Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
PRESTON
I like shrimp, but peeling their shells off is slimy and gross. I can barely suppress a shudder as I grab the soft slippery body and pull on the stiff cartilage of the tail. But peeling shrimp doesn’t seem to bother Sawyer, so I don’t want it to bother me either.
I know I’m not a practical person. I don’t know how to cook or clean or do my own laundry. I’ve never needed to do any of that before, and I probably never will. But having Sawyer next to me, showing me what to do, doing it with me—it makes me feel a little less useless than I actually am.
“You good with doing the rest of these?” Sawyer nods to the remaining shrimp in the bowl. “I’m going to start the next step.”
I nod and determinedly pick up another shrimp.
Sawyer pulls out a second pot from a cupboard and sets it on the stovetop before peering at the instructions I’ve left on the counter. “A drizzle of oil and two tablespoons of butter on medium-high. Then sauté onions.”
He floats as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients and utensils from drawers and cupboards I’ve never looked inside of before.
His shoulder grazes mine as he brushes past. His hand goes to the small of my back when he reaches around me to grab the bowl of onions.
It’s mesmerizing to watch him dance through the space in one long fluid motion.
After Boston, I’d tried to stay away from Sawyer, tried not to be as needy and dependent on him as I usually am. He’s seeing Fitz, and despite how much that bothers me, Sawyer has the right to date whoever he wants.
It’s hard, though. I don’t sleep well in the big bed by myself.
I’ve been more tired than normal, more distracted.
Every change I make to my AI model seems to generate worse results than the last. I hate it.
Everything’s awful. I want to go back to the way things were before Fitz came waltzing uninvited into our lives.
I miss Sawyer. I miss him a lot.
I yank the tail off the last shrimp and hold up the bowl. “I’m done.”
“Awesome! Good job!” Sawyer flashes me a smile. It’s sure and confident.
I bask in it. It chases away my insecurities and replaces them with Sawyer’s unwavering belief in me. He used to smile at me like that all the time and now I realize how much I’ve taken it for granted.
Sawyer takes the bowl of shrimp and sets it on the counter by the stove. “What’s next in the recipe?”
I wipe my hands clean and pick up the instructions. “Add orzo, squash, and spices. Salt and pepper to taste.”
Sawyer rips open the packaging on each of the ingredients, naming them out loud as he dumps them into the pot. “Orzo, squash, spices. Salt and pepper. Got it. Next?”
“Sauté for two to three minutes, until the orzo is toasted.”
“Two to three minutes, cool.” He holds up the wooden spoon and offers it to me. “Want to stir?”
“Me?” My voice squeaks.
Sawyer chuckles, low and warm, rumbling and soothing. “Yes, you. Who else would I be asking?”
“I’ve never stirred anything before.”
“It’s easy. I’ll be right here.” Sawyer extends his hand toward me.
I take the spoon, closing my hand over his. He doesn’t pull away, leaving us both holding the spoon at the same time. Our eyes meet and something happens.
I don’t know how to describe it. Neither of us speaks, neither of us moves, but it feels like an invisible energy is drawing us together. It reaches from the center of my chest to the center of his, then winds around both of us, wrapping us in a cocoon.
Sawyer’s eyes are a captivating mix of blue and green, shifting between the colors like a rotating kaleidoscope. I inch closer. He smells of soap, citrusy and fresh, the way he usually does after he’s showered at the gym. He’s so warm, radiating heat like a cozy blanket I want to cuddle up in.
He hugged me earlier, after the onion incident.
It’s been a while since we’ve hugged like that—at least two weeks.
I never want to go that long without a Sawyer-hug again.
Just standing there, leaning on him, all the tiredness from my sleepless nights simply melted away.
A few minutes in his arms and I feel more like myself again.
How is that possible? How does he do that? I don’t know, but he’s the only one who can.
I shuffle forward and my toes bump into his.
An inch of air separates us and suddenly I loathe that inch of air with every fiber of my being.
I want to be in his arms again. I want to burrow myself into him and smother myself with him.
I want to live surrounded by Sawyer and never ever have to leave.
I tilt my head back to gaze up at him. There’s a small bump on his nose where he broke it playing rugby in high school.
He was upset when it happened, but I kind of like it.
It makes him look more rugged, tough, capable.
He’s got some scruff along his jaw and on his chin, the blond hairs only visible when he lets them grow out a bit.
They catch in my hair sometimes, when we hug and he hasn’t shaved in a few days.
The curve of his lips is so elegant, subtle yet complex.
I want to trace the contours of them, to feel the way they arch and dip so perfectly.
