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God, would the floor just open and swallow me whole now? Really. This was the longest, most awkward, conversation I had ever had. It felt long and drawn out and we had an audience in Sydney—who was now leaning in toward me.
“Come with,” she whispered. Before I could think of a response, she was walking toward the staircase, no doubt going to her other kiddos upstairs. “You two play nice now.”
Still stuck in my place, I watched as Sawyer left his suitcase and walked closer to me; so close I could feel the energy radiating off of him. Oh no. Oh God.
Oh yes.
He still smelled fantastic. The man had a fondness for Lacoste and if I had to take a guess, I’d bet he was wearing Blanc today. He used to wear Noir, but I gave him Blanc for Christmas one year.
Again, I felt my face heat.
I gave him Blanc one year and he hadn’t stopped wearing it. Or if he did, he purposely wore it today. Did he think he’d be seeing me? Did he want to see me? Did he wear the cologne for me?
My heart was pounding in my chest again.
Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone? Why did I have to be so incredibly attracted to this man who didn’t want me for anything more than just friends?
This uneven ground between us was so foreign, and I didn’t quite like it.
The only way to fix it then, was to put on my big girl panties and spend time with this man who was once one of my closest friends.
A man I could once confide in and never felt an iota of anxiety around.
Could I push myself past my walls, past the anxieties, and find comfort in him once again? And if I did, if I did let him in and all went back to normal, what would happen when he left again? Because he would. He lived in Utah and I was here in California. Would he leave with the promise we were back to normal, that we would talk and chat and text off and on throughout the days, only to leave me sitting, waiting for a single message telling me he had a good day, a bad day, an ok day?
“Out of your head, Gracie,” he said, his voice low and meant for my ears only. “It’s just me.”
I swallowed and made myself raise my eyes to his.
He looked tired and that made my heart hurt.
“Please hang out with us today,” he added.
Nervously, I pushed a flyaway behind my ear, thankful my hair was over my shoulder in a braid so I couldn’t fidget with it. “I know, I just,” I stumbled out, moving my eyes around the room, unable to keep them focused on his amber ones. “I’m sure you’ve had a busy week and you’re here to spend time with Sydney and you don’t need the added distraction of—”
I wasn’t aware my hands were moving as I was speaking until Sawyer grabbed them, startling me, and causing me to stop the flow of words. My eyes firmly locked onto his now too.
“You are not a distraction, Grace.” He stood there, standing over me with his callused hands holding my smaller ones, his gaze unwavering. “I am so fucking sorry for the distance I put between us, Grace,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want his voice to travel up to the boys’ rooms where his sister was. “I will do whatever it takes to get my friend back.” His voice had me in a trance. He was saying words I wanted him to say and part of me wanted to believe they were just words—that he would say anything to get me to stay, to forget the awkwardness standing between us. That part of me wanted to call him a selfish bastard; his keeping me around this weekend would be for his own good. It would destroy me in the process.
But the other part of me knew Sawyer.
Knew that he wasn’t one to say something just to get the end result he wanted.
We went six weeks without seeing one another, months without talking, and he wanted me to come with them—him?—today. I was so freaking confused by this man. He had plenty of opportunities to say something.
But then again, so had I.
I could have just as easily hidden behind my keyboard and sent him an email asking how he was, but I never did.
...Because I was afraid he wouldn’t answer. And that would have killed me far worse than simply not connecting with him in some way.
He knuckled me under my chin, his tired eyes locked on mine, but his crooked smile was sort of there. I couldn’t see the misaligned eye-tooth, but he was almost smiling.
And that made my heart happy.
“Stop thinking, Grace,” he whispered. “We’ll talk.”
