15. Sawyer
Sawyer
A s I drive from the airport and snake my way around the roads, an odd feeling of contentment lowers my shoulders.
I feel like I’m home. Like I can breathe for the first time in days.
Which is odd, because I left New York this afternoon and just landed in Whispers.
The one place I swore I’d never settle, yet the one place that’s feeling more and more like it’s where I’m meant to be.
As I edge closer to Annabelle’s house, an excitement twirls in my stomach that hasn’t been there in a very long time.
She has me off my game. I’m usually so much smoother with women.
I give flowers, chocolates, and pick them up for dates, sweeping them off their feet at the top restaurants in the city with the best bottles of wine.
Getting her four brand-new tires was obviously too much for her, but I was at a loss at what to get her to show my affection.
When it comes to Annabelle, I’m some idiot who falls in cow manure, says or does the wrong thing, and can’t even flirt properly over text.
I pull into Annabelle’s gravel driveway and slowly make my way up to her place. The late afternoon sun is hitting the lavender, making the entire field look vibrant purple. It’s beautiful. She mentioned having great soil, and it’s clear by the large bushes that she’s right.
Spotting Kevin outside, I turn off my truck and jump out.
“Hey, Kevin.” I walk up to him, pocketing my hands.
I’m in my usual suit, not really farm attire as per usual, and I watch Kevin, with a baseball and a glove on, throwing the ball into a small stack of hay bales, before running and grabbing it, and then heading back to the same spot and throwing again.
“Hey.” He pays me little attention. By the look of concentration and the sweat on his brow, I’m assuming he’s been out here for a while.
“Are you practicing your pitching?” I squint at him, watching his throw. He has a good arm on him. Strong, fast, and accurate. The ball hits the same marker on the bales each and every time.
“Yeah.” His vocabulary is clearly not in working order today either.
“Do you have a spare glove? I can throw with you.” It’s been a while since I threw a ball, but it’s something I enjoy doing. I look at his glove. It’s old, falling apart, and the ball doesn’t look much better.
“No, just got this one.” He continues throwing the ball. Not even looking my way. At least he offers me more words this time.
“Looks like you need a new glove. It seems like an old one.”
“Was my dad’s.” I swallow. Fuck.
“Oh, a bit of family history, then,” I offer with a small smile. I wonder how he’s coping without his father. I know too well how hard it can be when you’re young and don’t have that father figure in your life, someone you desperately need.
“It’s a piece of shit, just like he was.” For the first time this conversation, he looks right at me. His eyes flame.
My jaw clenches as I take in his words and see the hurt and anger in his gaze.
I never really knew my father, but it seems like Kevin remembers his all too well.
That feeling I had when I last saw Annabelle, the way she flinched when I touched her cheek, these little snippets of her story are now starting to add up, and the picture I’m getting is not a good one.
“Kevin! Oh Sawyer, you’re here.” Annabelle’s voice breaks through our moment like sweet honey, and Kevin’s face immediately softens. “Sorry, I was just out the back; I didn’t hear you come up.”
She walks down the porch steps toward us. The small breeze blows through her pretty blond hair, her eyes sparkling like she’s happy to see me. With her wide smile aimed my way, I release the breath I was holding, my body relaxing instantly.
“I was just chatting with Kevin; he’s got a good throw on him. Looks to be pitcher material.”
Kevin looks at me like he’s confused that I would offer him a compliment.
“He should be. He’s out here often enough.” Annabelle gives him a wink, and he chuckles.
“Go clean up for dinner, honey.”
Kevin nods and runs inside.
“How have you been?” I step closer to her, grabbing her hand, needing her in my space.
“Fine. No more flat tires.” She bites her lip to contain her grin, and I huff a small laugh. She seems good today. Not as frantic, her skin is glowing, her eyes bright. She’s looking like just me being here is all she needs, making me feel genuinely wanted just for being myself.
I wonder briefly if this could be life. Coming home to a beautiful woman and kids after a long day of work. I never imagined my life being like this. My city upbringing provides an alternative fantasy, but now the universe is painting an entirely different picture, and I’m liking it.
“I forgot to mention, my brother posted something online about the soaps,” I tell her, scrubbing the back of my head, a little sheepish. My brother is a moron, and I’m going to kill him. I said as much today in the text message I sent him when I got the notification from his social media post.
