Chapter 18
I do a quick scan of my notifications, confirming they’re complaints about my disappearance and nothing urgent. Then tiptoe into the bathroom to run through my eight-step morning routine.
I doubt it was his intention, but I’m glad Sawyer gave me a chance to brush my hair and teeth before facing him. Yes, I’m that vain.
Back in the bedroom, I change into the outfit I packed for what was supposed to be brunch at my favorite spot in Greenwich Village. Then I follow the sound of sizzling oil into the kitchen.
Sawyer’s standing at the stove, shirtless. He’s barefoot, too, wearing nothing except a pair of gray sweatpants, slung so low that I’m concerned—hopeful—they won’t stay up, and a backward baseball hat.
I hate him. I really, really do. It should be illegal to look that good.
He glances up, catches me staring at his six-pack, and grins. “Morning, sunshine.”
I grunt. “Do you have coffee?”
“Help yourself.” He nods toward a bag on the counter. “I’d love a cup too.”
Another test, I realize, when his smile stays fixed in place. I’m guessing he doesn’t have an espresso machine that makes a cappuccino with the press of a button.
I step into the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of my Chanel blouse up. I pick up the bag he nodded toward, scanning the text on the back and hoping they’re instructions.
“You’re a coffee-making virgin too?” His voice is thick with feigned surprise.
I flip him off with my free hand, a low chuckle confirming he caught it.
The front door opens, then slams closed, followed by a voice I’m surprised sounds familiar. “Cap!”
Sawyer sighs, glancing at me. “Watch the eggs?”
I focus on the pan. “Uh … like, actually just look at them, or do I—”
“Why aren’t you replying to my texts—oh. Shit. Hi.” A guy with shaggy blond hair has appeared in the doorway, head rotating rapidly between me and Sawyer.
Gus. I come up with his name, pretty proud of myself for recalling. “Hi, Gus.”
“Hey, Wren. Hey.” His gaze is still bouncing between me and Sawyer. He doesn’t seem to know what to make of my presence.
I have no idea what Sawyer has shared about us with his friends. Not much, it seems. Not that there is—or was—an us.
“Nice knocking,” Sawyer comments, measuring ground coffee.
Gus rubs the back of his neck. “Well, you’re never …” His voice trails, leaving me even more confused. Never what? “Okay, I should, um, just call me when—”
“What’s taking forever?” A woman’s voice echoes down the hallway.
Both Sawyer and Gus stiffen.
“Seriously?” Sawyer snaps.
Gus gestures helplessly. “I had no idea, Cap.”
I’m focused on the doorway, waiting for the woman to appear. Is this Skylar? If so, how awkward will this get? Nothing happened last night, which I’ll happily testify to, but I’d be pissed about him spending the night in bed with anyone else if we were together.
It’s not Skylar.
I know because I recognize Cammie right away. She’s cut her hair into a long bob that barely brushes her shoulders, and she’s wearing some makeup, but the frown when she spots me? Identical to the annoyed expression I’ve seen several times before.
I smile at her, then sniff, glancing at the pan of eggs. “Sawyer, what am I—”
“Stir,” he says, ambling over. He sticks a spatula in my hand. “Just move them around so they don’t burn.”
“Cute,” Cammie comments as he returns to the coffee. “I didn’t know you were offering cooking lessons now, Cap.”
“I didn’t know you were finished with finals,” he replies.
“Last one was yesterday afternoon. Texted you to meet us at Lucky’s, but you never answered. You were busy, apparently.”
Is Lucky another nickname? I don’t ask the question aloud. I’m the outlier here. Gus likes me—I think—but Cammie definitely doesn’t. My best strategy seems to be to keep my mouth shut and let Sawyer handle his friends.
Except he says nothing, too, so the awkward silence in the kitchen just expands.
“We’ll catch up lat—” Gus starts.
Only to be interrupted by Cammie’s, “I’d love some coffee.”
“It’s not ready yet,” Sawyer says.
“We can wait,” Cammie says, propping a hip against the counter.
Behind her, Gus sighs.
“You can finish making it, then,” Sawyer tells her, walking over to me and taking over the eggs. “I’ll bring them over when they’re ready,” he adds quietly.
“Thanks,” I reply, heading for the kitchen table and taking a seat.
“So, how’ve you been, Wren?” Gus asks, joining me.
“Good, thanks. You?”
“Great. Only a few weeks left of high school. And then all summer at the marina. When do you graduate?”
“Next weekend. You?”
“Two weeks.”
I nod. “Nice.”
I don’t know Gus very well. It’s been almost a year since we talked at Wade’s party, and that was mostly me fishing for information about Sawyer. He’s Sawyer’s best friend, and I want him to like me for that reason alone. But I’m unusually shy. Entirely out of my element.
“Here you go.” Sawyer sets a steaming plate of eggs down in front of me, then takes the seat next to me.
His knee bumps my thigh, and his arm brushes mine, and I forget for a few seconds that we’re not alone.
Cammie loudly setting a pot of coffee and some mugs on the table is an unwelcome reminder.
“So,” she says, pouring herself a cup and then taking the last remaining seat, “I had no idea outsiders remembered this place existed before Memorial Day.”
Gus sighs.
I reach for the pot, pouring myself a cup too. I’ve never drunk coffee black before, but I’m not about to ask for vanilla creamer.
“Your hair looks nice, Cammie. I’ve been thinking about cutting mine shorter for summer.” I stab some eggs, taking a big bite.
Cammie stares at me. Unsure if I’m messing with her, I guess. “Thanks,” she finally mutters, leaning back in her chair.
