CHAPTER SEVENTEEN FALLON #2
And like a sunrise, the truth finally dawns on his face, transforming his anger into acceptance.
He drops his hand and finally looks me in the eyes.
“Shit,” he mutters before walking up to me and pulling me into a hug.
He cups the back of my head, and I twist in his arms so my cheek is resting against his chest. Tears spring to my eyes as I cling to him.
“I love you, Fallon. I truly do, but... fuck, I know when something isn’t working, and this—you and me—we’re not working.”
I expect my watery eyes to leak, to drip and cascade down my cheeks. But the tears never fall. Not when Peter pulls away and grips my cheeks, locking our gazes. Not when he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. And not when he packs up his overnight bag and puts his shoes on.
“You don’t have to leave tonight. It’s late, Peter.”
“I can’t stay here. I can’t sleep in your bed, knowing it’s over. It’s too painful.”
“I understand,” I say, my heart twisting when he picks up his bag.
He motions with his hand. “Come here.” I walk into his embrace and wrap my arms around him while he grips me tightly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be the man you needed right now.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be the woman you needed or deserve.” I look up at him. “But I know you’ll find someone. You’re a beautiful soul, and I’m so happy I got to have this time with you.”
“Same,” he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Can you do something for me?”
“Sure,” I say.
“Can you tell Sawyer I’m sorry for acting like a possessive jerk? I know it wasn’t my best moment.”
“It was for sure a different side of you.” I laugh. “I especially liked it when you took your shirt off and paraded around.”
He groans. “Please, don’t remind me.”
I give him a squeeze. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m sure I will,” he admits. “Need to nurse these wounds, but I’ll survive. It’s not easy getting over someone like you, Fallon.” To my surprise, he lifts my chin and presses a very light kiss to my lips.
I remember the first time I ever kissed Peter—it was like a parade of fireworks went off in my head as his lips roamed mine. But that was the only time it happened. That very first kiss. After that, his kisses became routine, like I expected them rather than yearned for them.
And with this parting kiss, I don’t feel anything other than regret, one niggling thought that nags at me.
When he pulls away, I can’t help myself as I say, “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”
He shakes his head. “I never should have said that. Time is never wasted when you try to find who you are with another human being. This is more of a stepping-stone in our lives. If anything, we’ve learned from it.”
With that, together, we walk out to the living room, him carrying his bag, me holding his hand. When we reach the door, he turns toward me, eyes wide, face earnest. “If you ever need anything, you just let me know, okay?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
He gives me a soft smile, and then, without another word, he leaves the residence, his footsteps trailing down the creaky stairs into the inky night. Quietly, I shut the door behind him and lock it.
When I turn around, I startle back into the door. Across the room, a dark figure stands by the kitchen sink.
“It’s just me,” Sawyer says, stepping into the moonlight streaming through the living room window. “Sorry, I wasn’t spying, I swear, I was just getting water.” He holds up a glass.
I take a deep breath, my racing heart not settling when my gaze locks in on Sawyer, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts that ride low on his narrow hips.
His torso is endless, molded along his stomach, revealing his sculpted abdomen all the way down to the deep V in his hips.
Whereas Peter was stockier, Sawyer has what feels like a surfer’s frame, and even through my emotional turmoil, it makes me wonder—does he surf?
My eyes travel up to his blond hair, now dark in the dim room.
“Do you surf?” I ask.
“Huh?” The confused look on his face is comical.
“It’s a simple question—do you surf?”
His hand scratches his defined pec. “Well, yeah, when I get a chance. I’d like to say I’m good at it, but I’m barely better than some of the twelve-year-old kids I take lessons with.” He studies me. “Is everything okay?”
“I... I don’t know,” I answer. “Peter and I just broke up.”
His expression shifts from confusion and morphs to concern as he takes a step forward before stopping himself, as if he’s reminding himself that he shouldn’t come too close. He seems unsure of what to do. “Are you okay?”
“I think I am,” I say. “Just a little sad, you know?”
“Yeah, I can understand that.” He’s silent but continues to lock gazes with me. “This is presumptuous, but I hope it had nothing to do with me.”
