Page 6 of Make Me Yours
Business always picked up once prom season hit—corsages, boutonnieres, graduation bouquets. But that was weeks away. And thanks to my brilliant decision to write my parents a check, I was deeper in the hole than ever.
I didn’t regret helping them; I couldn’t. I’d pictured Mom at her kitchen table in Arizona, fanning herself with a church bulletin and insisting she wasfine. But Dad’s pride wouldn’t let him ask for help, and my brother Art had let it slip that his family was scraping to cover even the basics. So I did what I always did—I stepped in. Now my books looked like a battlefield littered with overdue notices, and I was the one bleeding.
I pressed my palms into my temples, willing the numbers to rearrange themselves into something less terrifying. They didn’t. They never did.
With a sigh, I reached for my phone. Art’s name stared back at me from the screen. I hovered, thumb poised, telling myself not to drag him into this. He had enough on his plate. But the silence in the cabin was too loud, and my pride had already been chewed down to scraps.
I hit call before I could talk myself out of it.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Lils.” I could hear my nephews in the background, something crashing, followed by laughs. Art’s voice was warm but tired. “What’s up? Please tell me you’re not calling with something new that our parents need.”
I twisted a strand of hair around my finger. “Not exactly. I just… I’m staring at these bills, and I can’t figure out which ones to pay or set aside. I gave Mom and Dad a check to help out with repairs, and now I’m behind with the florist wholesaler, and the rent’s glaring at me from the corner of the table. I thought maybe?—”
“Lil,” he cut in gently, with that older-brother weight that always made me feel ten again. “If I had anything left, you’d have it. But I’m tapped out. We’re holding things together with duct tape and grace here in Show Low.”
A weak laugh slipped out of me. “Well, duct tape is on sale this week.”
He chuckled, but his voice softened. “If I had it, you’d have it. You know that. Just… don’t carry it all by yourself, okay? You’re allowed to ask for help. Doesn’t make you weak.”
I stared at the stack of bills, the red stamps practically shouting,failure. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll… pencil that in.”
We said goodbye, and the line clicked dead. The stillness in the cabin pressed heavier than the spring dusk outside. I stacked the bills neatly, slid them under the saltshaker like maybe I could pin them into obedience, then stood at the window.
The lake rippled under the fading light, silver threads unraveling across the surface. It should’ve calmed me. Instead, my skin was hot with restlessness.
The bills sat on the table, smug little reminders of everything I couldn’t fix tonight. My chest ached, tight with numbers and with something else I didn’t want to name.
Sawyer.
He’d barely looked at me today in the shop, and I still couldn’t scrub him from my head. So why did sleeping with him still feel like the truest thing I’d done in years?
My cabin felt smaller by the minute, its walls closing in with every tick of the clock. I yanked open the cupboard and foundthe half-forgotten bottle of red I’d bought at the market last fall. The cork fought me, then popped free with a sigh that felt almost approving.
The wine went down too easy—dark, sharp, with a sweetness that lingered on my tongue. One glass softened the edges, the next lit a slow fire in my chest. I leaned against the counter, glass in hand, telling myself I just needed to take the edge off.
But the truth bubbled up with every swallow. I didn’t want calm. I wanted a distraction. I wanted that night on the cruise again, even if it was reckless, even if it was wrong.
I stared out at the lake, at the thin strip of moonlight trembling across the thaw. My reflection in the glass looked like a woman I barely knew—hair mussed, cheeks flushed, eyes hungry.
And then the thought came, bold and brazen as a dare: what if I just drove to Lucky Ranch? What if I showed up at Sawyer’s door, wine in hand, nothing under my coat but silk and bad decisions?
It had worked once. Why not again?
I tipped the glass again, finishing the last of what I’d poured. The heat slid down my throat and spread through me, loosening my anxiety just enough to breathe.
Sunny sighed under the table, rolling to her side so her head bumped against my ankle. I bent down and rubbed her silky ears, grateful for her loyalty. She blinked up at me, patient, steady, a better grounding force than I deserved.
“Fine,” I whispered, pushing back from the table. “You win. I’ll get up.”
She followed me to the door, nails tapping against the old pine boards. I opened it, and the chill of the night swept in. Sunny trotted onto the porch, stretched, then bounded into the damp grass, nose down, tail wagging as if the whole world belonged to her.
I stood there, sipping the last of my wine, letting the cool air bite at my cheeks. It should’ve sobered me. Instead, it just sharpened the edges of my desire.
Finally, Sunny padded back inside, shaking droplets across the floor. She sat square in front of me, head tilted, as if she could smell the change in my mood.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I murmured, setting down my glass. “I’m fine. Just… restless.”
Her tail thumped once. Then she whined, soft and low.
