Chapter 21 Lawson
Chapter twenty-one
Lawson
thanksgiving day
Istand at the sink with my sleeves rolled up, hot water running over my hands as I scrub the last of the roasting pans. Grease, seasoning, the smell of turkey still hangs heavy in the air. It should be muscle memory by now, but my eyes keep drifting away from the dishes.
To her.
Abigail stands beside me, drying plates, humming what sounds like Christmas music under her breath. The sound is soft. Distracting. Addicting.
She looks… so damn happy.
Not the careful kind. Not the forced kind either.
It’s real. There’s color in her cheeks now, warmth in her eyes.
She stands in a room like she belongs there, instead of like she’s waiting for the floor to swallow her whole.
And for some reason that puts a fist around something in my chest, I’ve been trying not to think too hard about.
“You did good today,” I say quietly, forcing my stare back into the sink.
She bumps her hip gently against mine. “You and Beau cooked most of the meal.”
“And you cooked the rest,” I murmur back.
She smiles, small and warm. The kind of smile that isn’t trying to impress, it just… is.
“Thank you for letting me be part of this,” she says.
I dry my hands on a towel and lean back against the counter, turning toward her. “You are part of it,” I tell her.
Her breath catches. Just enough for me to notice. Just enough to feel it settle between us. It feels quiet, fragile, electric.
Dangerous.
I break the moment before I do something stupid. “Go on. Join the guys for a drink. I’ll finish up.”
She hesitates for half a second, then nods and slips out of the kitchen, but not before dragging her fingers along the back of my shoulder.
And once the kitchen is empty, the warmth of her touch lingers.
She’s everywhere now.
Every part of her lingers.
Her scent.
Her laugh.
Her beauty.
The pain of her past.
And the hope for her future.
She’s fucking everywhere. And I don’t think I want to escape it.