I shake my head. “No, I think it was a long time coming. Peter actually wanted me to apologize to you. He said he was being a jerk and was sorry about it.”
“He was fine. He wasn’t doing anything I wouldn’t have done—or haven’t done in the past. When you truly like someone, the threat of another man is real. Not that, uh... not that I’m a threat or anything.”
I almost smile at that. “Either way, he was sorry.”
Sawyer nods. “That’s awfully nice of him. I’m sorry to see him go.”
“Are you?” I ask as Peter’s accusations about Sawyer come to the forefront of my mind.
He’s infatuated with you.
Trust me, I know when a man is interested, and he one hundred percent wants you.
I didn’t want to believe it when Peter was saying it, and when Sawyer and I admitted our attraction, I didn’t have time to put much thought into it, but now, standing in front of Sawyer, vulnerable and very fresh from a breakup, I’m curious.
“I mean, yeah, I don’t want to see you hurt,” Sawyer says, setting his glass of water down on the counter and crossing the room in a few easy strides. “I know what heartache can feel like—”
“I didn’t love him,” I say.
He pauses, absorbing that information.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t care for him,” he says finally, “that he wasn’t an important part of your life.”
“He mattered to me, but I’m not sure in the way I mattered to him.” I bite down on my bottom lip, gut twisting. “Man... I feel really guilty.” I glance behind me to the closed door, wondering if I should chase Peter down and tell him that, but then again, he probably needs some space.
“Hey, do you want to sit down, talk?” Sawyer asks.
I nod, and we both walk over to the navy-blue-and-red plaid love seat in the living area.
The residence is one giant open living space with two bedrooms on either side.
So the kitchen, dining room, and living room are all connected, separated only by furniture.
We both take a seat and turn toward each other, our shoulders pressing into the back of the couch.
“Do you want to talk about Peter? Talk about something else? Listen to some mindless story about how I once got my finger stuck in a bottle?”
“You got your finger stuck in a bottle?”
“Early twenties. It wasn’t my most intelligent decade. I did some pretty stupid shit, including writing a story about a martian falling in love with a human.”
I let out a low chuckle. “I need to find that film and watch it, just from the number of times you’ve mentioned it.
You never know: it might be one of those horrible movies that a TikTok influencer finds endearing, and after one dance move with the movie in the background, all of a sudden it’s trending. ”
“So, what you’re telling me is I’m one shoulder pop away from viral fame?”
“I think you already hit viral thanks to your double bird at the altar.”
“Very true. I’d hate to see what kind of hashtags are trending over that move.”
“Best you stay away from social media.” I bring my legs up to my chest and curl into the side of the couch. “You know, with Peter, I think there was a disconnect. Well, I don’t think—I know there was.”
“What do you mean?” he asks with sincerity. That’s how Sawyer always speaks, with true interest. He’s not asking questions just to ask—he’s asking because he’s truly interested.
“I think he expected me to leave Canoodle at some point, and I expected him to maybe come up here, but neither of us spoke about it, and we weren’t willing to change our minds.”
“That can be tough.”
“Yeah, and even though he was so sweet, I’m not sure he understands who I am now and what my priorities are.”
“You mean making sure the cabins succeed and taking care of Sully?”
And just like that, without blinking an eye or stuttering over his words, Sawyer knows exactly what matters to me.
How come Peter didn’t see it? How is it that a man I’ve truly only known for a few weeks can understand me to my very core, but a man I’ve been dating for a year wore rose-colored glasses?
“Yeah,” I answer, stunned. “You know, for someone who didn’t pay attention to me on our first date, you sure know how to pay attention now.”
“One of the biggest mistakes of my life,” Sawyer says, his eyes cast down. “I’ve realized that ever since I came to Canoodle.” His eyes meet mine. “I missed out on a big opportunity to get to know someone pretty damn amazing.”
My cheeks heat up and my mouth goes as dry as a desert, looking, begging for any droplet of water.
After our blind date, I really had the attitude of “good riddance.” I never gave Sawyer another thought.
If he didn’t want to talk to me, that was his problem, so seeing him again never resurrected any feelings to earn his approval.
But his confession strikes me so hard that I find myself struggling for words.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Sawyer adds.