September 7, Saturday
THE LATE summer sun beat down on the graveyard, but under the shade of the old oak trees, it was almost pleasant. I made my way through the headstones, carrying a jug of sweet tea, my eyes fixed on Sawyer's broad back as he worked.
He was crouched over a broken headstone. His skilled hands pieced it back together like a jigsaw puzzle, then he applied adhesive. I paused for a moment, admiring the play of muscles under his T-shirt that did funny things to my stomach.
"Brought you refreshments," I called out.
Sawyer looked up, a smile breaking across his face. "You're a lifesaver."
He wiped his hands on his jeans before accepting the jug. He indicated Serena's headstone. "It's nice of the detective you mentioned to offer to replace her headstone."
"He really cared about her."
"Everyone needs that," he murmured.
I wet my lips. "Sawyer, I need to ask you something."
He nodded. "Okay."
"Were you and Rose... involved?"
Sawyer was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon. Finally, he sighed. "Not in the way you're thinking. Rose had feelings for me, but I couldn't reciprocate. She was like a sister to me." The pain in his voice was palpable.
"You feel guilty about her death, don't you?"
He nodded, his jaw clenching. "I think... I think she meant for me to find her. Here, in the graveyard. And on Valentine's Day, no less. It was her final message to me."
My heart ached for him. "Sawyer, that's not your fault. You can't control how someone else feels."
"Maybe not," he said. "But I can't help thinking if I'd done something differently, said something..."
I hesitated, then pressed on. "I've heard rumors that she was considered to be… special in the Wiccan community… a Grand Witch? And… that she was murdered."
Sawyer's eyes flashed with sudden anger. "Don't tell me you believe that nonsense."
"I'm just repeating what I've heard."
He shook his head in frustration. "Rose wasn't a witch, grand or otherwise. She was a confused, vulnerable young woman who was manipulated by certain members of her family. They filled her head with all this magical garbage, trying to get control of the Whisper property."
The agent had told me the estate was in probate. "You really think they'd go that far?"
"You'd be surprised what people will do for land and money," Sawyer said bitterly. Then, as if realizing how worked up he'd gotten, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's a sore subject."
Eager to change the topic, I gestured toward the stones around us. "So, how's the restoration coming along?"
Sawyer's posture relaxed slightly. "Slow but steady. It'll take time, but we'll get there."
His use of "we" gave me a tiny thrill.
"What about you? How's the book coming along?"
Guilt twisted in my stomach. "It's... coming," I lied. "Just not as quickly as my editor would like."
Sawyer's eyebrow quirked up. "Uh-huh. Should I be worried that all this graveyard drama is distracting you from your dashing stone mason hero?"
Despite everything, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. "Please. Nothing could distract me from my fictional hero—he's more perfect than real-life."
"Ouch." Sawyer clutched his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, madam."
For a moment, we stood there grinning at each in fun. The air between us felt charged, full of possibility. It would be so easy to lean in, to close that gap...
"I should let you get back to work," I said quickly. "And I really do need to write. Deadlines wait for no woman."
Sawyer's expression flickered with something—disappointment?—before he nodded. "Sure. Thanks for the tea."
As I left the graveyard, I could feel his eyes on me. My heart raced, but whether from excitement or fear, I couldn't quite tell.
Maybe a little of both?