CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO SAWYER
C HAPTER T WENTY -T WO
SAWYER
“Stop looking at me like that,” Fallon says from her spot behind the check-in counter.
“Like what?” I ask. I’m lounging on the lobby couch, my computer on my lap, working on the notes from Andy while Fallon meticulously hand cleans the rocks she just pulled out of the tumbler.
“Like you’re trying to convince me to strip down to nothing.”
“Babe, I don’t need to convince you—you do that on your own.” I smirk while she rolls her eyes.
“Aren’t you charming?”
“I believe I am,” I answer as Sully comes downstairs, a grumpy look on his face as he stops behind the counter.
“Everything okay?” Fallon asks him.
“I can’t find my socks. Have you seen my socks?”
Fallon glances down at Sully’s classic high-waters and then back up at him. “Sully, they’re on your feet. Along with your shoes.” She gently presses her hand to his shoulder.
He looks down, and embarrassment crosses his face as he realizes his mistake. “I thought they went missing,” he says while he moves around the counter and spots me. “What are you doing? Don’t you have work to get done?”
“He is working, Sully,” Fallon says. “He’s working on his screenplay pitch.”
“Screenplay? What’s that balderdash? What happened to working on the firepit? There are people here—where are they going to roast marshmallows?”
“Sawyer finished that up a week ago,” Fallon says. I did. It was a quick project that I had Tank and the utilities company help me with—we wanted to have a firepit that would ignite with the press of a button to keep any free-flying sparks from hitting the trees. “See, it’s right outside.”
Sully walks up to the back window and takes in the firepit, which is six by three in size, surrounded by two outdoor couches and two accent chairs.
Sully scratches the top of his head. “Well, the dishes need to be done. I’m going to go take care of them.” Like the grump that he is, he stomps away, back upstairs, and slams the door behind him.
Fallon lets out a heavy sigh. “The dishes are done.”
“I know,” I say. “Do you want me to go check on him?”
Fallon shakes her head. “No. I’ll go. It seems like it’s going to be a rough day. I’m going to have Jaz come watch the desk for a bit while I’m up there.”
“I can watch it.”
She shakes her head and points to my computer. “No, you need to get that done. Andy is waiting on you, and you’ve helped enough. Jaz can easily cover for me.”
“Fallon, I can do both at the same time.”
“No, I’m serious. I’m going to text her right now, and when she gets here, she’s going to kick you out.
And I know you don’t want to mess with Jaz and her switchblade.
” She’s right about that. “Can you just man the desk until Jaz gets here? Margaret O’Hare is going to check in—not sure when.
You just have to hand her the key, and I’ll follow up later with her. ”
“Are you sure?”
She nods and walks around the counter and up to me. She leans over the back of the couch and lowers her mouth to mine. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
She kisses me for a few seconds before pulling away, making me groan.
“You can’t just kiss me like that and leave.”
“I can do whatever I want.” She smirks and then takes off up the stairs. I watch, appreciating the view, until she’s out of sight.
Talk about having it bad for someone.
I’m head over heels for that woman.
Last night just solidified it. Not that I needed to have sex with her to know that, but last night was way more than just sex—it was an example of the undeniable connection we have.
Because I don’t want anyone walking in and thinking the counter is unattended, I bring my computer to Fallon’s vacated spot and scoot her rocks to the side, gently placing them out of the reach of guests.
She has a few on display in front of her sign, which I think is the cutest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.
We plan on hiking the Harry Balls Trail and looking for more rocks that we can polish this weekend.
I find the whole process oddly soothing.
The rocks tumble for a few days, we take them out, we add more grit, rinse, and repeat.
And I love seeing how they turn out. Fallon was calling me a “rock nerd” the other day, and maybe I am, but it’s just another thing we can bond over.
Just then, the front door opens. I assume this has to be Margaret O’Hare, but when my eyes land on the person walking through the door, I nearly fall right off my stool.
What the actual hell?
“Sawyer. You’re here.”
Cautiously, I stand from the stool, walk around the counter, and stick my hands in my pockets as I try to keep my voice calm. “Annalisa, what the hell are you doing here?”
The last time I saw her in person, she was the picture-perfect bride on her wedding day.
Decked out in head-to-toe white with her nails done, eyelashes glued on, and hair covered with a veil.
Now she’s standing in front of me over a month later, clad in a loose-fitting red cardigan.
