“Yes.” I lift my chin. “Sawyer. He was kind to me.”
“Kind?Honey, that man is nice to everyone.” Her smirk seems a little tight. “You’re not special.”
“He helped me. I wanted to say thank you.”
My heart sinks even though I avoid letting my eyes linger on the plate clutched in my hand. Why didn’t I just buy Sawyer a gift—a book or maybe a nice card? Baking on a whim at two in the morning when I couldn’t sleep has to be one of the stupidest ideas I’ve ever had. It’s not much of a thank-you to show up with the world’s most unappetizing cookies, is it?
Kristen flicks her ponytail off her shoulder and paints on the same smirk she wears in all her promo shots. “It’s a good thing you work at the clinic,” she says. “Poor Sawyer will need anemergency appointment if he can force himself to swallow a bite of one ofthose.”
“They taste good…”
“Do him a favor, honey. Toss them in the trash and go home. That man has been through enough.”
Her fake smile disappears into a sneer as her shoulder connects with mine, and she marches off.
My chest deflates with a relieved sigh.
Thank God.
I’ve never been so glad to watch someone leave.
Boats bob beside thewharf, and the gentle lap of the ocean keeps me company until another soul makes himself known with heavy footfalls on the gravel.
“Elsie Hoskins?”
I wasted so many nights waiting at the wharf. I shouldn’t be the last person in the world Sawyer expects to see, but his tone certainly implies it. That’s okay. I take a deep breath. This will be just like I rehearsed in the bathroom mirror at four this morning… but without the hyperventilating part.
“Hi!” I shove the tangles of hair out of my eyes. It’s hopeless. The wind sweeps even more wisps loose from my braid. “Good morning!”
“Mornin’?” Sawyer’s greeting sounds more like a question. He has no idea why I’m bothering him.
“A patient at the clinic once told me that the trawlers head out early,” I say. “I wanted to catch you before you left with all your crew.”
A blond eyebrow creeps up. “All…my…crew?”
He glances at the red boat moored closest to the shore.Maude’s Keeper. A behemoth of a man with dark hair pulledback in a messy bun thunders across the deck to grab a rope that never seems to end. Otherwise, the wharf is deserted.
“It’s just Cain and me,” Sawyer says.
“Oh, um…” I gurgle a nervous laugh. My cheeks heat up. I sound like a drunken frog. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Mr. Abernathy was already here.”
Both of Sawyer’s eyebrows are up now. “Can’t say I’ve heard anyone call Cain amisterbefore.”
“He’s my landlord.”
“Ah.” Sawyer flashes a smile that’s almost apologetic. “You rented his old place above the post office?”
“He didn’t mention it?”
“He only told me he rented the loft to ‘some young Sheila.’ I didn’t connect the dots.” Sighing, he shakes his head. “What are you doing rentin’ a place like that, Elsie Hoskins?”
“It’s notthatbad.”
But I say it too quickly. A deep crease furrows between Sawyer’s eyebrows. This man is learning to analyze the way I bat away conflict too easily.
“Oh! I almost forgot.” I shove the plate at him. “I made these for you.”
Sawyer tears his gaze off my mouth—I’ve overcompensated and forced my smile too bright—and he stares at the cookies squashed under the layer of plastic wrap.
