Chapter 16 Sadie
sixteen
Sadie
The thing about tasting wine is that you never really know how much you’ve had until you realize you’ve maybe had too much. Or just enough. Depends on who you ask.
I’m sitting across from Colson and we’ve had a full tasting, plus a glass of our favorite kind. I’m trying to hide my pure amazement over him. With each minute that passes, it’s like he becomes less and less skittish. He seems more relaxed. Comfortable.
His cheeks are also pink. Probably from the wine.
“Okay,” he starts, “my turn.”
I smile. “Uh-oh.”
“You ask about internet gossip,” he says playfully. “I get to ask about your last relationship.”
I laugh once, surprised, and lift my glass. “Bold.”
“Fair,” he counters.
I consider skipping it or even talking about another failed date, then decide not to.
“Alright,” I answer. “I raise you one very public model date with a called-off engagement.”
His brows knit together. “Wait—”
I finish the rest of my wine before he can stop me, the glass clinking as I set it down. “We were together for three years. It felt like the next step.”
He already looks like he regrets asking.
“And then,” I do my best to keep my voice steady, “he fell in love with someone else.”
The table goes quiet for a beat. Not awkward—real.
“I’m okay talking about it,” I add, gentler now, because his face has gone careful. “It’s been a few years. It sucked but you have to move on.”
He nods slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I deflect, reaching for a fry. “Me too. But I’m good.”
He watches me like he’s checking that I mean it.
I do.
The music swells somewhere behind us, laughter floating on the warm air. I glance at him, smiling a bit.
“My turn,” I say.
He exhales, half a laugh, half ready to accept the challenge.
Our fries have been long gone. Birdie brought us some fresh bread with cherry apple butter when she brought our glasses of wine—kind of like she knew we’d need something to soak this up.
Cherry Pit really only serves bar food during the summer—they’re so busy that a full menu hasn’t ever done them any good.
I can’t stop looking at Colson’s mouth. His lips. The way they seem to almost pull into a full smile. How he presses them together when I ask him questions.
A TV in the corner starts playing the NBA Finals.
Game seven, winner takes it all. I catch myself watching for half a second too long, and he notices, turning to see what pulled my attention.
When he looks back at me, it’s like he’s wrestling with something.
His fingers curl around the stem of his glass, then loosen. Then tighten again.
He moves like someone who hasn’t quite landed yet. Like the ground shifted recently and he’s still figuring out where to place his weight.
I don’t want to watch him bleed over something he can’t control. Not tonight.
“So,” I start carefully, softly enough that it doesn’t feel like a trap. “Ready for the next adventure?”
He blinks, surprised. Not defensive; more like he’s been caught.
The game roars behind us, the room reacting in waves, but our table stays quiet. He looks down at his hands like they might have an answer for him, trying to hide the flinch.
“The next adventure? What do you have in mind?”
I stand from the table. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
His eyes lift to mine, searching. Something tender settles there, something grateful and a little stunned, like he didn’t expect me to meet him right where he is.
I wave him to follow as we walk outside, the warm summer air wrapping around us. The sun hangs low, stretching everything long and gold, like it’s not ready to call it a day yet. Kind of the perfect parallel when it comes to me.
I don’t want to go home—not yet.
The wine has settled into me in a pleasant, lazy way—warming my chest, loosening the edges of my thoughts. Everything feels a little softer, a little brighter. It’s almost like this June night is leaning in instead of closing down.
We walk through the crowds, nothing too busy but enough to remind me the tourists are still around. Sandals scuff on pavement, laughter spills out of open patios. Someone weaves a little too confidently down the sidewalk, arms wide like they own the night.
Colson stays close without touching, his presence steady at my side. I can feel him even when I’m not looking, like my body’s keeping track for me.
The lake flashes between buildings, dark now but still catching the last of the daylight. I match my pace to his without thinking. It feels like we’ve slipped into something familiar without either of us noticing when it happened.
I should be thinking about tomorrow. About responsibilities. About going home.
Instead, I find myself hoping the night keeps giving us excuses.
“I get it.”
Colson looks at me as I say, “Get what?”
“Why you love this place.”
His expression softens like it was something he didn’t expect to notice. “The lake is hard to beat. Like, the sound of the waves. Having it right there? A dream.” He gestures to the water.
I glance at him, catching the faint pink still clinging to his cheeks, the way his mouth curves when he listens. We go to cross the street and I’m not paying enough attention, the curb coming up faster than I expect. I stumble, barely, but enough to break my stride.
Colson catches me without hesitation. His hand wraps around mine, warm and sure, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he never even considered not doing it.
“You good?” he asks, steadying me.
“Yeah,” I reply, even though my pulse is suddenly everywhere. “I’m good.”
But he doesn’t let go right away.
His thumb presses lightly at the inside of my wrist, grounding, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I can feel the calluses there, the strength he keeps contained, the way his grip is careful instead of tight.
My body feels the sparks. The weight of his hand, the quiet claim of it, the way the world narrows down to this small point of contact. Us on the street, unmoving as people carry on around us.
When he finally releases me, it’s hard to hide the disappointment.
I step forward anyway, hoping he didn’t notice the way I slow, like I might intentionally stumble again if it means he’ll reach for me once more.
The sandwich shop is only a few steps away and I’m immediately grateful for their summer hours.
“Any requests?” I ask as I have one hand on the door.
Colson smiles, shrugging, “No. Whatever you like is good.”
Part of me wants to tell him that I’d prefer him. His hands. Anywhere.
Fuck, maybe I did have too much wine.