He puts me out of my misery by meandering towards his truck. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his Levi’s as he leans against the driver-side door, glancing up at the dark sky.
The sky is clear, and while the wind is blowing, the stars are sparkling. The moon, a full orb, hangs low in the sky, making the fields glow with the luminescence of it. I take a deep breath, smelling a mixture of hay and horses and Wes. I swear the smell of him lingers on my skin despite the shower.
“I guess I should go,” he says, putting a hand on his door as his gaze stays on the millions of pinpricks of light in the sky.
“Wait.” I reach out a hand to stop him.
God, what am I doing?
I’m reluctant to break my no sleepover rule, to make this into something more than just sex. But I’m also not ready for him to leave. Asking him to stay might be a mistake, but I don’t want this night to end yet.
He turns slowly, his gaze locking on mine, and I see the hope lurking behind his eyes.
I let the words I've been holding on to since he walked me to my door finally pass my lips. “Stay for a little while. We can sit by the fire pit… talk for a while.”
His expression warms, like embers stirred back to life in a dying fire. “I’d like that,” he says, dropping his hand from the door.
I let out the anxious breath I'd been holding. “Yeah," I admit, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "Me too."
A little bit of conversation around the fire won’t hurt. I enjoy his company, and I'd like a little more of it before the night ends.
Besides, I told Pops I’d remind Wes what he’s missing in the city. Never mind that the thought didn't cross my mind untilafterI'd already invited him to stay. That doesn't matter. It’s the shield I’ll use to guard my heart when he inevitably goes back in a few short weeks, leaving me with nothing but the echoes of his off-tune singing and the ghost of his touch.
Another Log on the Fire
Wes
Iget the fire started while Sawyer runs inside to grab whatever snacks and drinks she has on hand. The flames lick up the stone, bathing her small patio in an eerie glow that shows the weeds growing through the cracks in the cement. Sparks jump and the wood crackles as a gust of wind blows through, making me shiver.
The slam of the screen door and the crunch of gravel pull my gaze from the fire. Sawyer’s arms are overflowing while Dixie follows close at her heels. I rush over to grab the blanket and bottlesof pop out of her hands.
The smell of kettle corn makes my mouth water. Did she remember it was always my favorite, or is it just a coincidence that she brought it out with her?
I motion for her to sit down on the wicker loveseat with the bowl of kettle corn and cover her with the blanket before plopping down next to her, twisting the lid off a pop and passing it to her.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
I nod, drawing a deep breath, inhaling the smoky scent of the fire mingling with lavender, sage, and hay—the unmistakable mixture I’ve come to recognize as uniquely Sawyer.
I feel lighter with her. It’s a relief to breathe easy for once. The shackles I’ve always felt bound with have disintegrated. I lean back and enjoy the weightlessness of being in her presence.
She must sense my feeling of ease because as soon as I take a drink she says, “Can I ask you something?”
I let my hand rest on her thigh, wanting that contact. Hoping she feels the same connection tonight as I do. “You can ask me anything. As long as I can ask you something in return.”
She weighs her options a moment before agreeing with a nod.“Did you ever miss it out here when you were gone?”
Her eyes are fixed on the flames dancing in the fire pit. I can make out the orange of the flame reflecting in her eyes as I consider her question. It lights up the coppery tones of her hair, giving her an ethereal glow that makes her look like a fire sprite.
“I think I missed it for a long time, but then I forgot what it felt like to be here. To get my hands dirty and to do something that felt fun. It was hard work, sure. But being out here never felt like a job.”
“Why didn’t you ever come back then?” Her brows are pulled together like I'm a puzzle she's trying to solve.
“That’s a second question. You have to answer one of mine first.”
She gives me an irritated glower but doesn’t object.
“Why didn’t you ever get married again?”
