I ducked my head, heat flooding my cheeks, and focused on pulling my gloves tighter. We fell into an easy rhythm after that—Sawyer cutting away the damaged sections with practiced efficiency while I helped stretch the new wire taut. We moved together like we'd done this a hundred times, anticipating each other's needs without speaking.
"Hold that." Sawyer's voice was focused, intense, as he positioned a new post. His muscles strained beneath his flannel, sweat dampening his copper hair, his whole body focused on the task. "Need to get the angle right."
I held the wire steady, watching the sure movements of his scarred hands, the flex of his forearms, the way he bit his lower lip when he concentrated.
"You're staring." His voice cut through my thoughts, and I jerked my eyes away, heat flooding my cheeks.
"Sorry. I was just—" I fumbled for an excuse and came up empty. "Sorry."
"Didn't say stop." His voice was gruff, but when I risked a glance at him, his ears had gone red beneath his copper hair, and he'd turned back to his work a little too quickly. His scent had shifted—warmer now, tinged with something almost sweet.
We worked in charged silence after that, the air between us thick with something unspoken.
Around mid-morning, Sawyer called a break. He produced a thermos of water and passed it to me, our fingers brushing in the exchange—his rough and calloused, warm from work. Neither of us pulled away as quickly as we should have.
"You're good at this." His voice was quiet, thoughtful, his pale eyes fixed on the section we'd completed. "The work. The silence. Most people can't handle working without talking."
"Learned young that being quiet kept me safe." I took a long drink, the cool water soothing my dry throat. "Talk too much, people notice you. Start asking questions. Easier to be invisible."
"Same." Sawyer's pale eyes held mine, something understanding passing between us—two people who'd learned the same hard lessons in different classrooms. His voice had gone rough with recognition. "Words can be weapons. Learned to keep mine locked up tight."
"But you're talking to me." I said it carefully, not wanting to spook him, my heart beating faster. He was quiet for a long moment, his jaw working, his scarred hands flexing at his sides.
"Yeah." His voice was rough, almost confused, like he was surprised by his own behavior. His pale eyes searched my face, looking for something I couldn't name. "I am."
By midday, we'd finished most of the repairs. Sawyer stepped back to survey our work, something like satisfaction crossing his weathered face.
"Good." He nodded once—the highest praise I'd ever heard from him. "Lunch." He led me to a shady spot beneath an old oak tree and unpacked a canvas bag from his saddlebags—sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, apples, a thermos of coffee that was somehow still warm.
"You planned this." I took the sandwich he offered, something warm unfurling in my chest. "Brought enough for two. Asked me to come."
Sawyer shrugged, not meeting my eyes, his ears going red again. He'd settled against the tree trunk with his sandwich, his long legs stretched out, his whole body radiating nervous tension despite his casual posture.
"Figured you'd be hungry." His voice was gruff, dismissive, but he was picking at his sandwich rather than eating it, like he was waiting for something.
"Sawyer." I waited until he looked at me, until those pale blue eyes met mine. "You asked me to come because you wanted to spend the day with me." His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath his stubbled cheek, his hands going still on his sandwich. For a long moment I thought he wouldn't answer.
"I'm not good with words." His voice was rough, almost frustrated, his pale eyes dropping away from mine. His scarred hands had started shredding the wax paper, betraying nervousness he was trying to hide. "Kol knows how to talk, Reid knows what to say, Nolan's patient enough to find the right moment. I just—" He made a frustrated sound, shaking his head. "Actions make more sense to me than words. I thought if I couldn't tell you I wanted to know you better, maybe I could show you."
Something cracked open in my chest.
"You are showing me." My voice came out soft, aching with something I couldn't name. I reached out and stilled his hands, stopping him from destroying what was left of the wax paper."And I'd rather have this—working beside you, being trusted with your quiet—than a thousand pretty words."
Sawyer went still, his pale eyes searching my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. His hands had turned over under mine, his fingers threading through mine without quite seeming to decide to.
"You mean that." His voice was rough, wondering, like he couldn't quite believe it.
"I mean it." I held his gaze, letting him see the truth of it. "I'm okay with quiet, Sawyer. I've had enough people who wanted me to perform for them. I don't need you to be anything other than what you are." Something shifted in his expression—walls crumbling, armor falling away. His scarred hands tightened on mine, trembling slightly.
"I don't know how to do this." His voice was rough, almost pained, his pale eyes bright with emotion. "The... getting to know someone. Letting them in. I've never—" He stopped, jaw tight.
"Neither have I." I admitted, squeezing his hands. "But we could figure it out together. If you want." He was quiet for a long time, his eyes fixed on our intertwined hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
"I want." Two words, rough and raw and honest. His pale eyes rose to meet mine, burning with fierce emotion. "I want that."
We ate in comfortable silence after that, shoulders brushing, watching the cattle in the distance. When I finished my sandwich and reached for the apple, Sawyer's hand found mine in the grass between us. His fingers threaded through mine—rough, calloused, trembling slightly.
"Can I ask you something?" His voice was hesitant, uncertain in a way I'd never heard from him before. His thumb was tracing nervous patterns on the back of my hand.
