You woke up to sunlight bleeding in through the edges of the curtain, painting the cabin in soft gold. For a minute, you didn’t move—just let yourself melt into the warmth of Sam’s chest behind you, his arm heavy and protective over your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck.

It had been… everything.

You'd snuck out and spent the night with Sam. The most tender, beautiful night of your life. His hands, his lips, his words. He’d made love to you like it meant something. Like you meant everything. You smiled to yourself and closed your eyes again.

Until—the breath caught in your throat. Your eyes flew open. You bolted upright in the bed.

Sam stirred sleepily, blinking at the sudden movement. “Mm—baby? You okay?”

You looked around frantically, heart pounding. “Sam. Oh God. What time is it?”

He squinted at the little wall clock. “Nearly 7:30.”

Your blood ran cold. “Breakfast is at 7. My window was still open. If my daddy walks by and—oh God—he’s gonna know.”

Sam sat up quickly, raking a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

You were already climbing out of bed, grabbing your dress and hopping on one foot as you pulled it on, not even bothering with your shoes.

“I told myself to set an alarm,” you whispered harshly, heart racing. “We were so caught up in—oh no—what if my momma came in my room? What if they already—”

Sam stood and pulled some clothes on, his hair a ridiculous mess, boxers hanging low on his hips, watching you scramble with a mixture of panic and amusement. “Sweetheart, breathe. It’s gonna be okay.”

“No it’s not,” you hissed, shoving your arms through the sleeves and glancing out the window. “If they know I snuck out—especially to see you—I’m dead, Sam.”

You couldn’t even look at him. You were too red in the face, too jittery, too overwhelmed. But then he stepped up behind you, hands gently catching your waist.

“I’ll walk you halfway,” he said softly. “Through the east pasture, near the old trail. No one’ll see.”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You sure?”

He gave you a half-smile. “You’re my girl. Course I’m sure.”

So you kissed him once—quick and messy and full of adrenaline—and then you ran barefoot through the grass with Sam at your side. Away from the tiny cabin he shared with his brother on the edge of your daddy's property. Towards the big house that had never brought you as much joy as Sam's humble living space had in one night.

When you finally reached the edge of the trail, Sam stopped and kissed your forehead. “Text me when you’re safe in your room, alright?”

And with that, you ran for the house—sneaking around the back porch, slipping through the garden gate, breath caught in your chest like a stone. You climbed up the trellis and slipped in through your window just as your daddy called from the kitchen:

“Breakfast!"