My heart flutters in my chest—the stupid thing. He’s still waiting for me. But why? A train wreck, zero out of ten, isn’t his only option.
“So…” Sawyer says. “What do your friends call you?”
Because I have so many…“Some people call me Els, but…” The nickname sours on my tongue. That’s what Luke calls me.
A crease settles between Sawyer’s brows. “Not your favorite?”
“Not anymore,” I mumble. “In high school, some of my friends called me Hosko.”
“Sounds a bit like a semi-retired cricket player livin’ out the back of Dubbo.”
“Which fits me so well because I’mexcellentat sport.”
Sawyer tries to smother a smile and fails miserably. “No sports. Got it. But youarefrom Dubbo?”
I laugh. “I’m from Melbourne.”
“So, livin’ down here isn’t too far from your family?”
“I suppose not.” But it’s absolutely too close to my ex-husband. I steer the conversation away from my least favorite topic by asking, “What do people call you?”
“Sawyer.”
“No nicknames?”
“Not if they know what’s good for ’em.”
“Sawyer it is.”
He grins. He has a warm sort of smile, with almost perfectly straight teeth, all of him a little unpolished. Rough and ruggedsuits him, though. But that light expression doesn’t stick for long. His frown appears again.
“Now you’re probably thinkin’ I’m some stubborn-ass mule,” he mutters, passing me the mug.
“No.” I reach out and lightly touch his arm. “Not at all.”
I think he’s just about the nicest person I’ve met in this tiny town so far. Who else would stumble upon me behind the shop and offer me a hiding spot? Or make me a cup of tea?
His gaze dips to his boots. “Elsie, I was wonderin’—”
The crunch of gravel just beyond the wall cuts off his words. Sawyer glares at the door, and I hug my sweater close, not sure where to look.
Is Luke still hanging around?
Why?
If he walks into the bar—or even the post office under my apartment—a horde of women will fall over themselves to talk to him. It won’t take any effort for him to find a newarrangement. A smile. A sincere-sounding compliment, even if it turns out to be a lie. That’s all he needed to coax me to share a bottle of wine with him that first night.
“Sawyer…” I twist my sweater around my fingers. “Is Luke one of your friends? Like Mullie?”
He shakes his head. “I sell him what he needs for the restaurant. I should’ve told him to find another supplier the first time he—”
Sawyer screws his eyes shut, his expression pinched, almost pained, before he covers it with the hand he drags down his face. He slipped up. That conversation wasn’t supposed to start, and now my mind is hooked on that one detail.
The last time Luke…what?
“Has Luke talked about me before?” I press.
“Aw,shit…” Sawyer sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anythin’.”