She’s a frail slice of the woman she was on that day.
Nervously, she says, “I caught wind that you might be up here, so I decided to check for myself.”
“Who did you hear that from?” I ask her, my anger starting to boil. Was it Andy? Roarick? It would be tough to believe that either of them betrayed my trust.
“Some gossip site. There were pictures of you posted around town. But does that matter?”
Could have been anyone, even someone just passing through.
“No, what matters is, why the hell are you here?” I hiss-whisper at her, not wanting to draw any attention from upstairs. The last thing Fallon needs right now is to come downstairs and see Annalisa.
“Sawyer. I...” Her eyes well up with tears as her expression runs from relieved to apologetic in seconds. “I need to apologize.”
Jesus Christ.
I’m not sure where this is coming from or why she finds it necessary to destroy my peace, but she sure as hell isn’t about to disturb Fallon’s happiness. That’s for damn sure.
“Not here,” I say, ushering her out of the lobby and toward the open grass. I glance around, looking for any spot to talk to her, any spot that’s out of view.
“Should we sit at that bench?” Annalisa asks, pointing to Sully’s bench.
Uh, over my dead body.
That’s not fucking happening.
That bench, the Cove, those picnic tables, they will not be tainted by Annalisa.
Knowing cabin number one is currently waiting for Margaret O’Hare to show up, I point to it. “Go to that cabin; I’ll be right there.”
I jog back into the lobby and quickly grab the key to cabin number one that’s hanging behind the check-in desk. Just as I’m retreating to the back door again, Jaz strolls through the front door. Fucking perfect.
“What’s the hurry, Julia?”
Of course she shows up seconds after Fallon texts her for some help.
Knowing Jaz’s morning routine, she was probably already on her way over here, which doesn’t bode well for me.
I think we all know how temperamental Jaz is—pretty sure if she knew Annalisa was here, she’d unfurl her switchblade and start stabbing walls.
Best she doesn’t know. Best no one knows.
I’ll listen to what Annalisa has to say and boot her ass out of here without a parting glance.
“Uh, just making sure cabin number one is ready for Margaret when she shows up. Want to double-check the pipes.” I don’t know why I say that—it’s not like we changed the pipes at all, but Jaz falls for it.
“Okay, whatever. Just bring the key back when you’re done.”
“Sure thing,” I say as I jog off toward the cabin, my hands sweaty from the thought of Jaz almost running into Annalisa. A few minutes earlier and we might have had bloodshed in the lobby.
Thankfully, cabin number one is shadowed by a tree, so Annalisa is out of view when I reach its front door. I quickly unlock the door and swing it open.
“Get in,” I say angrily. To my surprise, Annalisa obeys, and I shut the door behind us. I toss the key on the dining table that sits two and push my hands through my hair. “What the actual hell, Annalisa? You can’t just show up here like this.”
“I know, I’m sure I’m the last person you expected to see today.”
“Yeah, you could say that. You’re the last person I really want to see, ever.”
She nods solemnly. “I deserve that.” She takes a seat at the table, while I sit across from her on the bed, my hands folded as I lean forward on my legs, in disbelief that I’m staring at Annalisa right now, the woman who’s made my life absolute hell for the last year.
And for God knows what reason—either expert acting or she’s finally come to her senses—but she actually looks like the woman I met many years ago.
The resting bitch face is gone, her brows aren’t perfectly manicured, and there isn’t a sneer to be found.
Instead, her eyes seem brighter, like she’s cleared the mud she’s been flinging around and is actually acting sincerely.
“Can we just get on with this?” I ask. “Whatever you need to get off your chest, just say it so I can get on with my day.”
She glances to the side. “Wow, you really hate me, don’t you?”
“Uh... can you blame me?” I nearly shout.
“Anna, you cheated on me with my best friend. You left me for him, and then I was forced to stand there and act like everything was okay while you traipsed around, telling the press, everyone who cared to listen, how he saved you, how he was your knight in a Tom Ford suit. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t hold you hostage and treat you like a captive when we were together. ”
“You didn’t.”
“And yet you acted like I did. Jesus, Anna, you threw me under the bus every chance you had, and then after the wedding, it was like a goddamn witch hunt out there for my credibility. You realize the kind of damage you could have done to my career?”
“I know,” she says. “I know everything that I did was wrong, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”