Page 93 of Sawyer

So I pour us some wine and we cheers to the miracle of making it out on a date together, how many months after we first met.

Then I unpack the picnic basket.

“Sorry about the paper plates.” I set a pair out on the blanket. “Mollie was horrified, but I thought her grandmother’s china was a little much for our first date.”

Stretching out so that her legs are straight and she’s supporting her weight on one arm, Ava scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s it. I’m outta here. Paper plates? Really, Sawyer, what kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Hopefully the kind who likes fried chicken.” I lift the container out of the basket. “It’s my first try making it, so be kind.”

Ava blinks. “You made it?”

“From scratch. It’s Sally’s mom’s recipe. Patsy did give me a major assist. Ella did too. We also made this cheesy jalapeño corn bread that’s out of this world if I do say so myself.”

Ava’s smiling as she sips her wine. “What’s the secret?”

“Patsy jazzes up plain old Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix. You know the kind in the?—”

“Blue box?” Ava nods. “My mom uses the same thing.”

“Patsy adds eggs, sour cream, and a shit ton of butter and cheese. She swears freshly grated is best.”

Ava sits up, cupping her hand underneath the spatula I use to scoop a square of corn bread onto her plate. “You really went all out.”

“Mollie helped me mastermind everything. Please tell me you’re impressed.”

Leaning in, she kisses the underside of my jaw. “So impressed. Thank you. I feel very special andveryhungry.”

I pile our plates with chicken drumsticks, thick slices of corn bread, and the bean and green onion salad I threw together earlier today.

Ava bites into the chicken and moans. “Sawyer.”

“That’s the porniest sound I think I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s because this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Like, seriously. Wow.”

I tear into a piece myself. The coating is crunchy, just the right amount of flavor and salt, and the meat is perfectly cooked.

“That is good,” I say, taking another bite.

Ava sits cross-legged as she drinks her wine and cleans her plate. When I give her another plate, this one filled with a nice slab of brownie that I frosted with buttercream and drizzled with semisweet chocolate, she literally whimpers with delight.

She’s quiet as she eats. Can’t help but notice how adorably content she looks, wine in one hand, brownie in the other. The golden light of the fire catches on her eyes and hair, illuminating her against the darkness that surrounds us.

I’ve got a full belly. A happy woman beside me. A sky full of stars overhead, and a night to myself.

Have I ever been happier?

When can we do this again? Is a once-weekly date night too much? I’m not sure Ella would love it, but she’d definitely love having a daddy who’s happier, more patient. Maybe the girls could even join us once in a while. A family date could be cute.

All of a sudden, I wanna do everything.

Would my brothers hate me if I asked for more help? What if I asked Miss Caroline to babysit every Saturday night, a standing reservation of sorts? Ava and I could go riding. Go to The Rattler to dance. We could fuck in my back seat, make out in my bed. Cook a meal together. Watch a movie. Drive to Lubbock andgoto the movies.

Now that I’m thinking about it, there’s so much to catch up on. Ava and I have had sex in almost every position under the sun. But I don’t know much about her family, or how she became a barrel racer, or why she transitioned into the role of a trainer. Why’d she pick the name June for her daughter? What’s her favorite color? Her favorite movie?

I can’t remember the last time I asked someone those questions. I feel like I’ve spent the past three and a half years buried in parenthood. I’m finally able to come up for air—I’m finally getting a taste of freedom again—and it feels fuckinggood.

The hard part is behind you. The good part is ahead.

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