Page 52 of The Strawberry Field
Sawyer
WE GET BACK to Jake’s just as the late afternoon light begins to slant across the lake. There’s an ease between us, a lightness that hasn’t existed until now. As if some important things had been laid open, and the unspoken questions that needed answers had finally been put to rest.
Jake fires up the grill on the deck, laying out salmon fillets with a drizzle of olive oil and lemon. I chop vegetables for a salad, the simple rhythm of cooking with another person something I hadn’t realized I missed. We open a bottle of red wine and let the conversation wander, half laughter, half quiet reflection, as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of this single night of undeniably renewed attraction.
Music drifts through the outdoor speakers, a mellow backdrop to the evening. By the time darkness settles, we’re tucked into the deep chairs on his deck, glasses of red wine in hand, watching the surface of the lake turn silver under the moonlight.
A song from our youth comes on the outdoor speakers, the melody so familiar it pulls me straight back to a time when the world felt unshakable and certain.
Jake sets his glass down, turns to me with a smile. “Dance with me?” he asks softly.
I hesitate only a second before standing and slipping my hand into his. He pulls me from my chair and draws me close. We move together to the music, slow and unhurried. The night air is cool, the scent of the grill still lingering, the world outside the two of us fading away.
At some point he pulls back just enough to touch the side of my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. His eyes hold mine, filled with a longing I feel mirrored in my own heart. He lowers his head, and when his mouth meets mine, there’s no hesitation.
I kiss him back, the years between us dissolving in the press of lips, in the way our bodies lean instinctively closer. Desire hums low and sure between us.
When he finally lifts his head, his voice is rough with meaning. “Would you like to stay the night?”
It’s not something I have to think about. “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”
He takes my hand, leading me inside, down the hallway to his bedroom. When he closes the door behind us, the quiet that follows feels like we’re standing at the edge of something reverent and intimate, something we’ve been waiting our whole life for.
His bedroom is masculine and appealing with oversized leather chairs and a large bed with a distressed wood frame and headboard. There’s warm, low lighting from bedside lamps, and I can smell the faint scent of cedar and lake air through a partially open window.
Jake turns to me, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch tender but charged with intent.
“Are you sure, Sawyer?” he asks, his voice low and rough with emotion.
“Yes,” I whisper. The word comes automatically, steady as truth. “I’m absolutely sure.”
His mouth finds mine again, unhurried at first, then deepening with every breath.
I sink into him, hands sliding over the solid warmth of his back, years of longing collapsing into this moment.
We move together as if we’ve known all along how we would fit. He draws me closer, his fingers splayed against my spine, and the world outside this room slips away.
He eases me back onto the bed, our kisses trailing into something slower, sweeter, and yet edged with need. His hands move with reverence, mapping the familiar and the new, reminding me of who we were and showing me who we are now.
I touch his face, memorizing the lines time has drawn there, the strength and gentleness that live side by side in him. “Jake.” His name is a soft sigh on my lips, and the way he looks at me in that moment makes me realize that every year we’ve waited to reach this night has been worth it. I want nothing more than to give myself fully to him, to know him in the way I could only once imagine.
“I love you, Jake,” I say, not wanting to hide it from him anymore. I know by any normal measuring stick, it’s too soon to say it. Except that I’ve really always loved him. And the world no longer operates by what I once thought normal. I just want him to know it. Life is too uncertain to hold back something this true. “I loved you a long time ago, and I still do.”
“I love you, Sawyer. Always have. Always will.”
There is no rush, only the quiet discovery of each other. The night stretches long, stitched together by whispers and laughter and the kind of closeness that feels like coming home.
And when sleep finally comes, I am wrapped in his arms, certain of only this: for the first time in a very long time, I look forward to another day.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sawyer
SUNLIGHT FILTERS THROUGH the blinds, painting soft stripes across the bed. For a moment I don’t move, letting myself rest in the unfamiliar luxury of waking without dread pressing against my chest. Jake’s arm is draped over me, heavy and protective, and Hattie lies curled at the foot of the bed like she’s guarding us both.
I turn my head and find him watching me, his expression unguarded in a way that makes my heart twist.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
