Chapter 42 - Sadie
forty-two
Sadie
“I don’t get it,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Cherries are dessert.”
“Don’t be a hater until you try it. I’m telling you…”
We’re out on the patio at Cherry Pit, string lights zigzagging overhead like constellations someone took the time to map out. The lake is beyond the railing, waves rolling in like a lullaby, the air cool enough now that my shoulders goosebump every once in a while.
Birdie drops off the salsas with a grin. “Okay,” she announces, pointing to the dishes. “Cherry jalapeno, cherry street corn, and—what seems to be the crowd favorite—smoked cherry with lime."
Colson squints at the lineup like it personally offended him. “This feels like a prank.”
Birdie snorts. “You say that now. What? They didn’t have fancy salsa in Chicago?”
“Not where I’m eating…” he replies seriously.
I roll my eyes. “Ignore him. He’s about to eat his words.”
She laughs and slides the basket closer. “Let me know which one converts him.”
When she walks away, Colson picks up a chip, dips it cautiously into the cherry jalapeno, and takes a bite.
I watch his face change in real time.
“Oh,” he muses.
“Mm-hmm.”
He tries the smoked cherry next, then the corn. “Okay, hold on. Why is this… actually good?”
“Because it’s perfect,” I boast, dipping my chip again, carefully selecting the one with the most visible salt crystals.
He laughs, shaking his head, and I notice—again—how unfairly attractive he is when he does that. Dark brown hair falling into his eyes, shoulders filling out the sleeves of his T-shirt, muscles earned, not styled. He looks relaxed tonight, open, like the court earlier loosened something in him.
“This one,” I say, nudging the smoked cherry salsa toward him. “Trust me.”
He does, and groans. “Okay. Fine. I was wrong. I’m kinda pissed this is so good”
I grin. “Say it louder.”
“I was wrong,” Colson repeats dramatically, “about cherries.”
We’re cozy, knees brushing under the table, his arm resting along the back of my chair like it belongs there. The lights sway slightly overhead, the lake murmuring behind us; for a moment, everything feels easy.
The wind whips through, almost feeling like the start of fall. It’s way too early for that but try telling that to my over-analyzing brain. No part of me thinks there’s a world where Colson Burke stays in Golden Harbor. He’s going back to the NBA. And he should.
“End of summer’s coming fast,” I say quietly, dipping another chip.
He nods. “Yeah. Faster than I’d like.”
There it is. The thing we keep circling.
“I don’t even know where I’ll land,” he adds. “If a team gives me a shot—”
I look at him. “Someone is definitely picking you up. You’re damn near your prime.”
He nods, smiling at me. His eyes search mine as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I want this to work too. Whatever this is.”
He rubs his hands together while my brain makes sure that I’m actually awake, not dreaming.
“I’m serious, Sadie. You’re like… the light that makes everything make more sense.”
Something warm settles in my chest. “I believe you.”
My phone rings then, sharp and out of place.
Colson winces. “Who leaves their ringer on?”
“I know, I know, all elder millennials everywhere are screaming,” I groan, grabbing it automatically—and freezing.
Nick.
The name sits on the screen and hasn’t lost its power. It stops ringing. No voicemail.
Then it rings again. This time, I leave it on the table, Colson reading the caller ID.
He watches me carefully. “Everything okay?”
I exhale, silencing it. “Yeah. If it wasn’t, he’d leave a message. Or text.”
He nods slowly. “You can answer it if you want.”
“I absolutely don’t want to do that. That man wasted years of my life. He doesn’t get tonight.” I smile and reach for Colson’s hand over the table.
There’s a drawn-out pause before Colson asks, “Does he call a lot? Like, are you guys friendly?”
I start laughing before I answer, “No. No way. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him or anything like that, but he isn’t someone I could be friends with. After everything.”
Colson waits. We’ve covered the fact that I was engaged to someone named Nick, but that’s basically it. Not because I have anything to hide; more like it was a waste of my time.
I stare at the table for a second.
“Nick was supposed to be the guy who didn’t hurt me.
He came into my life when I needed something.
It was the one thing that felt like the universe gifted me for…
take away the basketball career, but give me the love of my life.
” I sigh then press my lips together, trying to buy a little time.
