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Ma cuts me a look. “Spit it out, Melinda.”
I scrub the tips of my fingers against my forehead. “How did you know Pop was the right guy? Did you just always know or did he say something in particular… or… ”
Rolling her eyes, she shakes her dark head. “Your generation. You make everything so difficult with all your thinking and analyzing… your online personality tests and advice columns.”
A fist is in my chest, and I feel like I’m going to scream. I’m not sure how much more of this pressure I can take. “Yes, yes, okay. That’s why I’m asking you. How did you know?”
The microwave buzzes, and she takes out one plate, putting another in and hitting the button. I wait as she grabs a block of parmesan and grates it over the penne then she hands it to me.
“Sit at the table. I’ll be right there.”
It’s useless to argue. I take the plate and walk to the dining room, sitting and drinking more wine. I need to slow down, or I’ll be passed out before Sawyer even shows up at my window tonight.
She finally joins me, putting her plate on the table and sitting across from me. We say a brief prayer, and she puts her napkin in her lap. For a few minutes we eat the creamy penne with smoky mushrooms and rich cheese.
Finally, she’s ready to answer me. “I knew your father was the one because he told me he was.”
My brow furrows, and I don’t like the sound of that. “That’s not very PC.”
“I don’t know about PC.” She holds up a hand. “I liked your father. He was very handsome. I wanted to have his children. He agreed, and we got married.”
“That’s it?” I put my fork down, leaning back in my seat. “You didn’t get to know each other or date or find out each other’s likes and dislikes? What if he’d been a serial killer?”
“Our families knew each other.” She shrugs. “It was a small community. Then we moved here, and it was a little more difficult. But I always loved your father.”
My head tilts to the side, and I think about this. Sawyer’s from our small town. Our families know each other. How do I know I’m not self-sabotaging this out of my own feelings of insecurity and never feeling like I quite belong?
“Look at me, Melinda.” I do as she says, and I can’t imagine her being insecure a day in her life. “Deacon is not from here. He’s from Dallas. But he’s a good man. He believes in helping women, which speaks very highly of his mind and his heart. Stop second-guessing yourself.”
Deacon.
A pit is in my stomach. She thinks I’m talking about Deacon.
“Right…”
I guess we could all start by being a little more honest with each other, and I thought Sawyer and I were ready to come out and be official. I’m way less certain now.
The problem with everyone knowing the truth is dealing with everyone’s opinions, and while I’m confident in my ability to stand up for myself, it would help if I didn’t feel so damn unsure of him.
I take another drink of wine trying to ease this pain in my chest. What will it take for him to finally trust me? What if he never does? Can I live with that?
16
Sawyer
Mindy’s cheek is against my chest, and her breath gently swirls in and out. She holds me like the little anchor she’s always been, and warmth settles my stomach.
I almost didn’t come here tonight.
Everything in me wanted to stay in my bedroom and keep myself on lockdown until I figure this shit out. Sitting in the darkness, looking at my window, I knew I couldn’t leave her hanging again. Not after last night. When I got here, I could taste the wine on her lips. Still, her kisses, her little moans, sliding my hands along her breasts, sinking deep between her thighs… She calms the storm in my mind. She soothes the beast raging in my chest.
I sat by that pond all afternoon trying to regain my equilibrium. What happened? Can I control it? Why now? I’ve finally decided to put the past behind me, take a chance, move forward with my life… And it all comes crashing down. After so many years.
Mindy makes a soft noise and dips her chin, her soft cheek sliding against my skin. My arms tighten around her, and I’m not sleeping tonight. I can’t move forward with her without answers to these questions.
I think about timing, and I want to believe part of the problem is taking a day off and not focusing on work. Exercise, manual labor, these things keep my mind here in the present. I don’t have time for brooding when I’m concentrating on this year’s harvest or next year’s crop.
Tomorrow will be different. I’ll get back in the saddle, work hard our last week in the fields, and this blip on the radar will be forgotten.