Gus jumps in. “We were thinking Hither Hills today.”
Beside me, Sawyer perks up. “Yeah?”
Gus nods. “Guys said they were all in for hiking last night, but no one was answering phones yet. You were the first stop, and then we were planning to pick up everyone else. Cammie’s got her Suburban.”
“Want to come, Wren?” Cammie asks sweetly. “It’s only eight miles.”
“Sounds fun, but shopping is my only cardio. What’s the point of exercising, really, if you don’t get cute clothes out of it?” I aim my best ditzy smile at her, then swallow a huge gulp of coffee. It tastes awful on its own.
I tried to be nice. This is me being nice. But Cammie really does not like me, and I don’t think anything I say is going to shift her opinion of me at this point.
“That’s one way to look at it,” Cammie comments.
I finish my breakfast in silence while Gus and Sawyer talk about a dock project at the marina.
I didn’t realize they’d already started prep for the summer, but I suppose it makes sense.
Summer isn’t that far away, which means I need to commit to a plan.
Either stay here with my parents or make other arrangements.
Following my catastrophic last visit, I couldn’t imagine spending any more time here than absolutely necessary.
Now … after last night … I’m conflicted.
I could have Apollo, my mare, trailered to a barn here.
Play tennis at the club. Maybe even get a summer job.
I have limited access to my trust fund now that I’m eighteen, but earning my own money is appealing.
It would be a different, final summer before heading to college.
“I should get going,” I say during a lull in the conversation.
Cammie looks thrilled. Gus, unsure. Sawyer? I can’t get a read. He just nods, reaching for my empty plate.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I add awkwardly.
He nods again.
I stand and head down the hallway, releasing a sigh of relief when I’m out of earshot from the low voices that are no doubt discussing me.
It doesn’t take me long to grab all my stuff.
The hardest task is folding up my prom dress, but I manage to fit it in my bag, along with everything else.
My gaze sweeps around the room, and I tell myself it’s to make sure I’m not forgetting anything.
But really, I’m trying to memorize this space.
The odds I’m ever back in Sawyer Bennett’s bedroom seem extremely low.
I order a car—the nearest is five minutes away—then walk back down the hallway.
I can hear the clatter of dishes and rumble of laughter.
I should have offered to help clean up. I would have, if it didn’t feel like every action was being scrutinized under a microscope.
Even Gus’s friendliness didn’t manage to hide how unexpected my presence was. I don’t belong here.
I poke my head inside the kitchen, and all commotion comes to a screeching halt. If I had a pin, I could hear it drop.
“I’m headed out,” I say, keeping my voice cheery. “Bye, Gus. Cammie.”
I glance at Sawyer last. He’s drying his hands with a towel.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says, and I nod.
“Bye, Wren,” Gus calls after me.
Cammie, unsurprisingly, says nothing.
Sawyer is silent, too, following me out onto the front porch.
It’s not that warm yet, but it’s turning into a beautiful day. There’s not a single cloud in the clear sky overhead. Birds chirp, flitting from spot to spot on the lush grass.
“Nice weather for hiking,” I comment.
“Yeah.” Sawyer props a hip against the railing, studying me. “I know Cammie was being … you could come with us, if you want.”
For a few seconds, I allow myself to picture it.
Most of my time around friends is spent shopping, sneaking alcohol, or talking about boys.
I don’t have friends who go hiking on a Saturday morning.
Or who want nothing from me except my company.
They expect me to have exclusive, unlimited access to everything, and that’s part of the appeal of my friendship.
That’s simply my life, and there are so many upsides that it feels silly to complain about the pitfalls.
“I can’t,” I say. “I’ve got to get home, and I—well, I’m not much of a hiker.”
“Okay.”
I can’t tell if he’s indifferent or happy or bothered that I turned down his invitation.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” I blurt.
One corner of his mouth lifts a centimeter. I pay close attention to his micro-expressions and still can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“You can read other people’s minds?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course not. But I’m better at … I can guess at least. You’re really hard to read.”
“You want to know what I’m thinking?”
“Yes?” I say cautiously because he’s maybe the one person outside of my family who’s never tried to flatter me for some personal gain. Cammie is on that list too, I guess. Unfortunately.
“Don’t cut your hair.”
“What?” I blink rapidly, like that will clear my ears from anything making me mishear.
“It looks good long. Don’t cut it.”
I wasn’t sure he was even paying attention at breakfast when I complimented Cammie’s bob. And I certainly wasn’t expecting him to have an opinion on my hair’s length. If any other guy said that to me, I’d probably trim it out of spite.
“I’ll, uh—thanks.”
He smirks.
I’m good at flirting. I’ve successfully flirted with Sawyer. But right now, I can’t think of a single worthwhile, much less remotely seductive, thing to say.
My phone buzzes right as a black SUV pulls up alongside the curb.
Sawyer glances at it too.
“My ride,” I say unnecessarily.
I was planning to mention I might be in the Hamptons this summer, gauge his reaction to the possibility. But I can’t think of a casual way to bring it up, and I’m out of time.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. For … for everything. Really. I’m—last night was the last time I’ll bother you with anything.”
He doesn’t say it wasn’t a bother. He doesn’t say he enjoyed our sleepover. He just nods.
I force a smile, picking up my bag and starting down the front walk toward the waiting car.
“Good luck at UCLA,” he calls after me.
I glance back, but his front door is already swinging shut.
It’s not until I reach the curb and am greeting my driver that I realize I never told Sawyer where I was going to college.