The words landed heavier than I expected. Needed. Not wanted. Needed.
But then her smile faded, and the tone shifted. “Sawyer… I don’t know if this—whatever this is—is healthy. I can’t keep pretending only nights matter.”
Her hands betrayed her, knotting in her lap.
The words cut because I’d been thinking the same damn thing. Nights with her felt alive, like someone had thrown a rope to pull me out of the dark. But come morning, all I gave her was silence and absence.
I wanted to tell her about Monique, about the shadows that chewed me up and spat me out, about how fear wrapped around my chest every time I thought about giving her more. But the words stuck in my throat.
So I reached for something else. Something safer.
“Grace,” I said, nodding toward the barn. “She’s the one steady thing I’ve got.”
Lilly’s eyes softened, curious.
“And you’ve got Sunny,” I added. “Maybe next time… we ought to take them out together. A walk, a ride. Something.”
Her lips parted, surprise flickering there, then she smiled—small, but real. “That sounds… nice.”
It wasn’t a promise, but it was more than I’d ever offered her before. And judging by the way she relaxed into the seat, it mattered.
I sat there beside her, fighting the urge to reach out, to tip her chin up and kiss her until the talking stopped. But for once, I held back.
Maybe Monique was right. Maybe a healthy relationship had to start in the daylight.
We sat quietly for a while, the evening breeze filling the gaps between us. Lilly’s hands clasped together in her lap, her eyes fixed on the mountains in the distance, like she was working up the nerve to say something. I beat her to it.
“How’s the shop holding up?” I asked, keeping it casual. “Sounds like Marianne gave you a hell of a workout this week.”
She smiled faintly. “Yeah, she did. But it all came together.”
“Does it usually get that busy?”
Her smile faltered. She picked at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. “Sometimes.”
That was it. One word, clipped short, like she’d closed a door before I could even knock. Something in her voice told me there was trouble she wasn’t ready to share. I could’ve pushed, but the stiffness in her shoulders warned me not to.
I nodded, letting it drop, even though the thought lodged itself deep.
She shifted in the swing and turned to me. “Why did you leave before I woke up the other day?”
The question came out soft, but it landed hard. I rubbed a hand over my jaw, buying myself a second. “Didn’t think you wanted me underfoot in the morning.”
Her brow furrowed. “That’s not an answer.”
I blew out a breath, stared past the porch rail into the night. “Mornings are… different for me. Nights, I can keep it locked down. But mornings—” I cut off, teeth grinding. “Back in Mosul, that’s when most of the hits came. Dawn patrols. House raids. Guys getting caught half-awake. You stop sleeping easy after that. You stop… staying.”
The words felt raw, like I’d hauled them up from somewhere I didn’t let anyone look.
Lilly’s face softened. She didn’t push further. Just whispered, “Sawyer.”
Something in the way she said my name cracked me wide open.
I leaned closer without meaning to, caught by the pull of her eyes. She didn’t lean back. Our mouths brushed, tentative at first, then firmer, the kiss deepening until restraint went out the window.
Heat roared through me. Her hand slid up my chest, fingers fumbling with the first button of my shirt. I groaned and cradled the back of her neck, kissing her harder.
In one move, I lifted her from the swing, her legs tightening around my waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She gasped against my mouth, the sound undoing me completely.