In between meetings, I saw the image pop up on my screen. Him in all his naked glory. His wet body and six-pack on full display in the shower, water running down his abs, holding a Gertie’s soap bar to cover his dick.
The caption. Get dirty with Gertie .
She hums, nodding. “I met up with Victoria this afternoon to talk about the business, and we both saw it. Our orders have increased online, and she’s had a few new inquiries from some retailers.
Looks like your plan worked. Thank you. I really, really appreciate it.
” Her smile has me smiling, even though I’m still annoyed with my brother.
“Yeah, well, I’m not entirely sure about the photo he put up,” I mumble, wondering what she thought of it. Sutton works hard on his physique, as do I. I’m glad the house I’m leasing on Billionaire Boulevard has a fully equipped gym because Whispers doesn’t have one.
“Hmmmm, I saw it, and I didn’t really think about my soaps covering a man’s appendage when I made them…
” Her cheeks tint pink, but her grin remains.
Now that she mentioned it, I don’t really like the fact that something Annabelle made with her hands is so close to my brother's dick either.
I should've thought about that before I sent them to him.
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, the ladies love him.” Now that she knows who he is, she’ll probably fangirl like the rest of my dates usually do. I swallow, having never felt this vulnerable before, jealous of my own brother. Fuck, this woman is under my skin.
“Couldn’t pay me to be fawning over a celebrity. Give me a lawyer in a suit any day of the week.”
Relief fills me instantly. “Are you flirting with me?” I ask her cheekily, and she looks at me with a playful glint in her eyes.
“Am I doing it right?” She squints, like she’s not sure what my response will be, and I laugh as I grab her hand and pull her to me.
“It’s working on me…” I tell her, kissing her forehead, and we walk inside.
This night is already feeling just right.
Coming to Annabelle’s for dinner, I’ve discovered, is like going to watch a Broadway show. There are usually three acts.
To start the night, Noah joined us for dinner, and Annabelle gave him the task of saying grace.
His wide grin should’ve given it away, but having gone on and on about how much he loved his day, he concluded his fifteen-minute spiel, asking God for more of Debbie’s cupcakes, which made Kevin snigger, the first real smile I’ve seen from him.
Act two consisted of watching her walk around the house and her property, ensuring all doors and windows were locked, while the boys got ready for bed.
I took that time to race to my truck and grab the paperwork I needed to go through with her, as well as check my phone a dozen times, all in order to tamp down my concern for a young woman living out here all on her own.
Now, in act three, the boys are in bed and the house is deathly quiet, except for the low hum of the TV as we sit near each other on the sofa.
I reprinted the contract Annabelle misplaced, and now it looks like a rainbow shit all over it because I have sticky notes on almost every page, highlighting the key things I want to explain to her in more detail, knowing that she might need an extra hand in understanding some of the terminology.
“So, this goes through what will happen with the Gertie’s if one or both of you are unable to work in the business anymore,” I tell Annabelle, liking sitting close and having her interested in what I’m saying.
“Oh, okay.” She reads through it. My lips thin as I watch her, because she clearly didn’t read through it properly the first time, and if she did, I’m positive that she didn’t understand it.
“In the case where one of you passes away or can no longer work in the business, this outlines that the other party will buy out the other fifty percent ownership and hold one hundred percent of the business,” I explain to her, and her brow furrows.
“But if Victoria passes, there’s no way I could buy her out.” She looks up at me, concerned.
“If that happens, there are a few ways to go about it. One way is to get a business loan and borrow the money.” Now her expression morphs, like I just asked her to kill a cat.
“I don’t think I would get a loan.” I’m not entirely sure of her situation, but it’s becoming clear she doesn’t have much in the bank.
“The other option would be to sell the business to someone else, either finding a new fifty percent partner or selling a hundred percent of the business to them.”
Her shoulders slump, not liking that prospect either.
“It’s a very unlikely scenario, but one that you do need to consider when entering a business arrangement such as this. It’s always good to have plans for when things go bad so that you’re a little more prepared,” I explain, and she puts the paperwork down, leaning back on the sofa.
“Nothing really prepares you for death.” She swallows roughly.