My chest feels tight in a good way. “I’m tired of this. Of us keeping our distance and pretending it’s helping anything.”
“Ali—”
“I know we’re trying to be careful, but I don’t care anymore. I just want to see you.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure. I know there are still things we have to deal with, but I just…I need to see you.”
“Where do you want to meet?”
I think about it. Not anywhere in town where we might be seen. Not my house—too much history of bad things happening here. Not his place—that feels like crossing a line we're not ready for yet.
“Could we just drive somewhere? Get out of town for a while?”
“Yeah.” The relief in his voice mirrors mine. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.”
Relief floods through me. “See you soon.”
Twenty minutes later, I'm waiting by my front door, having changed my outfit three times like I'm sixteen again.It's just Sawyer,I tell myself.Who's seen you terrified, crying, at your absolute worst.
But somehow that makes me want to lookgoodfor him, not less.
When his truck pulls into my driveway, my stomach does something complicated. My hands are already sweating. He’s out of uniform, wearing jeans and a dark green flannel that fits him perfectly. He looks tired but handsome in that rugged, unaware way.
“Hey,” he says when I slide into the passenger seat.
God, I've missed this. Missed him.
“Hey yourself.” I buckle my seat belt and let myself really look at him. The slight stubble on his jaw. The way his short black hair’s a little messy, like he ran his hands through it too many times.
“You look nice,” I say, then immediately feel awkward about it. I adjust my glasses nervously.
“So do you.” His eyes linger on me for a moment—on my face, my hair, the blue sweater I finally settled on. There’s appreciation in his gaze, but also something softer. Something that makes me feel seen, not just looked at.
We sit there for a moment, both of us smiling like idiots, remembering how to exist in the same space. I feel like we're starting over. Like this is our first date.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
“I was thinking we could grab some food and find somewhere quiet to eat it. Away from everything.”
“That sounds perfect.”
We stop at the drive-through of a burger place on the edge of town, ordering enough food for a small army because neither of us ate much lunch. Stress eating at its finest. Then Sawyer drives us out past the town limits, along a winding road that leads up to a hill overlooking Pine Hollows.
He parks at a small clearing where teenagers probably come to make out, but right now it’s just us and the view. The air is cool through the cracked window. Smells like pine and coming snow. Pine Hollows a cluster of lights in the distance. The sun is setting, casting everything in golden light.
“This is nice,” I say, unwrapping my burger.
“Yeah, it is.” Sawyer opens his container of fries and offers me some, and I take a few without thinking about it. They're still warm, salty. When did we get this comfortable? “How have you really been, Ali?”
I think about the past week. The stress at work, Mrs. Henderson at the coffee shop asking pointed questions about “that police investigation,” the way I’ve been second-guessing every decision, every word, every thought.
“Stressed,” I admit.
“About what?”
“About this investigation ruining your life. About my mother never stopping. About Lance somehow getting out of this without consequences.” I pick at my burger, not meeting his eyes. My throat is tight. “About you deciding I’m not worth all the trouble.”
