Page 16 of Make Me Yours
What Lingers
Lilly
“Good morning, Sunny,” I mumbled.
Her cold nose nudged the tender spot inside my elbow, a polite-but-firm reminder that the world didn’t run on my kind of time. I groaned and slid one eye open. Sunlight was already spilling in a bright stripe across the quilt, dust motes floating like tiny fairies in the beam. Too late for me—on any normal morning, I’d be up before the rooster two properties over started bragging.
Out of habit, I rolled toward the other side of the bed, and my hand met a cool, empty sheet. No note on the nightstand. No boots left in a hurry on the floor. Not even the lazy sprawl of a shirt forgotten on the chair. Just the faintest whisper of leather and cedar on my pillow, clinging there like a secret. I buried my face in it for a breath longer than I should have, then shook myself free.
“Okay, okay,” I told Sunny, who was practically vibrating. Her tail thumped the mattress twice—polite turned persuasive. Iswung my legs out, found the floor with my toes, and shuffled to the back door. The morning air reached in and cool-palmed my cheeks when I opened it. Sunny bolted into the yard, nose down, mission critical.
That’s when I saw the hoofprints. Fresh, clean ovals pressed into the soft dirt beside the porch steps, leading to and from the shed like ellipses at the end of a sentence we never finished.
I crossed my arms against the chill and let a smile curl up, small and private. Of course, he’d saddled up in the dark. Of course, Sawyer had slipped away the same way he’d come—quiet as a thought I’d promised myself not to think anymore.
“My secret cowboy,” I murmured, and the word tasted like honey and trouble.
Sunny came trotting back, pleased with herself. I bent to scratch her ears. The yard smelled like sun-warmed hay and spring blooms. Inside, the house held onto Sawyer in tiny ways—the displaced quilt, the nightstand’s drawer still cracked open.
Bittersweet warmth spread through me, slow and tender. I loved that he came. I hated how we always separated before the sky turned the color of peaches. It felt like waking from the best dream and catching only the hem before it vanished with the morning’s light.
The first sip of coffee was always my favorite part of the morning. It was rich and dark with just enough sweetness to make it feel like a treat. I perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, plate balanced on my lap, toast slick with apricot jam that shimmered like melted sunshine. The simple comfort of warm bread and sugar should have been enough to ground me, but the quiet pressed too heavily against my chest.
I replayed our brief conversation the night before, every teasing glance, every smirk, the way Sawyer’s voice had rumbled low against my throat when I’d teased him back. We’d both acted as if this was just… casual—easy come, easy go. And yet, soon,the words gave way to heat, and we ended up tangled, quenching our desires.
It hadn’t felt casual at all—not to me.
The trouble wasn’t the nights. Those, I could handle. It was the mornings — this emptiness that crept in when I realized he’d slipped away again. No note. No word. Just absence, as if daylight itself chased him off.
I tore off another piece of toast, letting the jam stick to my fingers. Maybe this was exactly what I needed—something easy that didn’t demand anything more of me. I’d told myself I was fine being alone, that I didn’t need marriage or children to feel complete. I had my shop, parents, little house, and Sunny waiting at the back door. My life was full enough.
But the thought lodged in my heart like a splinter. Was it really enough? Would it always be?
Sawyer had his secrets. His years in the Navy had carved something into him, something he didn’t share and maybe never would. He carried himself like a man always ready to leave, always halfway out the door.
I pressed my sticky fingers to my mouth and whispered into the empty kitchen, “So why do I keep doing this?”
The silence, as usual, had no answer.
The phone buzzed against the counter, rattling my coffee spoon. I wiped the jam from my fingers and glanced at the screen, and just like that, my heart did a little somersault.
Sawyer: Thanks for last night. Miss you already. Let me pick you up tonight so you won’t have to leave your car at my place.
Heat rushed through me before I could stop it, curling low and hot, leaving me weak-kneed. Just reading his words brought back the press of his mouth against mine, the strength of hishands braced on either side of me, the way he made me forget everything except the feel of him.
Then doubt crept in, uninvited.
I remembered things Emma had reminded me of over lunch—how Sawyer had returned from the Navy carrying shadows he didn’t talk about and built walls no one could quite climb. His inked body held deep secrets he didn’t trust me with. A man like that didn’t daydream about forever. He didn’t picture white picket fences or cribs in the corner of the bedroom. He lived in the moment because the moment was all he had faith in.
For a second, my thumb hovered over the keyboard. I should tell him I wasn’t sure I could keep doing this. I needed more than midnight visits and morning goodbyes.
Instead, before I could talk myself out of it, I texted back:
Me: Sounds good. Ten o’clock. Can’t wait.
I set the phone down, pulse thudding. The truth pressed in hard and mercilessly. I wanted him again tonight. I wanted him in a way that felt reckless, addictive. Obsessive. And perhaps—that was a real issue Sawyer and I shared.
Then Sunny nudged her leash toward me. I knew I needed a different kind of distraction—something practical, something to remind me I was still in control of my life.
