Oh. I deflate. He didn’t come out to tell us we’d blown Alexandra away. But I probably can’t say no to dinner with the mayor. Besides, Linus is good people.
“Sure, sure,” I say, then turn to Sawyer, unable to resist a dig. “Or do you have a hot date, Sawyer?”
He checks his watch. “It appears I’m free—unless dinner with the mayor counts as a hot date.”
Linus wags a finger. “Aww, you two.”
A little later, I’ve dropped off Captain, and Sawyer is driving me to dinner with the mayor, but I’m still replaying the meeting.Should I have asked Alexandra one more question? Shown one more trick? Talked up one more skill?
I want this more than I’d even realized. It’s like an ache in my soul, this longing.
* * *
“And then I said, ‘Mom, did they really call me that when I was five?’ But she brought out the head of the preschool, who said, ‘Well, if it isn’t the mayor of Darling Springs Nursery School.’”
I laugh. It’s sweetly funny, Linus’s tale of his younger days and how he was called “mayor” even before kindergarten. He’s been entertaining here at Happy Place, where the salty sea breeze drifts into the open windows, adorned with fairy lights.
Sawyer lifts his glass of iced tea. “You were born to do this, my man,” he says.
And I register those words—my man—then turn them over in my head. I think of how Sawyer speaks to Zuri with fondness, humor, and respect. To the way he pitched Alexandra with aMad Menkind of style. To how he handles Linus, winning him over with a nickname that’ll surely please the eager-to-please guy. Sawyer has a way about him—reading people, knowing how to talk to them, finding common ground.
“Aww, you’re too kind,” Linus says, then reaches for an olive from the appetizer tray before he says to Sawyer, “So, tell me everything. How are you finding Darling Springs?”
“I’m finding it a little after Cozy Valley on a map,” Sawyer says in that signature dry style that’s as sexy to me as that beard. Speakingof, is his beard a little thicker than usual? Is he trimming it less? How would it feel?
Note to self: Stop fantasizing about your co-worker. You know better than to get involved with someone you work with. Someone you lease space from, to boot.I snap my gaze away from him even as Sawyer turns serious with an answer, saying, “I find I’m liking it.”
That seems to please Linus, but I wonder what Sawyer’s not saying. He’s not referencing how he wanted a fresh start. He’s not talking about what he left behind—a home and a scarred heart.
The man must still have a lock on that organ in his chest. Understandable.
“It grows on you,” I add, keeping my answer friendly, since that’s absolutely the zone I need to stay in with Sawyer.
He arches a brow—doubtful, or maybe challenging. Knowing him, challenging.
And challenging to my libido, since it makes it sit up and take notice. Again. Damn zing racing down my chest, straight between my thighs.
My inner voice really needs to have a chat with my sex drive. Because Sawyer and I aren’t a thing. We’re just co-workers trying to win a client.
At least Linus is here as a buffer to my thoughts throughout the meal.
When we finish up the meal at Happy Place, it’s nearly nine-thirty—Linus likes to chat—and we say good night to the mayor and hop into Sawyer’s car.
He drives me home along Main Street, the streetlamps flickeringunder the night sky, then turns toward my neighborhood as the moon takes over, lighting the way along the tiny bungalows. A playlist streams from his phone—a Sam Cooke song, I think. When we reach my driveway, I spot a familiar face in the window—Captain has pushed a curtain aside, and his handsome snout is pressed against the pane.
My heart stutters as I wave to my dog. I’m always happy to see him, but tonight I’m weirdly reluctant to go inside. Maybe it’s the way Sawyer’s citrus-and-cedar scent has faded but still drifts past my nose every now and then when we’re in his car. It smells like him, like a man who loves to eat, who thinks I’m sexy, who knows how to fuck me well.
All the more reason to get out of this car. I’m not simply borderline turned on from his pitch in the office. I’ve been turned on through the whole meal, now that I think about it.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, reaching for the door, but our phones buzz at the same time. I shoot him a quick, hopeful look before I grab mine from my purse.
He snags his from the console.
My pulse races as I click on my texts.
And I gasp. There’s a text from Linus to both of us. All caps: CHECK YOUR EMAIL!!!
With breath held and champagne ready to pop, I fly to my inbox, where there’s an email from Alexandra Bourbon addressed to both of us.
