I refuse to look up. My cheeks are too hot. He’ll notice. He’s always looking out for me. That’s what friends do, right?
Sawyer’s grip tightens around my hand, and he pulls me down to safety. The arm he latches around my waist quickly slips away when my feet touch the grass beside his truck.
“Th-thanks,” I say.
I tug my sweater back into place. For some reason, that innocent movement forces Sawyer’s eyes to his sneakers.
Well, this is…awkward.
I finally find a friend in this town, and my hormones decide to announce themselves, threatening everything. Biology truly is a cruel mistress. How do people deal with having a hot friend? Will I look at Sawyer one day and acknowledge, “Yes, he’s handsome,” but not want to lace my fingers with his to see if we can recreate the spark that just shot up my arm?
Sawyer walks beside me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. I guess we won’t be touching any time soon to find out.
His palm lands on the glass door. “Welcome to the madness,” he says, shaking his head before he pushes it open.
The community center is chaos. Too many voices battle for attention, and the scrape of heavy boxes drags over the wooden floors. I recognize so many faces. The daycare lady who came into the clinic after a toddler bit her arm. The woman who runs the post office below my place.
I shuffle behind Sawyer’s back. Do they know who I am? Will they like me?
Sawyer senses my hesitation. He lingers near the door and doesn’t coax me out of the cozy spot I’ve found for myself hiding behind him. I hate when people push me forward. I won’t suddenly forget I’m shy just because I’m in a wide-open space with a room full of people staring at me.
“Elsie, over there.” Sawyer nods at a couple with matching silver hair emptying black trash bags full of donated clothes. “That’s Pete and Yvonne.”
They glance up long enough to smile and wave.
Dare Watson cuts through the crowd with a heavy box balanced on his hairy forearms. His eyebrow arches when he sees me, but he dips his chin to say hello to Sawyer as he passes.
Sawyer leans closer and murmurs, “That guy there is—”
“Mullie.” I grin.
“Yeah. You two met?”
“Out the back of his shop. Earlier tonight. I think he’s still trying to figure out how we know each other.”
“A long list of women fall into that category.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What’s his appeal?”
“You’re askin’ the wrong person. He’s not my type.”
I tease, “Too…hairy?”
Sawyer rolls his eyes, fighting to smother a laugh. “Yeah. That’s what’s holdin’ me back from admittin’ my undyin’ love for him.” He points out the tiny woman barreling through the crowd in skin-tight denim, a clipboard shoved under her arm. “Oi!” he calls out to her. “Short stack!”
She whirls around and her enormous brown eyes light up. “You snared another victim for us.” She sticks out her hand for me to shake. “Freya.”
Tentatively, I reach out. She clutches my hand and pumps it up and down. As far as handshakes go, this one is terrifying. She’s sosmall. How is she sostrong?
“Elsie,” Sawyer says. “Freya is Cain’s wife.”
“Is that what I’m reduced to for an introduction? Jesus. Try harder, McLeod.”
“She also heads up the marine police workin’ the northeast coast.”
“Getting warmer. So. Elsie.” She cocks her hip and hooks her thumb into the waistband of her jeans. “What torture technique did Sawyer use to convince you to come down?”
I gulp. “Um…” She’s waiting for me to answer, but my mouth is stuffed with cotton wool. “I…”
