The Magic of Light

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

Sawyer

When we arrived at the historic, luxury-style theater on the main street of Wilson, there were groups of people trickling in through the large wooden doors. Men wore starched, pearl-snap dress shirts, cowboy hats, and blazers over denim pants. Soren wore dark denim jeans that molded to his thick thighs with freshly shined cowboy boots. His cream-colored shirt, with a few buttons at the neck, clung to his muscular body in all the right places. He was handsome in a way that made my stomach feel funny. Women were in skin tight denim jeans, cut-off shorts, summer dresses, and cowgirl boots. The light blue summer dress that Talia declared would “make my eyes pop” was what I ended up wearing after sending her multiple selfies to make sure it looked okay. I had curled my hair in waves and left it down. It hung almost to my waist.

I had debated taking off the military tags and carrying them in my clutch, but they were my touchstone in stress. Nerves had me rethinking, and I simply tucked the chain under the neckline of my dress. Out of all the things we had done, this was the most date-like, but we weren’t dating. We were friends, although even as I considered this, I wondered what it would be like to belong to someone as good as Soren Roberts. I was such a hot mess when it came to relationships, but not from a lack of wanting to do well. It was embarrassing when I acknowledged that I was twenty-six years old and had never been on a date. The idea of having a string of failed relationships made my stomach clench with anxiety. Relationships like that meant getting close to people. That alone was terrifying, and ultimately, they'd simply be another person that walked away in the revolving door of my life.

Soren walked slightly behind me, but I felt the heat of his body near mine in the crush of people. He had re-routed us multiple times, making sure I had plenty of room to walk. His consideration of me was even hotter than his current purposeful five o’clock shadow that my fingers itched to touch.

“Soren? Is that you?” a high-pitched voice asked. I thought I heard Soren make a disgruntled sound.

A tall, gorgeous woman with unnaturally red hair strode up with a shorter man attached to her arm, who appeared to be trying to catch up.

“Golly, I can’t believe it’s you! What have you been up to?” she asked in a voice that was much louder than it needed to be.

“The usual. Taking care of the ranch. Felicity, this is Sawyer,” Soren introduced, lightly touching my back as a way of acknowledging my presence. I noticed that he didn’t use any term to describe me, but I couldn’t blame him. The title of friend didn’t fit quite right.

She turned to me, towering over me in her heels, and raised one manicured eyebrow.

“Oh my word. I didn’t realize you had a daughter, Soren,” she squawked, drawing out each word.

Soren sucked in air at such a sharp intake that he began coughing hysterically. He pounded a fist on his chest in an effort to clear his throat.

I knew the game she was playing, but I patted Soren’s firm back. He stopped choking after a second, and I did the bravest thing I had done all day—I reached out and placed my hand in his. His hands were large and calloused from hard work, but there wasn’t any other hand I wanted to hold.

“I’m his date,” I asserted, his eyes burning into the side of my head. The redhead squinted at me as if she hadn’t expected me to speak.

Soren cleared his throat and then said, “Good to see you, Felicity, but we need to find our seats.” Felicity raised both brows and turned suddenly, pulling along the man without taking the time to introduce him.

Soren led me toward the crowded auditorium and we found our seats, which were way closer to the stage than I had anticipated. We sat down because we were early, and I realized my hand was still in his.

“Date, huh?”

He turned toward me and a smile pulled at his beautiful mouth.

I want to brush my fingertips across his lips.

Where’d that come from? Sure. He was handsome as sin, as Talia would say, but I didn’t normally have these kinds of thoughts. I’m not sure I ever had.

“I certainly don’t look young enough to be your daughter,” I huffed out.

“No, you don’t. You look like a beautiful woman on a date.” My cheeks immediately proceeded to flush, and the smirk of his lips suggested he had a secret.

We were two songs into the concert and I couldn’t do it. The music blared from the speakers. I beat myself up because I should have known. I’ve seen videos of concerts online, but I’d never been to one in person. Talia and I had planned to attend one in college, but for some reason or another, we hadn’t been able to. I hated that I was a twenty-six-year-old woman with almost no normal life experiences.

Most people didn’t understand that when you grew up in a normal loving family, you did normal family things. But when you were bounced around to over one hundred foster homes like me, you didn’t have those same moments. You still grew up . . . you simply didn’t have any life experiences in common with most people. It was having more traumatic experiences than everyone in the room combined, but not having any typical American life experiences. I’ll never forget the time I told Talia I had never had a manicure, and she deemed we had to remedy that immediately. Talia had taken me to see Shelly at Lovely Nails, and I spent entirely too much time deciding which shade of pink I wanted.

I had started to panic partway through the first song, but reminded myself that Soren had bought the tickets. I needed to tough it out, but the volume of the music was like road rash on my ears. I wanted to crawl out of my skin. My body hummed from the intensity of the sound.

“Here.”

Soren’s breath whispered across my ear, sending chill bumps racing down my body as he extended a pair of expensive earplugs. My eyes watered at his thoughtfulness as I thanked him and swiftly placed them in my ears. They made all the difference. My nervous system began to calm. I could still hear the music perfectly, but at a much lower decibel. His kindness made my nose sting, and I reached down between us, linking our hands together for the remainder of the concert. His touch calmed me and I wanted to hold his hand. The desire to touch anyone was completely foreign, but I decided I would ignore the questions of why him and enjoy the concert, because holding his hand felt achingly perfect.