Page 125 of Wild Then Wed
A flash of something twists in my stomach. What happens to it when this is all over? Does Sawyer sell it? Shove it in a drawer—or worse—give it to someone else?
Anna squeals. “It’s perfect! It totally fits you.”
She turns to Sawyer. “Nice work. Who knew you had good taste? In ringsandwives, apparently.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I know.”
I roll my eyes and slip my glove back on. Alicia calls out from the hot chocolate line, and Anna glances toward her.
“I should head back,” she says. “But it was really good running into you guys.”
“You too.” She gives me one more hug before she turns to go.
Sawyer tells her goodbye, and I watch Anna skate off like she’s been doing it her whole life. She’s got this lightness to her—graceful, but grounded. I like her. In a different version of my life, the one where I knew how to be the sort of friend people wanted to keep, Anna wouldn’t be a bad best friend to have. She’s bright. Smart. Has a good gut when it comes to horses. She’s funny without trying to be.
I’m still watching her when Sawyer’s voice cuts in.
“That bubbly energy must run in her family,” Sawyer says, nodding toward where Anna disappeared into the crowd.
I glance at him. “What family?”
He looks at me like he’s trying to gauge if I’m serious. “Anna’s.”
“Yeah, I got that. But what do you mean?”
He slows his steps, brows pulling together. “You didn’t know Elle Prescott is her cousin?”
I blink. “Elle Prescott?”
He gives me a slow nod. “Yeah.”
“Like…theElle Prescott?”
Sawyer’s mouth pulls into the tiniest smirk. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say yes. The one whose face is on every billboard between here and Nashville.”
I just stand there, processing.
Elle Prescott isn’t just a big deal—she’sthedeal. One of the most famous names in country music. Practically raised on the CMA stage. She had her first hit when we were in middle school, and it’s still used in every cowboy-themed perfume ad or slow-motion truck commercial on TV.
I went to one of her concerts with Sage back in high school. We screamed ourselves hoarse and cried during the acoustic set. She’s got this lightning-in-a-bottle voice, all ache and smoke, and now apparently she casually shares DNA with Anna.
“Huh,” I say, still trying to picture Anna at the Thanksgiving table with Elle-freaking-Prescott. “I didn’t know that.”
Sawyer watches me, amused. “You’re a fan?”
I glance at him. “Obviously. I like joy, Sawyer. Why?”
He shrugs, casual. “She’s all rhinestones and glitter. You’re more…denim and female rage.”
I level him with a look. “Are you suggesting I can’t enjoy a good power ballad while also being emotionally impenetrable?”
He laughs. “I’d never dare.”
There’s a beat, one that feels charged even if nothing happens in it. Just his eyes on mine, the cold settling into our cheeks, and the shared knowledge that something here has shifted—just slightly, but enough that I feel it in my ribs.
“You ready for hot chocolate?” he asks, already inching toward the exit.
I grin. “Sawyer.”
