10. Sawyer
Sawyer
M y mouth’s watering, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the delicious smells coming from her kitchen or the way she looks at me with that small sassy grin she has or the way her eyes alight when she gets a little cheeky.
All three have my senses on overload. I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. But I like talking to her. I like seeing her do life. I like spending time getting to know her. And I sure as hell like looking at her.
“I’ve made extra, so there’s plenty.” She stands at her table, still rummaging through papers that look like they’ve been sitting there for a while.
She’s lost the contract. No doubt about it.
I notice that she twirls her hair when she’s unsure or fibbing about something, which she’s doing now.
She would be a terrible poker player. I smile, the action happening more today, with her, in Whispers, than it has with any other woman in a long time.
“Great, thank you.” I admire her some more as she walks into the kitchen.
For a woman of the land, she’s graceful, deliberate, sure of herself in a way that isn’t obvious.
Like a quiet confidence. I’m finding it hard to look away from her, and she lifts her head to look at me quickly, catching me and pausing as our eyes meet.
My mouth curves, and in return, I get a small smile, her cheeks tinting pink before she goes back to what she’s doing.
I huff a laugh to myself, my chest tingling, feeling like an excited teenager all over again.
Peeling my eyes from her, I look at Kevin, who hasn’t moved from the sofa where he’s watching baseball on TV.
I get the feeling he might be obsessed with it.
Probably not the time to tell him I am part owner of one of the major league clubs.
Stepping into the kitchen, I ask, “Can I help with anything?”
“Oh, um… sure. Here, can you mix the gravy?”
When I pause, because I’ve never mixed gravy, she looks up at me. “You know how to mix gravy, right?”
“Pfft, sure.” I have no clue. But I step forward, taking the spoon from her, and start to whisk. I don’t miss her smile, and it’s doing something to my insides. “So law, baseball sponsor, and now professional gravy stirrer. My resume is growing.”
“Well, if you do gravy well, you’ll be promoted to chicken carver.” Chuckling lightly, she slices through the roast chicken with precision.
“Something tells me never to come between you and that knife…” I tease.
“You know what they say…” She toys with me, lips pursed and eyes on mine, and I think my grin is now permanent.
I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never cooked with a woman before.
Maybe that makes me an asshole, but it’s the truth.
“A woman with a knife is just like her blade, dangerous if underestimated.”
I laugh when she winks, liking her snippets of humor, although I’m sure her words are accurate.
Too busy looking at her, hot gravy spills onto my shirt. “Shit.”
“Oh no, let me help.” She quickly grabs a damp cloth and steps closer. As she dabs at my chest, cleaning up the gravy, our bodies are almost touching. She registers the closeness at the same time, and her movements stop as she looks up.
“Sorry, I, um…”
“It’s okay. I’m the klutz.” I put my hand over the top of hers, where it still rests on my chest.
“It shouldn’t stain.” She sucks a deep breath, her chest pushing out and brushing my own. My lungs fill with her rose scent, the freshness nearly making me stumble.
“I was so focused on you and the knife, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Gravy can also be dangerous if underestimated.” She rolls her lips so she doesn’t laugh at me, and I chuckle, shaking my head as she steps away, my body instantly feeling the loss.
“Kevin, dinner!” Annabelle calls out as she dishes up what looks to be a mini feast. I grab the gravy, my one and only contribution, placing it on the table.
“Come. Sit.” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me, and I take a seat where she indicates.
She sits at the head of the table and Kevin sits opposite me.
Looking at the meal presented, my stomach rumbles. I shouldn't be hungry; I normally don’t eat until late. But seeing the roast chicken, beans, fresh carrots, mashed potatoes, and gravy has my mouth watering all over again. I haven’t eaten a home-cooked meal like this in years.
“Kevin, honey. Say grace.”
I look up, surprised, as I see Annabelle and Kevin holding hands, and she offers me her other hand.
It’s small, delicate, and although I know she works with her hands on the farm, her nails are neat, a soft pink polish coating them.
As I place her hand in mine, I feel the softness of her skin, my own hand tingling at her touch.
Holding her hand firmly, I watch where we connect for a moment, this whole thing feeling both completely out of place for me, yet one hundred percent comfortable.
