I smirk. "Like pine trees on a mountainside with cardinals?"
He breathes a short laugh. “Yes.”
“Tell me why you were really on HCC property, Sawyer. I trusted you with my truth. It’s your turn to trust me with yours.”
His smile recedes. The side of his thumb taps the table. When his gaze finds mine, I see insurmountable pain rising like a swell. “My mom was in a car accident on the road that leads out to the HCC. I don’t know exactly where it happened, so sometimes I ride around and look. I…” His chin moves back and forth quickly. “I don’t know what I’m looking for. All evidence is long gone. Maybe I’m hoping for a feeling, like a gut instinct.” He huffs an empty laugh. “Maybe I’m looking for some kind of other-earthly event, like she’s reaching out to me from wherever it is people go when they die.” He shrugs. “So, there you have it. Trespassing for a good reason.”
I reach out, brushing my fingers over his forearm. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Sawyer.” I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never even heard of a car accident so close to the HCC, let alone one that resulted in death.
“I really know how to bring down the mood, huh?” His empty chuckle floats in the air between us.
I wave away his words. “Do you want to talk more about your mom? I’m a great listener.”
He shakes his head, and I watch the emotion in his eyes fade. It’s as if he has closed a curtain. The tension in his cheeks loosens, and the pain in his features dissipates. It makes me wonder when he got so good at pushing it all away.
He looks down at my hand, still poised on his arm. It’s difficult to decipher what he’s feeling in this moment. Should I move my hand? Am I making him uncomfortable?
“I should probably leave,” he says quietly.
My lips turn down and I take my hand back.
He pushes his empty glass to the back of the booth and winks. ”It's almost ten. I'll turn into a pumpkin if I'm not back in my room by then."
"You're staying at The Sierra?"
He nods.
"That sounds depressing."
"Thanks," he deadpans. I laugh.
"I just mean it sounds cramped. I need wide open spaces. If I had to look out that window onto High Street every day…" My voice trails off. I don't know how to finish that sentence.
Sawyer regards me with raised eyebrows, waiting. When it's clear I've got nothing to say, he stands. The music changes, the beat slowing. "How about one dance?" He offers me a hand. "And then I'll leave."
"One dance," I agree, sliding from my side of the booth. I wag a finger at him. "Don't get handsy.” What a joke. If his hands drifted, I’d do nothing to return them to their proper place.
"No wandering hands here, I assure you."
Sawyer leads me onto the dance floor. He lifts my hand, twirling me in a slow circle, before placing it on his shoulder. I adjust my arm, wrapping it loosely around his upper back. He grips my other hand and brings it into his chest.
He smells like soap and cologne, and something else I can't describe. My head falls against his chest, and he takes a long, slow, deep breath. My head shifts with the movement.
We sway to the music, and I close my eyes. His hand, still on my upper back, begins to move. It's only his thumb at first, gliding over my skin. But then all his other fingers join, and it becomes a caress.
I relax into him, letting him hold me. In all the craziness of recent events, he feels safe. Solid and strong. I'm in the arms of aman. Not the coward who cheated on his wife while she was carrying their child.
I’m not prepared for how much I like it.
The song ends.Too soon, I think. What I say is, "Thank you for the dance, Sawyer."
I leave him before he can leave me. I stop at the booth to grab my purse and make my way out of the Chute.
11
Sawyer
Conrad McCafferty.That's the name of the alfalfa farmer. He's a son of a bitch, too.
