Chapter 6
Chapter Six
PAIGE
Asmile stretched wide across my face as I strode down Main Street in Sawyers Bend.
I held in my hands a pretty shopping bag with twine handles and an artfully designed logo.
Inside was a stash of cookies from Sweetheart Bakery for Hope and a raspberry oatmeal bar for me.
Along with treats, I was carrying another small bag, an even smaller box inside, containing a gorgeous pair of garnet earrings I couldn’t resist from one of the local shops.
It wasn’t my day off, but the older kids were in school and I wasn’t on deck for pickup.
Baby Stella was with Hope, who had a light day of work—no meetings—and wanted to spend it keeping her daughter close.
I’d had a few errands to run in town, and when they were done, I couldn’t resist playing tourist and doing a little shopping.
I was on my way back to my car, feeling rather pleased with myself.
All was right in my world. Mostly. I was ping-ponging between denial about that white-hot kiss with Ford Sawyer the night before and wondering if it was going to happen again.
It shouldn’t. I knew that. Absolutely not, of course.
It had been completely inappropriate. He was my employer’s brother. Possibly a murderer.
I’d told myself all of this a million times, and they were all excellent reasons why a repeat was off the table. Except weighing heavily on the other side of the scale was the previously mentioned white-hotness of that kiss. I was having a hard time putting that part aside.
But this afternoon I had promised myself I wasn’t going to think about kissing anyone.
I was shopping and enjoying the pretty town and the gorgeous winter weather.
I’d thought the mountains of Western North Carolina would be cold, and I’d been told they would be.
But on a sunny day in early December, the chill in the air was merely brisk, the skies an electric blue, the evergreens vibrant, and I had the feeling that I was exactly where I belonged.
Finally. It had been a long time since I was genuinely happy.
Not since Paris, before my mother got sick.
I’d parked on a side street, enjoying that while the town was still busy enough to keep the shop owners happy, tourism had dwindled just enough that finding a parking spot wasn’t a headache. I slid behind the wheel, dropped my parcels on the passenger seat, and hit the start button.
The engine made a strangled coughing sound and fell silent. No welcoming rumble. No heat blasting from the vents. Just that sad, abrupt cough. I tried again. This time, I got nothing.
I sat there for a long minute, staring at the dashboard. I didn’t know anything about cars. I thought about getting out and lifting the hood—but really, what was the point? All I’d see was an engine, and I had no clue what to do with one of those.
Fuck.
I’d bought the car used without a roadside assistance package and had meant to sign up for AAA or something similar, but I’d never gotten around to doing it.
I tried one more time, putting my foot on the brake and pressing the start button.
Again, nothing. Picking up my phone, I called Hope. She answered on the second ring.
“Paige, what’s up? Everything okay?”
“Not exactly. My car won’t start. I’m parked on Chestnut, and when I got back and tried to start the engine… I don’t know what’s wrong, but it’s dead. Any chance I could get a ride home?”
“Of course,” Hope said, reminding me of one of the many reasons I loved working for the Sawyers. “Let me think for a second. I’m stuck here for the moment. A call got rescheduled, and it’s starting in a few minutes. Let me see who I can send to pick you up. I’ll call you right back.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
The call disconnected, and I waited, knowing I probably wouldn’t have to wait long. Hope and Griffen were two of the most considerate people I’d ever worked for. They wouldn’t leave me stranded. The phone rang a few minutes later. Hope again.
“Hey Paige, sorry about this. It turns out we’re a little shorthanded around here, but Ford and Finn are at Sawyers Bend Brewing.
Ford said he’s scheduled to head back to the Manor in about forty-five minutes or so.
You’re only a few blocks away if you’re parked on Chestnut.
Do you mind walking over there and hitching a ride with them?
Hawk said he’s sorry he can’t get you himself, and if you give him your keys when you get back here, he’ll send somebody to bring your car into the shop to make up for the trouble. ”
“That’s so thoughtful. Yeah, I don’t mind catching a ride with Ford and Finn,” I lied. I did mind, but I wasn’t going to tell Hope why, and it was sweet of her to be concerned about the inconvenience. I didn’t want to make it worse. “Thanks, Hope. Are you okay with having Stella for your call?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hope said. “At the moment, she’s out cold. And if she wakes up, I’ll figure it out. Don’t give it another thought. I’ll see you in a bit.”
I hung up, locked my car, and headed down the street to Sawyers Bend Brewing.
I hadn’t seen Ford since that kiss in the utility closet.
My stomach squeezed at the thought of facing him.
We hadn’t had a lot of full-on conversations.
What would I say to him? Was I going to make a thing about the kiss?
Talk to him about it? Or was it better to just pretend it never happened?
Whatever. I’d have to deal with it.
I pushed open the door of the taproom to find it about a third full—more than I’d expected for a weekday afternoon in December.
