“One minute, Mom.” I spin, hustling down the steps and striding after him at the fastest pace my stilettos allow. “Sawyer!”
He doesn’t stop. But he slows, already halfway across the lot, head swiveling to say something to the guy next to him. The guy nods, aiming a curious look at me over his shoulder, then continues walking away.
Sawyer turns, shoving his hands into his pockets to watch me approach. His stance is eerily similar to the last time I saw him, standing in my parents’ driveway.
I slow to a fast walk instead of the hobbling jog from before. Not only because my feet are hurting and I have a full night ahead in these heels, but because I haven’t decided what to say.
I settle on, “What are you doing here?”
He smiles. But it’s not the one I remember. It’s mocking. “I live here.”
“I thought the season ran until September?”
I get my first glimpse of real emotion. Irritation breaks through his mask. He doesn’t like that I looked him up, I guess.
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I got injured.”
I look him over, eyes lingering on his left forearm. It’s turned, so I can’t see the sailboat anymore, but I know it’s there. I wouldn’t haveimagined a detail that specific.
“What happened?”
He releases a long, frustrated exhale. “Look, we don’t need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Catch up. Pretend to give a fuck.”
I scoff. I forgot how … blunt he can be. “I’m not pretending.”
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, nodding toward his waiting buddy. “You have a party to get back to. And a fiancé.”
Sawyer turns, jogging the remaining distance to his truck like he can’t get away fast enough. Can’t be bothered to spend another second swapping words with me.
Confirmed: he saw the ring.
Also confirmed: he doesn’t seem to care.
One of those bothers me a lot more than the other does.
38
Gus has already heard. I know the second he steps into my office, feigning casual as he goes on about how disappointing the stale bagel he had for breakfast was, then about the weird noise his sedan is making, finally asking where I think he should take Lissa, the waitress he’s interested in, on what will technically be their first date.
When he brings up the weather—“Nice day, right? Warmer than yesterday.”—I lose patience.
“I know she’s here, okay?”
Gus shifts in the chair he’s commandeered. “Oh. Wren is in town?” He sips some coffee. “I hadn’t heard?—”
I sigh, tossing the pen down and reclining in the chair. I requested a new one after inheriting the manager title from Dusty, along with his office, and this one isn’t much more comfortable than the last. “You’re a terrible liar. Also, I never specified who I was talking about.”
“Okay, yeah. I heard.” Gus leans forward, eyes alight with curiosity. “Have you … seen her?”
“Accidentally.”
If I’d known the Kensington event at the country club was taking place last night, I wouldn’t have been within ten miles of the place.
Gus studies me. “Did you talk to her?”