Suddenly, Sawyer blinks and steps away from me. He pushes the spoon toward me and pulls his hand out from mine. He clears his throat and nods toward the pot. “Go ahead.”
No. Wait. I wasn’t done yet. I haven’t had enough. I want more.
But Sawyer is already busying himself with tidying the kitchen, gathering up the discarded packaging and food scraps.
I go to the stove and carefully lower the spoon into the pot. Sawyer is right. It’s not hard. The scent of onions and toasting orzo fills the kitchen and I breathe it in. My stomach rumbles in response, reminding me just how hungry I am.
Sawyer comes up behind me, the heat from his body warming my back. “I think we can add the water now.”
He takes the boiled water and carefully pours it over the food.
I’m not sure what happens next. I must move the wrong way, change the angle of the wooden spoon still sticking out of the pot, or something. But the water splashes onto my hand.
It’s hot. Scalding. I yelp as I pull my hand away and the wooden spoon comes with me, clattering to the floor, taking some squash and orzo with it.
“I’m sorry!” I cry out, cradling my hand to my chest, staring dumbstruck at our dinner all over the kitchen floor.
Sawyer moves fast, turning off the stove. “Are you okay? Let me see.”
He steps over the mess on the floor and reaches for my hand. I give it to him and he guides me to the sink to run it under cold water.
“Doesn’t look burned,” he murmurs, turning my hand around to examine it. “Does it hurt?”
I shake my head, feeling silly and stupid. It was only a few drops of hot water. My skin isn’t even red. Why did I make such a big deal out of nothing? “No, I’m okay.”
Sawyer snags a dish towel and pats my hand dry. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you to move your hand out of the way before I started pouring.”
“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve known to take the spoon out first. Now our dinner is ruined.” I stare forlornly at the floor.
Sawyer smiles and I feel all fluttery inside. “It’s not ruined. The squash can be salvaged and we don’t need every single grain of orzo.”
He presses my hand, still wrapped in the towel, to my chest, and then magically cleans up the stuff I spilled on the floor. I don’t know how he manages to do it so fast. A few wipes and in a minute there’s no evidence that the floor was ever dirty in the first place.
I tiptoe to the stove and peek into the pot again. There’s still plenty of food in there, more than enough for both of us.
“See? Sawyer says, stirring the pot a few times before placing a lid on it. “All good.”
I must look extra pathetic because Sawyer takes pity on me and pulls me into a hug. I’m nowhere near proud enough to resist the comfort that only Sawyer can offer.
If there’s one thing I’ve figured out in the past couple weeks, it’s that I need Sawyer.
Physically. Psychologically. Even the little bit of distance I’ve tried to create between us is too much.
Life is miserable when he’s not in the center of it.
I can’t function if Sawyer isn’t at my side every step of the way.
I don’t want to pull away from Sawyer again. It’s selfish of me, I know, but if it’s a choice between me and Fitz, I want Sawyer to choose me. We’ve been best friends for so long. We’ve been happy like this. Why do things have to change?
I’m not sure how much time passes while we hold each other in the kitchen. Eventually, Sawyer rubs his hand on my back a few times. “Gotta check on the food,” he murmurs and I reluctantly let him go.
I stick close though, standing behind him, hands on his waist, head on his shoulder, as he finishes cooking. He adds the shrimp I helped peel, along with bunches of spinach. A few minutes later, he starts dishing the shrimp orzo with spinach and squash onto two plates.
“Wanna watch a movie while we eat?” he asks.
I nod and we bring our plates and silverware to the living room. Sawyer sits in the middle of the U-shaped sectional and I sit next to him, close enough for my thigh to press against his.
“What do you want to watch?” Sawyer asks, grabbing the remote from the big, stuffed ottoman.
“Whatever you want to watch.” I’m not a big movie person, but Sawyer’s always got a list of movies his friends have recommended to him.
He cues up an action movie, something with lots of car chases and explosions, and we settle into the couch. The food is delicious. Fragrant and savory. Made all that tastier because I know Sawyer made it for me.
When my plate is empty, Sawyer takes it and sets it down with his on the ottoman.
Before he settles back again, he pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and spreads it over our laps.
I sink into the cushions, my eyelids suddenly heavier than they were a moment ago.
They drift shut, the sounds of the movie fade into the distance, and I relax into Sawyer.
He manhandles me, rearranges me so I’m lying on my side, covered in the blanket, curled into a ball with my head pillowed by his thick thigh. I sigh when his fingers find their way into my hair, when his arm is a solid weight draped over my body.
It’s comfortable here. Peaceful. Calming. This is where I want to be. Always. Forever. And I slip into sleep.