it mingles with mine, the flavor of coffee and cigarettes. His eyes are clouded as though with fever as I descend slowly to touch an experimental sort of kiss to his lower lip.

I pull away slightly, heart beating faster than it’s ever gone. I hold my breath, searching his eyes, silently questioning.

He stands suddenly, grabbing me by the arms to back me roughly against the wall. His mouth covers mine, and I squeak faintly, caught off guard by the strength of his kiss, by the force of his need. But I do not resist him. I feel my body surrendering naturally to his roughness, to his raw power. I am like jelly in his arms, all hot and quivering, for the first time in my life feeling truly alive.

Sam growls as he breaks the kiss suddenly, pressing his forehead to mine as our eyes lock in an intense gaze.

“This is wrong,” he says, voice hoarse.

“How could it be wrong?”

“I shouldn’t do this.”

“I want you to.”

“Frances.”

He growls again, fairly knocking my head into the wall with the force of his kiss. His hands, they’re just beginning to explore me with a fevered kind of impatience when a sudden rap at the door sobers us both in one bone chilling instant.

“Sam?”

Father!

Father doesn’t wait for Sam to answer, but opens the door only a split second after he jerks away from me, leaving me breathless against the wall, heart thrumming in my chest.

“Frances!” he exclaims when he sees me. “There you are! Do you have any idea what time it is?”

I shake my head and look to Sam, who only swallows. Father looks between us suspiciously, and I bite my lip self-consciously. I can already feel it swelling from Sam’s kisses. There’s no way Father doesn’t see it.

“What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” I answer quickly. “Sam invited me over for coffee and I lost track of time, is all.”

“Coffee? In your room at midnight?”

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Sam answers, his voice hoarse. “It won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” Father says, yanking me suddenly by the arm.

“You forget your place, hireling. This is not some serving wench you can seduce on your off hours. Frances is—” he cuts himself off with a warning glare, and Sam meets his glare with steely eyes and a tight jaw.

“I’m well aware of who she is, Mr. Porter. Please forgive this indiscretion.”

I don’t know why Sam’s words should cut me, but they do. I feel betrayed when he doesn’t reach for me, but lets Father pull me from the room.

I can understand his predicament. Father is his employer, and I’m his eldest daughter. Still, I can’t help but wish he’d been willing to throw it all away for my sake, and offered to run away with me.

I would have gone. I’d have left with him in a heartbeat, and gone anywhere he asked me.

I love him that much.

“You’ve no right to do this,” I protest as Father leads me back to the house, still keeping a tight grip on my arm. “I’m a grown woman, I have the right to see whom I choose, when I choose!”

“You’re mine!” Father cuts me off with a thunderous roar, and I squeak a little, falling back in fright at the fury I see in his face. “I’m the one that raised you! Kept you all this time! And I’ll be damned if I let some low-class nobody get his hands on—” he cuts himself off with a snarl.

“Father?”

“Don’t ever forget who raised you,” he says, pointing his finger threateningly in my face. “You owe me, Frances! You owe me!”

My eyes well with tears. “Owe you what? I can’t understand what you’re talking about!”

Father doesn’t answer, only resumes his trek to the house, yanking me roughly after him…