Page 36 of Make Me Yours
Today, it just felt like a mistake.
The bacon was starting to curl too much on one side, but I didn’t move to flip it. I could hear my heart louder than the crackle in the pan. I wiped my hands on a towel and glancedtoward the clock again. Seven-thirty. It was too early for a Sunday, but Sawyer wasn’t the type of cowboy who slept in.
Sunny sat by the door, head cocked toward the window like she could sense what was coming. Her tail twitched once, then stilled, her amber eyes fixed on me as if to say,You’re the one who invited him, remember?
I sighed and turned back to the counter, whisking the pancake batter one more time. My hands moved on autopilot, trying to make the morning feel normal, like I wasn’t waiting for a man I barely understood to walk through that door.
We agreed to keep things quiet.I’d repeated that to myself more times than I could count. Just between us. No strings, no gossip. But pretending it was only about sex stopped working weeks ago. The way he touched me, the way he listened, the way my chest ached when he left—it wasn’t casual anymore.
And that terrified me.
I poured a small circle of batter onto the hot griddle and watched it bubble, pretending that all I wanted was to talk about logistics—how we’d keep things private, how often we’d see each other, maybe even when it should end. But even as I rehearsed those words in my head, they didn’t sound right because I didn’t want it to end. I just didn’t know how to hold on without losing myself in him.
Sunny’s ears shot up. My heart gave a hard, useless thud.
He was here.
I caught my reflection in the window—hair a bit mussed, an apron I’d never bothered wearing before, a nervous tilt to my shoulders that gave me away. I pressed a hand against my stomach, drawing a slow breath.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Just talk.”
Sunny gave a small bark, tail wagging now. I managed a shaky smile and turned down the burner.
For all the noise I’d made convincing myself I was ready for this, the truth was simpler and much harder to swallow.
I wasn’t ready at all.
I forced myself to breathe. He was right on time, of course. Sawyer wasn’t the type of guy who ever ran late for anything—meetings, missions, or messy half-defined relationships.
A single knock came before the door creaked open. He stepped inside like he’d been doing it for years, that easy confidence both irritating and disarming.
“Morning,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.
And there they were—wildflowers in his hand. A small bunch, uneven stems, petals bent from being clutched too tightly. A few still had specks of dirt clinging to the roots.
He caught my look and gave a crooked grin. “Fence row outside Lucky Ranch. Thought they’d brighten the place up.”
For a second, I just stared at him. He could buy a florist shop if he wanted to, but he’d stopped on the side of a road to pick flowers for me. It shouldn’t have meant anything, but somehow it did.
Before I could think of a response, Sunny trotted over, tail wagging like she’d just seen her favorite person in the world. Sawyer crouched and rubbed behind her ears, his voice softening.
“There’s my girl,” he murmured, like it was a secret between them.
The sight hit me square in the chest. That same man—an ex-SEAL, a millionaire who still smelled faintly of horse feed and hay—was kneeling on my kitchen floor to greet my dog as if she were family.
I didn’t know what to make of him. He was contradiction layered over contradiction. Strength wrapped around patience, danger threaded with tenderness. And standing there with his rough hands full of wildflowers, I wasn’t sure which version ofhim scared me more—the one the world saw, or the one I had fallen for.
I slid the last pancake from the griddle onto a plate and tried to act like my heart wasn’t doing jumping jacks. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said, setting the plate between us on the small kitchen table. “We said we’d just talk.”
“Can’t show up empty-handed.” He was still crouched beside Sunny, running his hand down her back in slow strokes that made her lean into him. “Military etiquette.”
I arched a brow. “I thought you left the military part behind.”
He rose, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You can take the man out of it,” he murmured, “but some habits stick.”
I took the flowers from his hand and carefully arranged them in a glass tumbler. Then I busied myself pouring coffee, mostly so I wouldn’t have to watch the way the morning light caught the edges of his jaw. “So, manners and discipline—good to know.”
He accepted the mug from me, our fingers brushing for half a second too long. “And punctuality,” he added, eyes glinting with amusement.