Her eyes lift and meet mine again, and our fingers intertwine.
My shoulders lower instantly, and without thinking, I rub my thumb up to her wrist, caressing her skin slightly.
She looks at me, the energy swirling between us almost palpable before I clear my throat and we both look at Kevin.
I can’t remember the last time I sat at a dinner table like this, in someone's modest home and said grace.
Saying grace was something we did as kids.
My mother always ensured that we were thankful for our food, but as we got older, it fell to the wayside.
I put my other hand across the table to Kevin, who takes it, and as we all join hands, Annabelle lowers her head and closes her eyes.
Her movements are effortless, gratitude for what she has evident.
Her hair falls across her face, hiding her from me, but I find that my eyes don't move from her, eager to get any glimpse of her that I can.
Talking with her briefly this morning at the game felt nice.
Having never been to a kids’ baseball game before, it was something new, but I didn’t hate it.
It was very much a community event, and like Tanner said, it’s a good place to get to know people.
To see her watching Kevin play, the emotions so clear on her face, the way she never let go of Noah.
I feel like her heart is huge, bringing a sense of warmth and care to those around her.
For a beat, I wonder if I’m losing my mind.
Maybe there’s something in the water here in Whispers that has me completely forgetting who I am.
A city lawyer, who likes fast cars, has expensive tastes, and enjoys beautiful women at my beck and call.
A town like Whispers is the last place I ever thought I would be.
Yet these past few weeks, my business hasn’t suffered; my new little office is quiet, enabling me to be more productive, and my city teams are self-sufficient, used to not always having me around anyway.
I’m enjoying this small town more than I ever thought possible, not that I would admit that to Tanner just yet.
But it’s growing on me, the pace of life here, the possibilities, the stress-free environment that still feels like there’s something meaningful happening that I don’t want to miss out on.
And her . Annabelle completely has my attention, especially now, as her hand settles into mine like it was always meant to be there.
The weird thing is how comfortable I feel sitting here, at this old timber table, a simple, yet beautiful meal on offer, with a woman who’s starting to infiltrate my daily thoughts and her son, who looks at me with a curious eye, like he doesn’t trust me, like he doesn’t trust anyone.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for this food we are about to receive…” Kevin starts and looks up briefly at me, before his eyes move to where I’m holding his mom’s hand, and he frowns.
“…and for the company of Sawyer the Lawyer .” He says it in a smart-ass tone, smirking up at me.
“Thank you for helping me get a home run in my first game today and for making me the cool kid for once. Amen."
“You’re always the cool kid, Kevin.” She squeezes his hand, mine still holding her other.
“You’re my ma, you're supposed to say that.” He’s sweet to her. They grin at each other, the love they have for one another obvious.
“Well, let’s eat.” Annabelle’s voice is upbeat as I let go of her hand and we start to dig in.
Taking a bite, I almost groan. It’s the kind of homemade dinner that kids love when they get home after a big trip or when they’ve been away at college for too long.
The kind of food that makes you feel like you’re eating right, feeding your body and your heart what it needs. You can tell it was made with love.
“So, did you love your first game, Kevin?” I ask, though it’s clear he did. I’m just feeling like it’s going to take some effort to get him to like me even a little.
“Yeah,” is all he offers me, barely looking at me as he shovels food into his mouth.
“He loves baseball, watches it all the time,” Annabelle says, giving Kevin a stern look.
“Who’s your favorite team?” I know he has one if his TV viewing is anything to go by.
“The Mets.”
I smile at that. “They’re my favorite too.”
Kevin doesn’t acknowledge my response, continuing to eat like he hasn’t seen food in over a decade.
“Kevin’s been working outside with me all afternoon.
He’s famished,” Annabelle tells me, and I start to understand the pressure this young kid must feel.
Not from his mother, but from himself. It’s something I also endured when I was younger, wanting to be the support my mom needed and putting my own needs aside to help the family more.
“So what did you do today after the game?”
“Well, Hudson paid for the team to celebrate at the diner with a sundae, and then we came home and had work to do around here in the afternoon.” There’s a little weariness in her eyes.
“Do you have any help?” Surely it isn’t just her.