I hate talking about this, only because the honest version makes me feel a bit pathetic.
“He called it off because he was in love with someone else,” I reveal, my voice steady even if my chest tightens. “Someone he’d been friends with almost his whole life.”
Colson’s jaw sets, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“When we first started dating, I asked him straight up if he loved her. It was maybe the third time we had all hung out and they had this… weird pull to each other. And he told me over and over that it wasn’t like that.”
I look up at Colson now, who answers. “But it was.” He reaches across the table, his hand covering mine—warm, solid, grounding.
“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly.
“Don’t apologize for things not in your control.” My voice is quieter than I mean.
“But I am sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine thinking you’re going to marry someone and then it’s like… no… no thanks.”
“Yeah, it hit me harder than almost anything. For some reason, it felt like it was my fault. Like I couldn’t see it sooner.”
He tenses. “No fucking way was any of that your fault. I don’t know what he did to make you feel that way, but from here, it looks like you have the wonderful ability to look for, and believe in, the best in people. Sometimes they let you down.”
“And sometimes they don’t,” I finish, leaning over the table, reaching far enough to kiss him. It’s slow and sweet. The type of kiss that feels like the best hug, one that makes you feel safe and planted.
I sit back in my chair as Birdie brings us drink refills. She sets the glasses down with a knowing smile, the ice clinking. “Looks like you two figured out the salsa situation,” she teases.
Colson laughs, slipping his hand back to mine under the table. “I’ve been humbled.”
I smile, content in a way that feels rare and earned. The night hums around us—the low rush of waves, the glow of string lights, the easy warmth of his presence beside me.
For once, I’m not thinking about what comes next or what might end.
I’m right here. And right now is enough.
It’s late and we’re some of the last people at Cherry Pit.
I’m sitting next to Colson as we look out over the lake.
We’re the only ones on the patio when something catches our attention from inside the restaurant.
A dropped glass. People sort of yelling, or at least getting loud enough to carry out here.
Then I definitely hear Birdie say something like, “What the hell are you even doing here?”
My body reacts before my brain does.
My shoulders tense. My stomach drops. There’s a sudden, sickening awareness in my chest—like a pressure change before a storm. I know that voice. I know it the way you know a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every word to.
Colson and I both turn to each other at the same time, our backs still to the entrance. He looks curious.
I feel frozen. My pulse is hammering in my ears. I don’t want to turn. I already know.
Then I hear him say my name. Like he’s asking a question. Like he’s agitated.
Too familiar.
I turn slowly, dread curling tight around my ribs, and there he is—standing inside the doorway, jaw tight, eyes already locked on me like I was the only reason he came.
Nick.
A full year disappears in one breath.
Birdie is squared up in front of him, arms crossed, visibly pissed, but he’s half a step past her, like he pushed his way into the space.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone.
Colson’s body shifts beside me immediately. He doesn’t step in front of me, simply gets closer. Protective without being possessive. His hand finds mine, grounding me when my knees threaten to lock.
Nick looks… wrecked. Thinner. Edgier. Like someone who hasn’t slept enough or thought anything through.
“I called,” he says, voice rough. “You didn’t answer.”
My chest tightens. “You didn’t leave a message.”
Birdie snaps, “Because she doesn’t want to talk to you!” She takes a breath then asks, “Are you drunk? Did you drive here like that?” She jabs a finger in his chest.
Nick doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Sadie, I need a minute.”
Colson steps a little bit in front of me, not all the way, but enough to make a statement. He finally speaks, calm but unmistakably firm. “It’s late.”
Nick’s gaze flicks to him then, really seeing him for the first time. The way Colson stands. The way his hand is still wrapped around mine.
Something flashes across Nick’s face—maybe surprise or regret—but it’s gone fast.
“I didn’t know you were seeing somebody,” Nick sneers.
I straighten, anger cutting through the shock. “How would you know? You’re not part of my life. You don’t get to ambush me,” I state, voice shaking but loud enough. “Not here. Not ever again.”
For a moment, it feels like everything is about to tip.
Standing here with the lake behind me and Colson at my side, I realize this isn’t just the past showing up.
It’s a test. But I’m not the same girl he left behind.