Page 112 of Sawyer

I notice Sawyer glancing around my room as we pass through, no doubt imagining all the fun we’ll be having here next weekend. Although—shit—I only have a queen bed. Seemed like a smart, even prophetic, purchase at the time when I was mattress shopping after Dan and I separated. What did I need a king for, literally or otherwise? Having a smaller bed also meant I’d have more room for books, and the chaise lounge I’m saving up for—it’s where I plan to read all those books.

Standing in that mattress store last fall, I never imagined I’d need a king-size bed. I never thought I’d meet a guy I’d want to bring home, much less one I’d invite to sleep over.

Then I literally knocked into Sawyer, and suddenly I’m wishing I had gone with the king.

Am I being an idiot? What am I missing?Because I have to be missing something here. No guy is this good. This wonderful.

No guy is this committed to letting me be myself. Sawyer wants to get married. Doesn’t he want a proper, ladylike wife? Or am I the one misunderstanding the assignment? What if being a wife—being committed to someone—doesn’t go hand in hand with smothering who I really am?

I mean, what if I’m able to have my cake and eat it too?

Or—more likely scenario—what if that line of thought is yet another trap? One set to lure me into complacency, and then all of a sudden I’m settled down again and Sawyer is asking me totone it downor telling menice married ladies don’t stay out so late.

I honestly don’t know what the right answer is. All I know is that it’s time to acknowledge that Sawyer really is different. Dan was never this accepting, this worshipful, of my free spirit, even during the heady early days of our relationship back in high school. I just don’t know if that means my relationship with Sawyer will end up any different. Can I trust this guy to keep his promises?

Or am I just setting myself up for more disappointment? More heartbreak?

The girls are giddy as the big soaking tub fills with warm water. I squeeze in some bubble bath, making Junie squeal with delight, and then Sawyer and I strip down the girls and lift them into the tub.

He and I kneel beside each other, the bottle of baby soap between us. His knee brushes mine, and even that small contact sends my pulse into a tailspin.

Yeah, we’re definitely gonna have to find a way to have a quickie between now and bedtime.

The girls are freaking adorable together. Ella can’t get enough of the little plastic mermaids I recently bought at the dollar store, and she and Junie have a ball singing an off-key rendition of “Part of Your World.”

Sawyer grabs the plastic pitcher I use to rinse June, and he tells the girls to close their eyes. They scream, giggling, when he douses each of them, soaking their hair.

Then I pump soap onto my hands and go to town scrubbing the girls down. At first I hesitate when it’s Ella’s turn—is it weird if I wash her?—but then she’s holding out her cute little feet to me, and I’m playing a game of “This Little Piggy” with her as I lather her up with soap.

Then Sawyer’s dumping water on them again, and they’re screaming and giggling and splashing around, and my hair falls in my face as I hold up my arms in a failed effort to defend myself.

Without missing a beat, Sawyer tucks my hair behind my ears. His fingers are wet, but that only helps my hair stay in place.

The gesture is small. Simple.

I also find it achingly romantic, this man helping me get my hair out of my face while our daughters have a ball in the bathtub together. I decide to set aside the jumble of questions in my head and justenjoythis time. What else can I do? I know better than to let the unknown ruin a magical moment.

I look at Sawyer and smile. “Ever think your best date ever would happen in a bathroom?”

“What’s a date?” Junie asks.

Sawyer hands her the small plastic pitcher. “It’s when two people who like each other go do something fun together.”

Ella scrunches her nose. “Are you gonna kiss like Prince Eric and Ariel?”

“I don’t know.” Sawyer’s head swings in my direction. “Are we going to kiss, Miss Ava?”

Heat floods my face. “Kissing is … fun. When it’s with the right person.”

“I never thought my best date would be in a bathroom, no,” he replies with a grin.

My heart pounds. “So this is your best date.”

“I took a four-hour nap before this. Of course it’s my best date. Might be my bestday.”

Laughing, I give him a shove. “Sorry for the very embarrassing confession. I clearly need to get out more.”

“With me you do, yeah.”

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