“Dinner and a show? You’re spoiling me,” I tease. His eyes darken not with sexual heat, but with some other unspoken desire.
When we get to the counter, an older Black woman approaches from the other side and plants her hands on her hips as she smiles broadly at Sawyer. I wonder if he knows how special it is that people are happy to see him wherever he goes.
“Well if it isn’t his royal highness himself,” the woman says with mock-scolding.
Color crawls up the back of his neck, and I have the sudden urge to rub his back. He hates this. Being called royalty isn’t a compliment to him, and I understand why now. He doesn’t want to be lumped in the same box as his dad, yet all people of this town see is the happy Strong family that the ex-mayor has carefully cultivated.
Sawyer smiles at her in a way I used to consider cocky, and this tugs at my heart, too. He’d rather endure this woman’s teasing than hold it against her.
“Hi, Ms. Clarke. What’s good?”
“Is that Sawyer?” A voice from the back bellows. ABlack man trudges up to the counter, his meaty arms folded as he looks down his nose at Sawyer.
My heart drops into my stomach because I recognize him. He’s older, but it’s definitely him. Justin Clarke. He used to be an EMT for the fire department.
Memories crash into my brain. Waking up to find my dad not homeagain. Getting Mara ready for school and on the bus. Walking the familiar path to Dad’s favorite dive only to find him passed out on someone’s lawn or on a bench, not sure if I should hope he’s okay or hope this one did him in for good.
Mr. Clarke was the one who’d usually come. His deep brown eyes full of pity as he told me Dad would be okay.
Unconsciously, I move so that Sawyer blocks me.
Mr. Clarke tips his head at his wife. “You know, she has me slaving away making those little cornbread bites all because ‘Sawyer said he loves them’?” He raises his voice to imitate his wife.
Sawyer’s body stiffens as more color tints his neck.
Slapping her husband’s arm, Ms. Clarke says, “Leave him alone, Iasked.” Then, with a wink, she adds, “But we can’t have our Sawyer going hungry.”
“Great! We’ll take two orders with our fish fry.” Sawyer’s voice is casual, almost playful, but I notice a tension beneath his words.
“We?” Ms. Clarke says, and both of them crane their necks until their eyes find me.
I cringe internally.
Sawyer turns, a look of dismay when he sees me standing behind him. He drops his hand to the small of my back and draws me in front of him.
“Is that Brie Casey?” Mr. Clarke asks.
I wish the floor beneath me was made of quicksand.
Sawyer’s arms snake around me, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“It is Brie Casey,” he confirms. “She’s been back for a few months now. One of the best teachers I’ve ever seen, and definitely my favorite. I’m trying to keep her.”
My breath hitches at the compliment.
Ms. Clarke reaches over the counter to put a hand on mine. “Well, then. Welcome back to Blue Ridge, sweetheart. We are so glad you’re here.”
Her smile is like stepping into the sun. Warmth seeps from my skin directly into my pores and dispels throughout my body. To my immense embarrassment, my eyes dampen.
“Thanks,” I manage.
“Cornbread on us,” Mr. Clarke says, massaging his wife’s shoulders, “as much as you want.”
As if he knows the effect their kindness has on me, Sawyer speaks up, mock-offended. “I never got free cornbread.”
“Yeah, but we’re trying to keep her,” Mr. Clarke says. “Besides, you aren’t as pretty.”
“That’s true,” Sawyer agrees, tugging me closer.
