From the crack in the door, I peeked again. He still hadn’t chosen anything. Still stood there, tall and alone, as though the shop itself was foreign territory.
My heart pounded, torn between marching out and helping him pick the perfect gift, or pretending I didn’t care whether he bought anything—pretending I didn’t care about him at all.
But before I could make up my mind, he turned and strode out, the sound of the door closing behind him final, almost sharp.
I dropped my phone onto the desk. Silence swallowed the shop whole, loud enough to make my pulse throb in my ears. I sank into my chair, staring at the glow of my laptop while every muscle hummed tight as a bowstring.
Sawyer’s image clung to me—broad shoulders dwarfing the shelves, that restless stance like he’d wandered into enemy territory but was too damn proud to retreat.
I should’ve gone out there. I should’ve played it cool, flashed a smile, and helped him pick out the cute, fluffy giraffe or a panda-print bib. That’s what any normal store owner would’ve done.
But normal women hadn’t spent a night on a cruise ship tangled up with Sawyer James. They hadn’t learned how dangerous it was to crave more from a man who didn’t believe in more.
I raked trembling hands through my hair and forced a glance toward the shop floor. From the office doorway, only the ghost of him lingered—his boots resonating against wooden planks, steady, unhurried, leaving.
I gripped the doorframe, heart thundering. I could still catch him. Step out, call his name, pretend I had an idea for the twins after all. Pretend my hands didn’t still remember the heat of his skin.
But my legs stayed rooted, betraying me. Wanting him was easy. Facing him? That was the hard part.
The memory of the cruise to Hawaii to celebrate Callie and Rhett’s marriage hit me like a wave—warm, dizzy, impossible to fight. I’d gotten tired of waiting for Sawyer to make a move, so I marched straight into that cabin after dark, salt still clinging to my skin as if I’d dragged the ocean in with me.
The look on his face when I pushed the door shut behind me? Priceless. All shock and stubbornness, like he couldn’t decide if he should send me back out or pull me closer.
Spoiler: he went with option two.
His mouth had crashed into mine like he’d been starving for it. And those rough, calloused hands? Lord help me. They slipped under my robe, skimming over skin I hadn’t let anyone touch in years, leaving fire in their wake.
And then there was the morning after. Sheets twisted around my legs, his arm heavy over my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. The ship rocked gently, and for one stolen second, it felt like we were suspended outside of time, in a world that belonged only to us. Then it was time to leave.
Too bad morning always comes.
I closed my eyes, fighting the swirl of emotions. If I went out there, what would I even say? Thanks for the reminder that I can’t stop thinking about you. Care to repeat our little mistake in a more convenient zip code?
Maybe I should go out there. Maybe I should call his name, close the distance, see if Hawaii still lingered for him the way it did for me. But my feet stayed planted, and I told myself it was safer this way—safer to pretend it hadn’t meant as much as my racing pulse swore it had.
And then I heard it—the low rumble of his truck engine turning over outside. The sound rolled through the walls of the shop, final and steady, like the ground giving way beneath me.
I moved to the window, parting the blinds just enough to see his profile behind the wheel. His jaw was set, his shoulders rigid, and his fingers gripped the steering wheel. He didn’t look back at the shop.
Sawyer just stared straight ahead as if the road before him held all the answers neither of us could find.
Relief flickered first. Relief that he hadn’t confronted me about us, hadn’t forced me into a conversation I wasn’t ready to have.
Then came the sting, sharper than I wanted to admit. Disappointment that he hadn’t stayed, hadn’t pressed, hadn’t given me any reason at all to believe Hawaii hadn’t been a mistake to him.
I leaned back in my chair, Sunny padding over to rest her head against my knee as if she could read the mess of my emotions. My hand drifted over her fur automatically, but my gaze stayed fixed on the empty parking lot beyond the front windows.
It was easier to pretend I didn’t care when he wasn’t standing right in front of me. Harder when I could still hear his voiceasking me for something simple, and I couldn’t give him even that.
The sound of the door chime swung me upright before I could finish convincing myself I needed to move on. This time it wasn’t Sawyer. Just Marianne Carter, all energy and perfume, breezing into the shop like she owned the place.
“Lilly!” she sang out, sweeping toward the counter with the kind of purpose only a woman planning a dinner party could muster. “I need something spectacular—twelve people, a long table, and you know I can’t do roses because of Tom’s allergies. Think carnations, maybe? Or lilies. Not too funereal, though. And I’ll need it for my dinner party next Friday evening.”
I pulled the appointment book closer, flipped a page, and circled the spot with my pen. “Got it. Friday night. Hydrangeas, lilies, nothing funereal.”
At least Marianne always paid on time. Reliable money, even if it came wrapped in perfume and high-maintenance details.
Her words tumbled out as she leaned across the counter, and I let her enthusiasm wash over me. This I could handle. Arrangements, palettes, stem lengths—far easier than emotions I didn’t want to examine.
