Sam hated that word, but she knew what he meant, and her hand went to his on her shoulder and covered it. "No, don't be sorry," she said, squeezing a little. "It's not like you weren't asking about something I wasn't thinking about anyway." She sighed, shifting a little, restless and unsure. "And I know what you mean... about it being more than that. It really is."

And that was what made it so difficult. They might cuddle and kiss and make out and maybe more, and that was good--really good--but if it came down to it she could give that up, if she had to, to go back and make things right. It would be hard, but she could make herself do it. But if they went further than that, it would not just be difficult to go back. It would be impossible; and it would be unfair to Jack, too, especially knowing it would mean as much to him as it did to her.

Despite all that, when he was looking at her like that and pouring his heart out, so blatantly honest in a way he never was, free of the sarcasm and the immature humor that were part of his normal front to the world, she couldn't help but want him. And more than that, she wanted him to know it, especially after what he'd told her. She had to kiss him.

Sam leaned in, her hand falling from his on her shoulder to rest on his bare chest, and kissed him; just a soft brush of lips, careful, but full of all the things she couldn't say without sounding like a fool.