3. Sam

Itook a deep breath as I stepped off the elevator on our floor, anticipating the receptionist's reaction to my drastically different appearance. Normally, I loved chatting with Jessica when I arrived in the office, but today I was glad she'd stepped away from the desk for a moment. I quickly ducked down a side hallway that led directly to our corner of the open space.

I'd been working a few hours when the first person noticed, a sweet lady in her fifties from HR named Sally. "Oh my word, Samantha! Your hair! It looks so good on you!"

My hand flew to my now bare neck, and my fingers played with the short hairs there as I blushed. "Thank you," I replied as she oohed and aahed over my short cut for an appropriate amount of time then moved on. Sally was being sweet, and I appreciated it, but one thing stood out above the others.

My name.

It's Sam, I wanted to say. Shout. Hire a fucking skywriter. I stopped being Samantha the moment I knew I was a trans man, and I hated that I couldn't tell anyone that. I hated that no one knew the real me—no one ever had, really, even me. But now that I knew, I wished everyone else did, too.

I twisted back around in my chair as she went back to her office, adjusting my binder under my new white button-up shirt covered in tiny blue flowers that I'd paired with khakis, both from the new men's store I'd found. God, it was so euphoric shopping there. I'd dropped a good portion of my paycheck revamping my wardrobe over the last month, but it was money well spent. I looked goddamn good in my new clothes—but even better, I felt more like myself.

Hormone replacement therapy, however, felt more daunting. More real. More . . . permanent. It felt an awful lot like commitment, and that wasn't really my thing. I needed time to process, time for things to sink in, time for me to be able to make such an important decision.

Plus, doing it this way—cutting my hair, dressing in masculine clothes—felt good. Kind of. I mean, yes, it was euphoric, but who I was inside still didn't match up with who I saw in the mirror. I mostly avoided my reflection, because I still didn't feel like me.

I got back to work, and the loneliness crept in again. I thought I'd been lonely before, living as a straight woman with hardly any friends and acquaintance-esque relationships with my family, but knowing this major thing about myself and keeping it inside? I'd never felt so alone.

My job kept me busy, but while I worked, I mulled over an idea I'd had last night while reading Cameron's latest email. He'd never hidden the fact that he was trans himself. Maybe he would understand where my head was at, perhaps more than anyone else I knew.

Maybe I should reach out—anonymously, of course. Maybe I should just start a conversation, see where it went.

From his author pictures and the one or two author interviews I'd seen online, the man was goddamn sexy. I always did go for his type—blond hair, blue eyes, slim build—but I hadn't even started taking testosterone yet. He'd never want to date someone like me if he met me in person, say nothing of taking me to bed.

So maybe I could reach out online, where it was safe. Where he couldn't reject me for not looking like the man I now knew I was. Where I could stay anonymous and see if we had a spark.

God, that would be amazing if we did.

After work, I made myself a hot cocoa to feed my chocolate addiction, settled into my couch, and reread the email Cameron had sent this morning. Then I hit reply and typed up and sent an email before I could talk myself out of it.

My stomach flipped at the notification that popped up informing me the email had been sent, but a strange exhilaration thrilled through my veins. I was mostly a coward about everything—I took way too long to make decisions and rarely stood up for myself and what I wanted—but I'd been taking small steps toward the life I knew was meant to be mine, and this was just the next step. It felt right. Good. Ironically honest.

I smiled into my hot cocoa, took a sip, then lifted the mug into the air in a toast to myself. Here's to being brave. Again.