Page 62 of Sawyer

“And by that, she means Ella cried every day she came to school for what felt like months. Now look at her.” Sawyer lifts his hand, which is still in his pocket, to gesture at his daughter. “All smiles. School is a happy place, and they’re in good hands with Ms. Sherman here.”

I swallow, hard. “Thanks for that.”

“And you.” Sawyer crouches so he’s eye level with June. “You’re going to march into that classroom, and you’re going to have the best day ever, right?”

Be still my beating heart. It’s jarring—jarringly wonderful—to see June being cared for this way by a man other than her dad.

The man who chose to go to work over being here right now.

Because apparently no one on earth is immune to Sawyer’s charm, my daughter smiles and nods. “Can we sing ‘Happy Birthday’ in school?”

Ms. Sherman claps her hands. “As a matter of fact, it’s Nolan’s birthday today, so we’ll definitely be singing to him. You girls ready to come inside? Get your bags from your parents.”

“See?” Sawyer asks, handing his own daughter the tote bag she dropped. “You’re gonna love it here, June. Shine bright today.”

My heart flutters. At the same time, my eyes fill all over again. I’m glad I wore my sunglasses.

I hand Junie her bag and give her a quick hug. “Have a great time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Funny how quickly kids adapt. Next thing I know, the girls are taking Ms. Sherman’s outstretched hands and heading inside. My chest cramps as June climbs the steps and moves through the door.

Ms. Sherman glances at me over her shoulder. “She’s going to be just fine, Mom. You did great. See you at twelve thirty.”

I let the tears fall because I can’t hold them in anymore. “Thank you. Bye, girls!”

I watch until Junie disappears into the classroom. Trying my damnedest to hide my sniffles, I turn to Sawyer and manage a tight grin.

“Thanks for the assist.”

He looks at me steadily, intently, his forehead grooved. “Sometimes I think all these firsts are harder for us than they are for them. After dropping Ella off the day school started, I sat in my truck and cried until pickup. I looked so puffy that Ms. Sherman asked me if I’d had an allergic reaction to something.”

I’m laughing and I’m crying, and it feels … kinda good, actually. “Really?”

“You think I’d make that up?” His dimples appear when he smiles. “I’m a worrier. Always have been.”

“Hard not to be when you’re a parent.” I lift my shoulder to wipe away my tears. “But thanks for the commiseration. No one tells you about this stuff. How hard it is.”

He lifts a brow. “You okay?”

My heart takes a tumble. Wasn’t I just saying to myself how much I wished someone would check in on me? The universe must’ve been listening, because here he is—the guy who’s not only asking if I’m okay, but who also cares what my answer is.

Somehow I know Sawyer cares. Deeply.

“I’m okay.” The reply is automatic. I don’t know what else to say.

“You don’t seem okay.”

I chuckle. “What makes you think that?”

“You just dropped your sweet baby off at a new school in a new town for the first time. No one is okay after that.”

I’m hit by the urge to sob. Why does Sawyer have toget it?

Why does he have to make me feel seen and looked after and safe? It’s so, so nice, but also so, so scary. I could fall for a guy that makes me feel like this.

I could fall hard, and I could fall fast. Then what? I run the risk of being disappointed all over again, because that’s what men do—they let you down just when you need them the most.

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