Page 100 of Sawyer

At the same time, my head’s all mixed up. I love living by myself. I also love the idea of inviting Sawyer inside and having him stay for the foreseeable future.

I want to do nothing tomorrow. I also want to go over to Sawyer’s house and shamelessly flirt with him while our girls have a playdate. Maybe stay for lunch and dinner too, which we could make together in his cute little kitchen.

I want my independence, but I also want to be known and seen and heard the way Sawyer knows me, sees me, hears me.

He pulls up to the carriage house and puts the truck in park. He doesn’t cut the ignition. He looks at me and I look back, my stomach dipping. He looks impossibly handsome in the green and red lights of the dashboard.

“This is going nowhere,” I say.

His eyes flick to my mouth. “Total dead end.”

“We’re complete opposites.”

“Sad, when you think about it.”

I give his hair a little pull. “Can I pick you up next time?”

He laughs, a deep, satisfied rumble that draws my nipples to hard points. “I thought y’all were coming over for a playdate tomorrow?”

“I’m still invited?”

“You and June are still invited, yes.” His gaze locks on mine. “Y’all like grilled cheese and tomato soup? My dad used to make it for us on cold days. Ella’s obsessed and asks to have it for lunch all the damn time. I’ll make extra sandwiches for them to take to school on Monday. I also bought bubbles and some new Play-Doh for the girls if the weather stays nice.”

I don’t know why his question has me biting my lip and looking away.

No, wait, I totally know why. It’s because he’s thinking ahead again. Already making plans, thinking about whose needs have to be met and when.

It’s work I’ve always done. Work Dan never appreciated and never did himself, even though I begged him to for years.

“I love your parents,” I blurt.

Sawyer’s brows pop up. “Uh. I do too?”

“They raised you right, Sawyer.” I move my hand to cup his cheek. “You just might be the best man I’ve met. Ever.”

“Because I make grilled cheese?”

I laugh and he laughs, and something like joy—pure, potent—zips through my veins.

“Because you make grilled cheese, yes.”

“The secret is to use lots of butter and pasteurized cheese product.”

“Psssh. None of that real cheese shit.”

“No ma’am, it just doesn’t get melty enough.”

I move my thumb over his stubble, stopping to linger on his dimple. “Your mom and dad would be so proud of you.”

He gets this look in his eyes—I can’t tell if he’s going to keep smiling or kiss me or start to cry.

“I think about them all the time,” he says quietly. “Now that I’m a dad, I wonder what my own dad would do if he were me. I wish he were here to ask for advice.”

I nod. “What advice do you think he’d give you?”

“I don’t know.” Sawyer shrugs, looking down at his lap. “He’d probably tell me to not be so hard on myself. I know he’d be sad to miss out on everything that’s happening. You know, the grandkids and the ranch and stuff. He’d tell me …” Sawyer looks up, his eyes filling. “He’d say I should enjoy the time I have more. ’Cause we never know how much we got left.”

“Aw, honey.” I pull him in for a hug. Run my hand over the broad expanse of his back. “Can I enjoy it with you?”

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