Sawyer shoots him a look. “I did not?—”
“You absolutely did,” the other dad says. “He said we should probably step up this year.”
I laugh. “That sounds like good advice.”
The first dad nods enthusiastically. “So listen, I was thinking about coming by your shop. My wife really likes…what are they called? Monsteras?”
I grin. “I know exactly what those are.”
“Perfect,” he says. “I want, like, thenicekind.”
“We’ve got you covered.”
They thank me, wave, and drift off, still talking about plants like they’ve just unlocked a new hobby.
Sawyer turns my way, hands shoved in his pockets now, expression softer without the kids, the noise, and the audience. For a moment, neither of us says anything.
We just stand there, looking at each other in the quiet space where something important has happened.
Funny how it feels louder than the brunch ever did.
I look at him. “Good morning.”
Sawyer smiles, soft and easy, like this is exactly where he’s meant to be. “Good morning.”
I take a step toward him. Just one. Tentative. Like I’m testing the ground before I trust it.
“Thank you,” I say. “I honestly don’t even know how I keep thanking you at this point.”
He shakes his head immediately. “You don’t have to.”
“No,” I say quickly. “I do.”
I scrub a hand through my hair and glance up at the ceiling like the words might be written there and I just need to read them in the right order.
“I cannot believe you,” I say slowly, dropping my gaze back to him, “Do you know that you are the biggest walking green flag, Sawyer Stockton, that I have ever met in my life?”
“What?”
“A walking green flag,” I repeat. “Like the opposite of a warning sign.”
He lets out a short laugh. “That feels suspiciously like an insult.”
“It’s not,” I say, gesturing vaguely. “I thought—hockey player. Gets attention. Dates gorgeous women. Lives in a world where people clap when he enters rooms. Red flag city. What was I supposed to do with someone like you landing in my life?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again.
“But then,” I continue, voice picking up speed now, “you save my son’s birthday. You don’t hesitate nor do you even make it a thing. You just…do it. Even after I waiver, and say the things I said on Saturday, you show up today for a Father-Son Breakfast. Without needing credit. Without making a speech.”
His smile eases off, replaced by a look that’s all consideration now.
“And then,” I add, letting out a breath, “I find out you were part of the reason I got the grant.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “I was?”
“Yes,” I say. “Apparently, you helped the mystery shopper.”
He winces. “I talked too much about soil, didn’t I?”
