Page 34 of Make Me Yours
I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering like it had all damn night—still nothing from Lilly. Part of me was half-crazy enough to think she might just show up at my place again, unannounced, like she had before. The thought of it twisted me up—hope and frustration in equal measure.
Then the screen lit in my hand, the vibration sharp against my palm. My chest kicked, stupidly sure it’d be what I wanted. Instead, I got.
Lilly: I miss you, but I need some time to think.
The words gutted me. Simple. Final. No room to argue with a text.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket and let out a laugh, low and hollow. The guys’ voices still rang in my ears—Joe’s cracks about Lilly, Easton’s warning not to rile me. They thought I was holding myself together, maybe even winning. Truth was, I was already in over my head.
Hooked.
And no amount of poker, beer, or easy offers from bartenders was ever going to change that.
Chapter Fourteen
Shadows and Secrets
Sawyer
Friday evening, I turned down Colt and Tessa’s long drive; it looked more like a used car lot than a ranch. Trucks and sedans were lined up on both sides of the fence, chrome flashing in the last of the evening light. I eased my pickup into a narrow spot, cut the engine, and sat for a second.
Two square boxes sat on the passenger seat, gifts I’d ordered from some fancy toy store online. They’d shown up wrapped in bright paper with big shiny bows, nothing like the plain kraft or newspaper the folks in Lovelace usually slapped on birthday presents. A plastic horse for Wyatt, a doll for Charlie. My contribution to the circus.
I grabbed the boxes, stepped out, and walked along the driveway. That’s when I saw it—Lilly’s car, tucked close to the house. She’d gotten here early.
My heart pumped with a restless mix of relief and nerves hitting me all at once. I hadn’t seen her since last weekend.Hadn’t heard from her either, not beyond the text about “needing time to think.”
I’d tried to play it cool, give her space, but standing there with her car in front of me, all I could think was: maybe tonight I’d get an answer. One way or another.
The murmur of voices and the faint squeal of children spilled through the open windows, carrying on the evening air. I squared my shoulders, balanced the gifts under my arm, and headed up the walk, wondering if Lilly would look at me the same way she had out by the lake… or if that look had already slipped through my fingers.
The front door swung open before I even knocked. Inside, the Bennetts’ place looked like a carnival had blown through and never left. Balloons were tied in clusters along the banister, banners with cartoon ponies and glittering letters stretched across the walls. Front and center in the living room, a clown in oversized shoes and rainbow suspenders was juggling plastic bowling pins while half the town’s kids clapped and shrieked.
The twins—Wyatt and Charlie—sat on the floor in the middle of it all, sticky hands grabbing at boxes bigger than they were. Wrapping paper flew like confetti, and every time one of them squealed, the whole room seemed to cheer. Wyatt had a bow stuck to his hair, Charlie was gnawing on the corner of a card, and both looked happier than ever.
I set my gifts on the pile, shaking my head. I’d seen firefights with less chaos than a first birthday party. Still, what caught me wasn’t the noise or the balloons or even the clown. It was the way the Bennetts moved—taking turns steadying the twins on wobbly legs, clapping along to their squeals, bending down to kiss their heads like it never got old. This kind of energy didn’t come from caffeine or stubbornness, but from something deeper.
Damn if it wasn’t love.
I stood there for a beat too long, wondering if I’d ever have that kind of patience. If I could ever pour myself out the way they did and not run dry.
A neighbor clapped me on the back, dragging me back to the moment. “Good to see you, Sawyer.”
I nodded, traded handshakes, and smiled at people I barely knew. I talked about the weather, the coming hunting season, and Bruce’s poacher story making the rounds. But through it all, my eyes kept drifting.
Lilly.
She was at the dining table with Tessa and Callie, cutting cake into neat squares and jotting names beside gift tags. Her blond hair caught the glow of the overhead lights, her laugh rising above the din every so often, but she never looked my way. Or maybe she did—quick glances that darted off before I could be sure.
I told myself it was nothing, that she was busy, but the distance between us felt louder than the clown’s squeaky shoes.
Our eyes brushed across the room more than once, just quick enough to make me wonder if I was imagining it. Each time, she looked away first, busying herself with a plate of cake or scribbling another name on Callie’s notepad. By the third time, I couldn’t stand still any longer.
I made my way through the crowd, expecting the usual ribbing—someone nudging me about chasing the florist, or whispering just loud enough for me to hear. But no one said a thing. The chatter stayed fixed on the clown act, the twins’ laughter, and who had baked what for the dessert table.
When I finally reached her, Lilly gave me a polite smile, as if I were a casual acquaintance on Main Street. “How’s your week been?” she asked, her tone casual, almost airy.
It caught me off guard. After days of silence, after the text that left me restless every night since, all I got was small talk.
