Chapter
Twenty-Four
Soren
Was it possible to get drunk off a person? I was quickly becoming addicted to being in the presence of Sawyer Brannan. Sure, she was breathtakingly beautiful, but it wasn’t simply her beauty that drew me in. She had this almost fragile softness that made me want to protect her, but she also held a strength unlike anyone I had ever met. I wanted to be her safe place so that she could shine.
When I met her, I didn’t know her story, but ever since that talk on my front porch, this fierce protectiveness made me feel like a damn fool when it came to her. She wasn’t even mine. I barely knew her, and somehow I knew deep in my core I’d do whatever it took to protect her at all costs. There was a string connected to me, and she held the other end. I was but a fool under the magic of her spell, and I never wanted to be anywhere else. After we ate our sandwiches, we loaded up in my truck to hit up the Mason’s across the street. The gas station chain always carried Mama Kathy’s slices of cold cake, and I had to correct the disservice of her having never tasted one. We went in, and she giggled as we collected three types of cake to taste, along with two bottles of water to cleanse our palettes in between each taste test. We loaded back up in the truck, and I ceremoniously opened the waxed butcher paper that contained the first slice of cake. Her eyes sparkled as I exaggerated the process.
“First up, we have the delectable white chocolate raspberry.” I broke off a small piece and held it to her mouth. Her eyes widened and after briefly and shyly meeting my eyes, she opened her mouth. I wasn’t prepared for the fire that shot through my body as her plump, soft bottom lip grazed my thumb. Her face lit up as she tasted the cake, as if she hadn’t been struck by the same lighting I had. She nodded her head as she finished chewing and swallowed.
“Okay, okay. Not bad, Cowboy.”
“Cowboy, huh? Next, we have a milk chocolate fudge cake with white frosting.” I held out a piece, questioning my sanity as I repeated the process. This time, her lip didn’t touch me. My erratic heartbeat couldn’t take that again if we were only going to be friends. Although, I knew I was pushing the boundaries of friends every moment I could. Her eyes lit up as she chewed this bite.
“Oooohhh. That might be my favorite!” She took a sip of water as I unwrapped the third slice of cake.
“Last, we have a delicious strawberry cake with cream cheese frosting.” I repeated the process, and she clapped her hands animatedly. Her eyes danced with delight as she savored the flavor.
“THIS! This is my favorite, favorite!” I chuckled at her enthusiasm.
“Mine too.” Why did the two words feel so intimate? So right. Why did the territorial caveman part of me want to say I wanted her to be mine because she was my favorite too? But instead, we shared the cake, and I tried to think of anything else other than being her friend, because that might be the death of me. The first thing that came to mind was something that happened during lunch that I couldn’t forget.
“So . . . if you know who is taking your lunch, why haven’t you talked to them to see what’s going on?” Her dappled blue eyes grew to the size of half dollars. Her hands instinctively reached to rub her thumb on the military tags that were tucked inside her shirt.
“Uhh . . . I’m not the best with confrontation and . . .” She looked away, as if she was embarrassed.
I hooked my index finger under her chin and turned her toward me.
“Tell me.” Her teeth caught her bottom lip.
“I don’t like conflict . . . ” She glanced down at her phone. She had ten minutes before she needed to be back at work.
“What do you do when you disagree with something?”
She glanced at her phone again, avoiding telling me, which told me she always made herself agreeable.
“Um, I think I need to go back to work. I really appreciate you taking me to lunch. You’re right about the cake. It’s fantastic.” She smiled as if I’d forget my question.
“You’re welcome.” I reached my hand toward her, then stopped. “May I hold your hand?”
She nodded, biting her lower lip. I engulfed her small hand in mine to ground her while I talked to her.
“Sawyer, you matter too.” She ducked her head, and I knew that if I weren’t holding her hand, she’d bolt from the truck. Her other hand was still rubbing a pattern on the tags.
“If you disagree with something or dislike something, it’s okay to say that. You weren’t okay with the mix-up on your sandwich at lunch, were you?” During lunch the cafe had mistakenly given her mayo instead of honey mustard. She had replied that it didn’t matter, but I thought I’d caught her grimacing a couple of times while chewing.
She shook her head the smallest amount.
“Can you tell me?” I asked as gently as I could.
Her eyes found mine, and she took a steadying breath.
“I don’t like mayo. It makes me want to puke. Someone made me eat old mayo once, and I’ve had a hard time eating it since. The café didn’t know that and I didn’t want to upset anyone.”
My throat was tight and I burned with anger that anyone that could treat her badly, and with compassion for the beautiful woman at war with wanting to be herself. How anyone could cause pain to this woman was beyond me. She was gentle and kind. I had seen the way she handled Connor, even after the situation had derailed her day and she still had patience. She exhibited genuine kindness in a way that gave the impression that warmth seeped from her skin.
“I’m sorry that happened to you. Can we make a deal?” My thumb skimmed the back of her soft hand.
Her eyes searched mine and then another slight nod.
“If this happens again, will you tell me? I’ll buy you another sandwich.”
She shook her head and tugged at her hand to create distance. I let go, knowing that her controlling her space was more important than my desire to hold her hand.
“We’ll treat it like a game. Every time I see you, I want you to disagree with me about something. You can practice on me.”
Her eyes searched mine again, her forehead furrowed.
“Why?” It was almost a whisper.
“Because you should have a place to be authentically you and I want to be that place.”
“And you won’t get angry at me?” she asked as though she was having a hard time believing it.
“Nope.”
“Okay,” she responded. Although I wasn’t sure if that was a full agreement, I was prepared to move forward and give her that space to be herself. Now that I knew her go-to was to make herself small to accommodate others, I’d watch more closely and make sure she knew she could be herself with me.
“Deal. But here’s the thing—you can’t say no for another five minutes.” I should have gotten her to say yes before this whole empowering “no” talk. Apparently, I had become a rookie after not dating for so long.
“This feels like a trick,” she said as a smile tugged at her lips.
“I have tickets to the Cal Austin concert next Friday. I thought I’d try out some of this pop country music if you want to come with me?” I knew Cal Austin was one of her favorites because she had played me two of his songs while we checked on the calves. When I saw they were coming to a nearby town, I had talked to Lane, and he had worked his charm and acquired me a pair of tickets.
“Really? Yes!” A smile stretched across her face like it was Christmas. I had never looked forward to a concert that was sure to make my ears bleed more in my life.