My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 102 ALMOST

NOVA / ELIZABETH POV

"Dad! Dad, look what I found!"

I looked up from my laptop to see Phoenix running toward Sam with a rock clutched in his chubby five-year-old hand. My heart did that painful twist it always did when the boys called him that.

Dad.

Sam looked up from the fence he was fixing in Mrs. Albert’s backyard — one of his many handyman jobs around town—and grinned. "What’ve you got there, buddy?"

"It’s shiny! Like treasure!" Phoenix held up the rock, which was definitely not treasure. Just a regular rock with some mica that caught the light.

"Wow, that’s a good find. We should add it to your collection." Sam ruffled Phoenix’s dark hair, and the resemblance to Grant hit me like it always did.

Both boys had his grey eyes. His strong jawline, even at five years old. His dark hair that never wanted to stay flat. They looked so much like him that sometimes I couldn’t breathe when I looked at them.

Strangers in town never questioned that Sam was their father. Why would they? He was the one who showed up to their preschool events. The one who taught them how to ride bikes. The one they ran to when they got hurt.

He was there. Grant wasn’t... I know I’m the one to blame for that actually...

And that reality has been my constant companion for five years now.

"Mama! Asher took my truck!" Phoenix abandoned his treasure hunt to tattle on his brother.

"Did not!" Asher’s voice came from under the porch where he’d been playing. "You left it!"

"Boys," I called out in my practiced mom-voice. "Share or I’m taking both trucks."

Grumbling ensued, but they sorted it out. They always did. The boys were close ; ridiculously close for twins who spent all day together. Phoenix was the adventurous one, always finding "treasure" and climbing things he shouldn’t. Asher was quieter, more thoughtful, but just as stubborn when he wanted to be.

Both of them were perfect. And both of them would never know their real father.

"How’s the writing going?" Sam asked, walking over to where I sat at the picnic table with my laptop. He smelled like sawdust and sweat, and his shirt had a tear in the shoulder I’d need to patch later.

"Slowly," I admitted, looking at the document on my screen. Three hundred thousand words of a romance novel I’d been working on for the past two months. "I keep getting stuck on the climax."

"That’s because you’re overthinking it," Sam said, leaning against the table. "You always do that. Just write what feels right and fix it later."

He’d been the one to encourage me to start writing in the first place. After the boys turned three and started preschool, I’d had more free hours than I knew what to do with. Mabel had cut my hours at the diner to part-time, insisting I needed to do something for myself.

"You’re smart, Elizabeth," she’d said. "Too smart to just pour coffee for the rest of your life. Do something with that brain of yours." 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Sam had agreed. He’d bought me a used laptop for my birthday—well, Elizabeth’s birthday, the fake one on my fake ID—and told me to stop making excuses.

"You love books," he’d said. "Why not try writing one?"

So I did. And I’d discovered I was actually good at it. Good enough that I’d self-published my first romance novel six months ago under a pen name. It had sold better than I’d expected and it was enough to start a small savings account for the boys’ future.

"Maybe you’re right," I said, closing the laptop. "I’ll come back to it later with fresh eyes."

"That’s my girl." Sam said it casually, like he always did, but the words made my stomach flip every time.

His girl. Except I wasn’t.

Not really.

We’d been dancing around this thing between us for five years now. This more-than-friends, less-than-lovers limbo that neither of us seemed ready to define.

Sam had never pushed or demanded to know about the boys’ father or why I’d showed up in Petals Creek pregnant and alone. He had instead stayed, helped and became a fixture in our lives so gradually that I didn’t notice until it was too late to imagine life without him.

And I did love him. Not the way I’d loved Grant. No, that had been all-consuming, destructive, the kind of love that burned everything to ash. This was different, it’s calm, gentle and I felt safe in a serene way.

Sam was steady and reliable. He showed up when he said he would. He didn’t have secrets or dark pasts or ex-wives trying to kill me. He was just... Sam. A good man who fixed things and made the boys laugh and looked at me like I was worth something.

But I couldn’t give him what he deserved. Because part of me was still in love with a man I’d never see again. A man who didn’t know he had two sons who looked exactly like him.

"Elizabeth?" Sam’s voice pulled me back. "You okay? You’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you go somewhere else in your head." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his calloused fingers gentle. "Where do you go when you do that?"

Nowhere you want to know about, I thought. But I couldn’t say that.

"Just thinking about the book," I lied.

