Page 59 of His Reckoning

“I’m beginning to realize that.”

I take another bite of pasta, then tilt my head slightly. “You know what’s funny?”

“What.”

“You look like you’re the one who should be in a romance novel.”

Sawyer pauses, and his fork stops halfway to his plate. “And what does that mean?”

“It means you’re tall, intimidating, and broody.”

“That doesn’t sound romantic.”

“It absolutely does.”

He sets the fork down slowly. “And yet you told me I wasn’t hero material.”

“That was before I knew you had a private gym.”

He almost smiles. “Your standards are very specific.”

I huff out a laugh. “You have no idea.”

He studies me again, longer this time, and suddenly, the same tension from the kitchen the night before creeps back into the room.

The air feels heavier again.

I clear my throat and stand up quickly. “More wine?”

Sawyer nods once. “Please.”

I grab the bottle and pour two glasses, then slide one toward him. Our fingers brush slightly when he takes it.

Neither of us comments on it, but the moment lingers just a second longer than it should.

I sit back down and take a sip.

Sawyer watches me over the rim of his glass. I suddenly realize something. The same man who choked on a snack only minutes ago because of my book … is now looking at me like he’s thinking about it again.

Which is unfair because I’m the one who wrote the scene, and yet somehow, he’s the one making the moment feel like it belongs in it’s own novel.

Chapter Ten

Sawyer

The gym is quiet when I walk in, which is exactly what I need.

Tonight, my mind refuses to settle. Something about the evening—about Kayla—has left a kind of restless energy under my skin that lifting usually fixes.

I roll my shoulders once and step toward the weights. Then the door opens, and Kayla walks in.

Of course she does.

She doesn’t notice me immediately. Her focus is already on the treadmill as she sets her water bottle down and starts adjusting the speed. Which means I have a moment to observe her without interruption.

Her hair is tied loosely at the back of her head. A few strands have escaped already.

Running shorts and a tank top—completely normal workout clothes. Yet somehow, the room feels different now.