Chapter 4 Sadie
four
Sadie
It’s been three days since the dent in Colson Burke’s car happened and I haven’t heard from or seen him.
Well, that last part is sort of true. I saw him peeking through the curtains yesterday morning when the kids started getting to camp.
His car isn’t in the driveway anymore, which is probably best for everyone.
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone in that house before now.
Sure, there was some maintenance, like someone was checking on it, but no one living there.
That’s a shame, considering it’s absolutely gorgeous.
It was on the market for a bit, but it was way out of my price range.
I know that it sold at asking price, based on the app I was practically stalking for new properties.
Today, there are no kids at the rec center. It’s Friday and most of them end up calling off anyway, going to do summer things with their families. So it’s only me and my long to-do list of admin things that waits for me until the end of the week.
Like my grocery list.
I head to the little market off Main, the one which always smells like apples and overripe peaches, with a cart that wobbles like it’s been in a bar fight. I’m scanning the produce when a familiar shape comes into view from the corner of my eye—tall, broad shoulders, baseball cap pulled low.
Colson.
Of course he looks like a commercial for T-shirts and bad decisions, with his muscles straining against the baby blue fabric.
For some reason, it feels like I should hide. I seriously consider ducking behind the apples, I really do. But then a voice—too loud, too excited—cuts through the aisle.
“Oh my God, it is him,” a college kid with hair falling into his eyes, in a neon-pink T-shirt, whispers not-at-all quietly to his friend. He lifts his phone. “I’m totally getting a video.”
Before I think, I step right between his camera and Colson.
“Hey!” I chirp, too brightly, waving like we’re best friends reunited in a sitcom. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Colson blinks up at me, thrown. “Uh. Hi?”
The tourist lowers his phone, annoyed that I’ve ruined the shot.
I keep my smile plastered on and tilt my head. “Do you mind?” I ask the tourist sweetly. “He’s just trying to buy groceries. Like a normal human who needs…avocados.”
Colson’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
The tourist grumbles something and wanders off, defeated.
Once they’re gone, I step back and immediately the store feels too small. “Sorry,” I offer. “He was about to film you like you were the new animal at the zoo and it didn’t feel right.”
He huffs a laugh. “Is that…a common comparison for me? An animal?”
“Only on Thursdays,” I shoot back. The second the words leave my mouth, I’m wondering why I said that.
He pauses, looking at me fully, with a lazy-quiet intensity that makes my pulse stutter a little. “So you’re my bodyguard now?”
“Only part-time. And only because I still owe you for the dent.” I gesture vaguely, as if the dent is floating above us. “How’s the car?”
“Still dented,” he answers, but his tone feels a touch warmer, like the icicles on the edge are starting to melt. His eyes catch mine like ice caps on the lake.
Well. That does something to my insides I absolutely do not permit.
“Great grocery store.” I look around the space.
Colson’s brows knit together, following my gaze. “Isn’t it the only grocery store?”
I shrug. “Unless you count Big Joe’s farmstand.”
“Big Joe?” His brows knit a deep line in his forehead.
“Everyone knows Big Joe.” I shrug again, knowing I sound like an idiot because clearly, this man doesn’t know him.
An awkward pause pulls between us, like cheese from a mozzarella stick that’s about to fall on the floor and be completely inedible.
“Do we count that?” The confusion layers over the top of his words.
Because I’ve dug myself a hole, I keep going. “Only when it’s sweet corn season. Then Golden Harbor has two grocery stores.” I put my hand up with two fingers showing, like a peace sign.
What am I even saying? Where did the extra side of cringe come from? I put my hand behind my back, afraid to put up any more numbers or who the hell knows what.
Sadie. Get it together.
Colson looks at me for a beat too long, like he’s deciding whether to say something or maybe he’s planning his escape. Hell, he could be looking for the emergency exit sign.
“Got it,” he says, pushing his cart, slowly but enough for me to take the hint.
My brain short-circuits for half a second before my feet betray me and follow. I pull out my grocery list and set it inside the front compartment of my cart.
“What are you doing?” he asks, turning to see my cart almost in line with his.