He studied me for a moment like he didn’t quite believe me, then nodded. "Well, stop thinking so hard. You’re going to give yourself a headache."

"Dad!" Asher ran over, his grey eyes wide. "Can we get ice cream? Please?"

"That’s up to your mom," Sam said, but he was already reaching for his wallet.

"Please, Mama?" Phoenix joined in, and suddenly I had two pairs of Grant’s eyes staring at me with identical pleading expressions.

"Fine," I said, trying not to smile. "But you both have to take a bath tonight without complaining."

"Deal!" They said in unison, already running toward Sam’s truck.

Sam laughed and offered me his hand to help me up. When I took it, he didn’t let go right away, he strangely held my hand for a second longer than necessary, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.

"Sam..." I started, not sure what I was going to say.

"I know," he said quietly. "I know you’re not ready and I’m not pushing, Elizabeth. I’m just... I’m here. Whenever you are ready."

The problem was I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready. How could I be when I was still Elizabeth Moore instead of Nova Hart? When every time I looked at my sons I saw Grant? When I was still living a lie?

But Sam didn’t know any of that. He just knew Elizabeth—the woman I’d become. The single mom who wrote romance novels and waited tables and loved her boys more than anything.

Maybe that was enough. Maybe it could be enough.

"Ice cream?" I said instead of addressing any of it.

"Ice cream," Sam agreed, letting my hand go.

We piled into his truck, which was a bigger one now than the old beater he’d had five years ago. Sam had done well for himself. He’d taken over his father’s handyman business two years ago when his dad retired, and it turned out Sam was not only good at fixing things but good at running a business too.

He had regular clients now. Mrs. Albert, who always had something breaking in one of her rental properties. The church, which needed constant maintenance. Even some of the bigger houses on the outskirts of town hired him for renovations.

He made decent money. Enough that he’d bought a small house last year, it had three bedrooms, a yard, and a porch. He’d shown it to me the day he closed on it.

"Room for a family," he’d said, looking at me with meaning I’d pretended not to understand.

The ice cream shop was packed with families. The boys got chocolate—their favorite, just like Grant’s had been—and made a mess of themselves within seconds.

"Here." Sam handed me a napkin, laughing as Asher got chocolate all over his shirt. "How do they manage to get it everywhere except their mouths?"

"It’s a talent," I said, wiping Phoenix’s face while he squirmed.

An older woman at the next table smiled at us. "You have a beautiful family."

The words hit me like they always did. Beautiful family. Like we were a unit. Like Sam was their father and I was his wife and we were just a normal, happy family enjoying ice cream on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Thank you," Sam said easily, used to these comments by now.

I just smiled and said nothing. Because correcting people felt like it would require explaining everything, and I couldn’t do that without unraveling the entire lie I’d built.

Later, after we’d dropped the boys off at home and Sam had helped me give them baths despite their protests, he lingered at the door like he always did.

"Thanks for today," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "You didn’t have to take time off work."

"I wanted to," Sam said. He was standing close enough that I could smell his soap, see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I always want to, Elizabeth."

The way he said my name, my fake name made guilt twist in my stomach.

"Sam—"

"I’m not asking for anything you can’t give," he said quickly. "I just need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you’re running from, whatever happened before you came here... it doesn’t matter to me. This, right here, is what matters."

He gestured to the apartment, where the boys were giggling in their room.

"They call you Dad," I whispered.

"I know."

"It’s not fair to you."

"Let me decide what’s fair to me." He reached out and cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin. "I love those boys like they’re mine. And I—" He stopped, swallowed. "I care about you, Elizabeth. A lot."

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch despite myself and I knew it would be so easy to just say yes. To let Sam be the answer. To let Elizabeth Moore be real instead of the ghost I was pretending to be.

But I couldn’t. Not yet.

"I care about you too," I said, and it was the truth. Just not the whole truth.

Sam smiled, sad but understanding. "That’s enough for now."

He pressed a gentle chaste kiss to my forehead and it was nothing like the possessive way Grant used to kiss me.

I closed the door and leaned against it, listening to his truck drive away.

"Mama?" Phoenix’s voice called from the bedroom. "Can Dad come to my birthday party?"

Dad. Not Sam. Dad.

"Of course, baby," I called back. "He’ll be there."

I walked to my laptop and opened my manuscript. The romance novel about second chances and new beginnings and learning to love again.

If only real life was as simple as fiction.

If only I could write myself a happy ending that didn’t feel like a betrayal of everything I’d lost.