The Magic of Light

Chapter

Twenty-Three

Sawyer

Greg was the literal worst. Worst coworker. Worst employee. Worst lunch eater, if that was even a thing.

I couldn’t prove it, but I was convinced he was stealing my lunch from the office fridge. I had made a series of check-ins around lunchtime. I would run to monitor the status of my lunchbox in the fridge as coworkers trickled in and out of the break room and narrowed it down to him. Sure, if he needed my lunch, I would share, but I knew that wasn’t the case, especially when he most likely made a higher salary than I did.

What caused a man to steal his coworker’s lunch? Laziness? Boredom? Did he seriously like my leftovers from dinner the night before that much? The whole thing was bizarre, but now that I had narrowed it down to him, I wasn’t sure how to confront it.

Did I blaze a trail and say, “Greg, why are you stealing my lunch?” That made me want to vomit.

Should I casually say in a conversation around him, “Hmmmm . . . I wonder who ate my lunch?”

But who was going to fess up to being the lunch thief? The leftover lunch thief at that.

I blew out a huff as I perused the fridge, the cold air doing little to combat my hangry temper. As I debated the hassle of going out to lunch after I had packed a perfectly good lunch, I glanced at the screen of my phone to check the time. I had an hour before I needed to be back, but what caught my attention was an unread text that came in four minutes ago. I hadn’t noticed it because my phone had been silenced from court that morning.

Soren:

In Lewis City unexpectedly. Can I buy you lunch?

Lunch sounded amazing. Maybe then I’d stop thinking about how I was going to force a confession out of the leftover lunch thief, Greg. The jerk! The idea of seeing Soren made me feel giddy, and I’d never experienced anything similar before. Weird. I was also anxious after what had happened the last time I’d seen him. At some point, he would stop wanting to spend time with me, but what could it hurt to spend a little time with him until he decided to move on?

Sawyer:

It just so happens that the lunch thief struck again and I’m lunchless.

My phone rang a minute later.

“Hello.”

“Hey, who do I need to set straight about taking my Pretty Girl’s lunch? Send me your location and I’ll be there ASAP.” My Pretty Girl. My belly fluttered again at his words, and I sent him my location as I gathered my sweater and purse.

“Apparently someone that enjoys leftover lasagna,” I whined.

“Did you make it?” I could hear his blinker in the background.

“Yes . . . ” I drew it out. Why did that matter?

“Can’t blame ’em! It had to be last meal worthy,” he exclaimed.

“Last meal?” I asked, making my way back to my desk.

“Ya know, like the last meal on death row,” he explained as if he had considered this many times.

“Okay. Why do I get the feeling you’ve spent a lot of time contemplating this and know exactly what you’d want?” I could hear his blinker again in the background.

“You haven’t?!” His outrage made me smile.

“Uh, no. I don’t plan on being on death row.”

“Chicken fried steak, homemade mashed potatoes and gravy, peach iced tea, those little pieces of cake in the refrigerator section at gas stations, and a piece of your cheesecake,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Should I be concerned that you listed my cheesecake in the same sentence as gas station cake? I’m not even sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Prettttty girllllll.” He drew out his name for me as though it was the saddest news he’d ever heard. “We need to fix that,” he added, and I smiled at his exasperated tone.

“I suppose I could be persuaded,” I conceded.

“I’m here to persuade. Pulling into the parking lot now.” His confidence was incredibly hot.

“I’ll be right out.” I ended the call and made my way out the doors.

Soren was in his signature dark jeans and brown, square-toe boots with a slate blue flannel shirt that had a Carhartt light brown vest over the top. If “masculine” had a photo in the dictionary, it’d be him. His long legs ate up the asphalt as we met in the parking lot. He smiled that soft smile that was fully him, and I resisted the urge to touch him. There was something about him that made me want to be near him. It was foreign and strange and warm all at the same time.

“Ready?” he asked, tipping his head toward his truck. I almost wished he’d hug me again, but after that awkward exchange with the flat tire I thought that was unlikely. It was the weighty elephant in the room. But I smiled and shoved the elephant back under the rug, where I preferred to keep all of my elephants.

“Yep.” He waved an arm toward his truck, as if it was a chariot, and opened my door. I climbed in, which was always a feat because of the height. He grabbed my seat belt strap as he had on the first day we met and buckled it. His body never touched mine, but heat flushed through my body like a wildfire. His eyes caught mine and conveyed things I didn’t understand, but I wanted to as he leaned back to close the door. He rounded the hood, and I took the opportunity to take a deep breath to steady my heart that raced anytime he was near.

We settled on a local café that sold specialty sandwiches because apparently down the street was a gas station that held the “last meal” refrigerator sliced cake. Soren insisted we go there after lunch. I ordered a sandwich labeled a Memphis Club while Soren chose a spicy sandwich labeled The New Orleans Club. The teenager at the counter with the side swept bangs mumbled he’d bring us our meals once they were prepared. Soren guided me through the tables. He never touched me, but I could sense the heat from his body when we walked closely together. I sat on one side of a tan leather booth while Soren sat on the other.

“Do you really have a lunch thief?” Soren asked.

“Yes! I know who it is, but I don’t know why.” I pondered it still.

“If your cheesecake and cookies are any indication of how great your lasagna is, then I pity the poor soul who has to work with you knowing what’s in your lunch box.” He slowly shook his head from side to side.

“Pity the soul? What about my hungry soul when I see that my lunch is gone?!” Soren let out a laugh, and I had to roll my lips together not to beam at our lighthearted exchange. He made me relaxed simply with his presence. The darkness that usually crept in as a thick fog when I tried, and often failed, to connect with new people felt distant now. It was as if being in his light fought off my darkness, and I felt less alone. My ability to connect with him reminded me of Abel. There was something about these Roberts boys that made them extra special. They starved the darkness away, and only left me with remembrances of light.