“Shopping,” I answer, acting like this is something we’ve done a hundred times. “I, uh… also need groceries. Which are… here.”
Brilliant, Sadie. Truly groundbreaking logic.
Colson blinks once. Twice. His cart wheel squeaks in the silence, and I swear it’s judging me too. He stops, taking me in before continuing. He runs his hand through his hair, his arm thick and muscular.
Something warm—and terrifying—settles low in my stomach. He smells like soap and sun-warmed cotton and maybe trouble. Definitely trouble.
I have the sudden sinking realization that I’ve invited myself into his personal space and there’s no socially acceptable way to back out now without faking a phone call or my own death.
Awesome.
I’m back home, standing in my tiny kitchen with the door still half-open like I forgot how to walk into my own apartment.
I press my palms to the counter, trying to steady myself, but my mind keeps circling back to the way he looked this morning—rumpled, brooding, irritated at the world and somehow still magnetic.
Colson Burke. In Golden Harbor, Michigan of all places.
It doesn’t make sense. Guys like him don’t disappear into sleepy lake towns unless something’s wrong, and everyone who follows anything sports related knows exactly what’s wrong: the bench blow-up, the shouting match with his coach, the endless commentary dissecting his character like he’s on trial.
I wonder who owned this house before him?
Maybe he’s renting it? It was clear someone was renovating, but no one seemed to stay after that.
Not all the way surprising when it comes to towns like this—millionaire CEOs with their lake house, on another lake, to match the ones scattered about their favorite vacation towns.
After putting away all the groceries, I stare at my small kitchen table and think back to the entirely painful interaction with Colson.
I know this is something my brain will play on repeat for many years to come: an anxiety-induced feature film titled, “Remember when you made a complete ass out of yourself in front of the gorgeous NBA player?”
The thing about Golden Harbor is that it’s predictable.
All the locals know how to move around each other.
Tourists come and go, cluttering the streets, but it’s like the unwritten bargain you come to terms with when you live in a lake town.
A local would never try to get a video of someone while they were here.
That’s tourist behavior and why I stepped in.
Colson Burke seems unpredictable. Why isn’t he in Chicago trying to smooth things over with his team? Or trying to find another roster spot? Maybe he’s stepping away from the game? And why did my heart do a weird, traitorous flip the second I got close to him?
I haven’t dated anyone in the last two years.
I mean, I’ve gone on dates—typically horrible and nothing to be repeated—but haven’t seriously seen someone more than a handful of times.
The idea of being alone has been one I’ve latched onto because I’m barely all the way together after my last failed relationship.
Nick was the master at taking pieces of me, ones he made me feel like I should want to give, and others he had no business to. Hindsight is always 20/20.
My skin prickles as the memories try to come roaring back. I practice pushing them down, tucking them away, doing my best not to let them pull me under. The feeling of not being wanted. Discarded. That’s what happens when the man you thought you’d spend forever with calls off the wedding.
There are days where I still have a hard time believing it.
My mind replays it back: me with my ribbon bouquet, gathered from my bridal shower gifts, pretending to walk down the aisle, and Nick blurting out words I never thought I’d hear.
Sadie, I can’t marry you, which hurt all on their own, but not as much as I don’t want to marry you.
I thought it was a cruel joke or maybe he was having cold feet. I was right about it being cruel.
I don’t know if there’s anything quite as earth-shattering as sending back wedding gifts.
Like, thank you for the monogrammed gift but these are not my initials and I can’t even think of a fun acronym to associate with it, so, here you go?
What will you do with it? Believe me, I know the answer is nothing.
Something warm and terrifying settled low in my stomach when Colson looked at me, like recognition of risk.
Someone complicated, bruised, dragging a city’s worth of scrutiny behind him, storming into the town where I’ve found safety and happiness.
His shadows mixing with mine seem like a bad idea.
The shadows I’ve done my best to tuck away, move on from, and try to smother with the good things I know are out there.
And yet, standing here in my quiet kitchen, I can’t shake the feeling that whatever brought him to Golden Harbor isn’t something he plans on sharing… and that somehow, I won’t be able to stop myself from wanting to know anyway.