Page 54 of Make Me Yours
He gave a small shrug. “They lived full lives. Just wish they could’ve met you… and her.”
He hesitated, then went on, voice lower. “Dad was a park ranger before he died. He took me up into the mountains and taught me to read animal tracks and weather patterns. Mom was a teacher—literature. She loved stories, believed every person had one worth telling. Guess that’s where I got my curiosity from. They were the type of parents who didn’t just tell you howto live—they showed you. When I lost them, it felt like someone pulled the ground right out from under me.”
There was something in the way he said it—a mix of pride and regret that made my heart ache.
“I think they’d be proud of the man you became,” I said softly. “And they’d love Hope already.”
He smiled faintly. “Yeah, Dad would’ve spoiled her rotten. Mom too. She’d have read bedtime stories until the kid begged for mercy.”
Silence settled between us—not heavy, just tender. Then I reached over, covering his arm with my hand. “Then maybe we can still introduce them.”
He looked at me, brow furrowing slightly.
“I want to stop byBloom & Vine,” I said. “Pick out some flowers. Then we can go to Lovelace Memorial Gardens. I’ll lay them on their grave—so they’ll know about Hope.”
His grip on the steering wheel eased, the faintest smile curving his mouth. “You’d do that?”
“For us,” I said.
The late afternoon light glistened through the pines when we reached the cemetery. A fresh mountain breeze surrounded us as I knelt to arrange the bouquet—wildflowers, lavender, and a few white feathers woven between the stems. Sawyer stood quietly beside me, hands tucked into his pockets, the breeze teasing his hair.
When I finished, I looked up at him. “They must’ve been amazing people to raise a man like you.”
He met my gaze, eyes steady but shining a little. “They’d have liked you, Lilly. Especially the way you boss me around.”
I grinned. “That’s love, Sawyer. Comes with the package.”
He crouched beside me then, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “Guess I can live with that.”
We sat like that for a long moment, the world hushed around us. The flowers swayed gently over the polished stone, and a small yellow butterfly landed right on the bouquet.
Sawyer smiled. “You think that’s her saying hi?”
“Maybe,” I whispered. “Or maybe it’s just a reminder that love doesn’t stay buried.”
He leaned in and kissed my temple, his voice a low murmur against my hair. “Hope’s got herself one hell of a mom.”
I smiled, grabbing his hand in mine. “And one very proud dad.”
For a while, neither of us moved. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the sound of the world standing still around us. Sawyer turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through mine, and when his gaze met mine, everything else faded away.
“You know, I love you, Lilly,” he said quietly, like a truth that had lived inside him for a long time.
The words caught in my chest, soft and certain. “I love you too, Sawyer.”
He smiled then—one of those slow, genuine smiles that started in his eyes and worked its way to his heart.
We both laughed, the sound mingling with the wind through the trees.
It didn’t feel morbid at all—it felt like peace.
Like something ending and beginning all at once.
Like love, taking root where loss used to live.
We lingered there for a while longer, seeing no reason to rush to leave. When Sawyer finally stood, he offered me a hand-up, brushing a stray leaf from my hair before guiding me toward the truck.
As we reached the gravel drive, he paused and glanced down at me with that half-grin I’d come to love. “You know,” he said, “I think Hope deserves her first celebration. What do you saywe stop for ice cream on the way home? Doctor’s orders—extra sprinkles for both of you.”
