He shook his head. “I’ve had my time on the field as a Gauthier Fighting Lion.” He pulled her in closer. “Besides, I’m hoping I can convince you to take a detour.”
Her stomach did that flipping thing again.
“Where are you looking to take me?” she asked.
His brow hitched again.
Oh, she wassothere.
“Oh my God! This is so good.” The moan that escaped her lips drizzled down Sawyer’s spine.
“I told you it would be,” he replied.
“It’s been so long since I had it. I just didn’t think it could still be this good.”
“It’s always as good as the first time.”
Paxton let out a satisfied sigh and sat back in the chair she’d occupied for the past hour on his rear deck. As she licked her fingers clean of the sticky remnants of the roasted marshmallow she’d just eaten, Sawyer had to stop himself from going for her lips. He wouldn’t move too fast.
But hewouldmake his move tonight.
He threw another log into the built-in fire bowl that he’d never used once since moving into this house. It was only fitting that he christen it with Paxton. Picturing the two of them spending countless nights together like this had become his new favorite pastime over the past hour.
She reached for another marshmallow, speared it with a kebab spear, and placed it over the fire bowl.
“Here,” he said, handing her the one he’d been roasting for several minutes.
Paxton stared at the slightly charred marshmallow. “You’re giving me your marshmallow?” she asked. The awe in her voice made him wonder what the other men in her life had ever done for her.
“I will roast as many marshmallows as your heart desires,” Sawyer said. “I just have to warn you, you’ll probably get sick after the seventh or eighth one.”
She let out a rich laugh. “NowthatI do remember, but my mom always had seltzer water or ginger ale on hand.”
“So this really was a thing?” he said. “You and your mom roasted marshmallows when you were a kid?”
Her enthusiastic nod combined with that bright smile was infectious. Sawyer couldn’t help but smile himself.
“She used to take me camping in the yard, that patch of land between our trailer and Harlon’s Bar,” she said. “We’d roast marshmallows, she’d tell me ghost stories, and we’d read books that I picked up from the library. I guess it was her version of a low-cost vacation, because she could never afford the time off from work or the money it would take to go on a real one.”
Sawyer thought about his own childhood and couldn’t deny the stark difference to hers. Because his father had been sequestered in his Ninth Ward neighborhood while growing up, he’d vowed that his son would get out and see the world. Sawyer had visited more than a dozen states by the time he was twelve. He’d been to the top of the Empire State Building, observed the majestic beauty of the Grand Canyon, and dipped his toes into the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California.
“It’s okay,” she said. He looked up at her. “I know what you’re thinking, and really, it’s okay.”
He doubted she knew what he was thinking, and Sawyer wasn’t inclined to share his true thoughts with her. Not right now. He didn’t want the startling difference between the way they grew up creating any more of a chasm between them, especially tonight.
“I was just thinking—” he started, but she cut him off.
“You were thinking about all the cool places you’ve visited, but you’re afraid to say anything because you think it will make me feel bad.”
Damn.Maybe his poker face wasn’t as good as he thought it was.
She held the marshmallow she’d been roasting out to him.
“Okay, yeah. That is kind of what I was thinking,” Sawyer said before taking a bite. A trail of the warm, sticky substance fell onto his chin.
“Don’t,” she said. “Those campouts with my mom are some of my very best memories. I didn’t need anything else. I’m ashamed to admit just how jealous I was of some of the things other kids in Gauthier—those whose families had money—got to do, but fancy vacations was never one of them. And it’s not as if I was stuck in Gauthier my entire childhood, either. When Shayla and Braylon were kids, they would go to the beach in Biloxi for a week every summer. Their folks were sweet enough to bring me along. So, you see. There’s no reason for you to feel bad for me.”
She reached over and ran her thumb along his chin where the marshmallow had fallen. Her eyes zeroed in on his lips. “You missed a spot.”
