“Sawyer and I are going to Launceston.”
Luke’s trying his hardest to keep his features neutral, as if he doesn’t care at all, but his gaze has sharpened. He’s listening. Intently.
“I’m helping with the Blues Festival,” I explain.
“I’m hosting a black-tie dinner at the restaurant during the festival. What part are you helping with?
“The community center runs a bit of an upmarket secondhand stall. Sawyer’s taking me to the city to have some jewelry appraised.”
“You’re…staying overnight?”
“No. We’re just driving up for the day. I’ve never been to Launceston before.”
Luke twists more linguine around his fork. “You’ll like it. Lots of old buildings.”
And just as he says it, the crown molding hanging over the refrigerator finally gives in, and the wood panel crashes to the floor.
We crack up laughing.
“I’ve had fun tonight,” I say when I finally lead him to the door after dessert.
“That makes me happy.” He lingers in the doorway, his shoulder slouched against the frame, just staring at me.
I fiddle nervously with the cuff of my blouse. “What?”
“I’m glad you’re in my life…in whatever small way.” He bends forward to peck a quick kiss on my cheek. “Night, Els.”
And he disappears down the stairs.
Dear Elsie…
Dear Elsie,
Why is it so hard for me to tell you how I feel?
How I truly feel?
What am I afraid of? Admitting it to myself?
I’ve known almost from the first day I saw you that you were different for me. Nothing has been the same. I can’t concentrate. Sleep, food—everything feels optional. There’s no planning, no future, without my mind drifting to how you fit in.
Is that what scares me?
That you might say…no?
12
Sunny all the way to Launceston
The walk to Sawyer’shouse is becoming one of my favorites.
Saturday mornings are always quiet in town, but in this secluded alcove, it’s even more peaceful. The ocean spans all the way to the horizon, and the trickle of traffic disappears until there’s nothing but the birds singing the way to his doorstep.
When I round the bend, Sawyer stands with his back to me, loading his truck. My breath catches. The more time I spend with him, the more I know he’s going to break my heart. Not intentionally. He’s too nice. But I’m going to forget to hide how much my fingers ache to trace the outlines of the tattoos visible through the thin white cotton of his T-shirt. I’ll make it awkward between us.
I make it halfway up the driveway before the squeaky heels of my loafers freeze his hands mid-lift.
“Elsie Hoskins.” He turns to flash me a smile. “It’s about time—” His jaw drops at the same time the cooler plummets with a thud into the back of his truck.