Ford was behind the bar, his face set in his usual serious expression, though his lack of welcome didn’t seem to be chasing off the beer drinkers.
He was the opposite of Dave, Avery’s other bartender, whom I knew from previous trips to the brewery, was all smiles and friendly conversation.
Ford looked like he manned the bar the way he did everything else: eyes hard, mouth in a tight line, the world locked out, and everything that was Ford Sawyer sealed up tight inside.
I didn’t think anyone could break through that shell. I was under no illusion that I was any different. He’d kissed me—it didn’t mean he’d tell me his secrets. That was fine. I wasn’t telling him mine either.
Those moments in the dark utility closet haunted me.
His strong hands closing over my hips, his mouth hot and demanding.
Those stolen moments felt a million miles away from Sawyers Bend Brewing.
In here, the fire was roaring, golden light flickering on the pine walls, friendly conversation filling the room.
I straightened my shoulders and approached the bar. Ford’s eyes flicked to mine, one dark eyebrow raising a fraction.
“Hope called,” he said. “Dave should be here in thirty.”
I nodded, climbed onto a stool, and set my packages on the bar. “Thanks for the ride,” I said.
He nodded once, his eyes landing on my shopping bags. “Sweetheart and jewelry?”
I nodded. “Cookies for Hope and something for me. I can’t resist Daisy and Grams’s baking.”
“Few can,” Ford agreed. “What else did you get?” he asked, nodding to the bag from the jewelry store.
“Earrings.” I pulled the box out of the bag to show him, half thinking he wouldn’t care. But he’d asked, hadn’t he? Sort of. I opened the box and showed him the gold wire wrapped around rough-cut garnet.
He looked from the earrings to me. “They suit you,” he said. “Good choice.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. They did suit me—at least I’d thought so when I bought them. I didn’t need Ford’s approval on my jewelry, but I had to admit, if only to myself, that I liked it. Ugh.
“What can I get you while you wait?” he asked, lifting a pint glass from beneath the bar.
“Oh, I’m good,” I said. “It’s a little early in the day for me to have a drink.” I’d been about to say I was driving, but I wasn’t. I hesitated, eyeing the taps. “I… Maybe…”
Before I could make up my mind, Ford asked, “How do you feel about a stout?”
I tilted my head to the side, considering. “I like a stout.”
“All right, then,” he said. “I won’t give you a whole pint, but try this.” He pulled a lever, and dark liquid the color of molasses filled the pint glass about halfway.
I waited for him to slide it across the bar, but instead he turned, glass in hand, doing something I couldn’t see behind the counter. When he turned back, there was a long toothpick lying across the top of the glass, skewering one donut hole.
“Try it,” he said, sliding it toward me. “It’s Avery’s donut hole stout.”
I shook my head but took the glass from him, picking up the donut hole before dipping my nose for a sniff. The stout didn’t smell like a donut hole. It smelled like stout. Maybe a little yeasty. A hint of sweetness.
“Take a sip,” Ford said. “Avery’s a genius.”
I followed his instructions and tilted the glass. The second the stout hit my tongue, I knew he was right—there was the faintest undertone of yeasty sweetness. The drink itself wasn’t sweet; it was more like an impression of a freshly baked cake doughnut woven through the dense flavor of the stout.
“Now take a bite of the donut hole,” Ford ordered.
I took a nibble, letting it melt across my tongue. “Did Daisy or Grams make this?”
“Daisy dropped them off a few hours ago.”
“It’s amazing.” I took another sip of stout, savoring. The flavors complemented each other perfectly. “Wow, Avery really is a genius,” I agreed. “How do you work here and not spend your whole shift drinking?”
I hadn’t meant to sit here and pepper Ford with questions, but it felt natural to talk to him. Far more than I’d expected, especially after that kiss.
The faintest hint of a smile curved the side of Ford’s mouth, bringing a light to his sea-green eyes. For a moment, I saw a glimpse of a Ford I hadn’t met—maybe a Ford who’d existed before he’d gone to prison.
“I have a drink or two some days,” he said, “but I space them out. I’ve never been much of a drinker. One or two in an evening is enough for me. But Avery’s taught me to appreciate every drop. She really found her calling here.”
“She definitely did,” I agreed, finishing the last of the donut hole.
Before the silence could get awkward, someone walked up to the bar, claiming Ford’s attention.
I pulled out my phone to browse. Off at the far end of the bar, an open doorway led to the small kitchen that Finn would use when he started serving food here.
I’d heard getting it ready to use was a bigger job than he’d expected, and he was still cleaning it up.
I couldn’t see what he was doing, but heard him rattling around, banging metallic things, and occasionally swearing.
Ford pulled pints to fill his order, ran a credit card, and made his way back to the middle of the bar where I sat. He stood there, sliding a wet towel across the top of the bar. His eyes rested on me, considering, before he said, “Are we going to talk about it?”