14. Sawyer #2
He grabs my basket, holding both with one hand. “Very funny, Thorne.”
We end up in front of a circular rack of the most aggressively Lake Mercer merchandise I’ve ever seen in my life. Sweatshirts with cartoon fish on them. T-shirts that say Lake Life in green font. A rack of tie-dye shorts in neon colors.
“This is bleak,” I say.
“This one’s not bad.” He holds up a navy blue sweatshirt with the silhouette of a fish stitched on it in white. It’s probably the least hideous thing here. I take it from him and check the size. Medium…I could maybe fit one tit in that thing.
I discreetly hang it back on the rack.
He grabs a gray T-shirt that says Trout of Office, featuring a badly drawn trout dressed in a suit, and holds it up. “What do you think?”
“Oh, definitely. That fish dresses for work better than you do.”
“I’m crushed.” He drops it in the basket with a grin. “Let’s see you find something better.”
“You’re on, Aldrich,” I say, flipping through the rack. I’m so focused that I don’t notice he’s inched closer until his body heat permeates the air and his voice is low against my ear.
“There she is.”
My hand freezes on a hanger and I actively fight the urge to lean into him. With a breath, I grab the next shirt on the rack and swing it up between us. Lucky for me, it’s a winner.
“Found it. The GOAT of all T-shirts.”
It’s a white shirt with an array of appetizers styled as different fish with the words FINger Food along the top. Hideously amazing.
Knox tries to hold it in. I know that look. But when I wave it again like a victory flag, he gives up and bursts out laughing. It must be contagious because suddenly I’m laughing and we’re doubled over, me clutching the shirt to my chest and him shaking his head.
He takes it and drops it into his basket. “I’m buying that for you. Happy early birthday.”
The laugh dies in my throat.
I’m quiet as I stand there with my hand still hovering near the rack, the easy warmth from a second ago draining out of me fast enough that I feel it physically, like the mention of my birthday was a vacuum cleaner of joy.
He notices. Of course he does. He notices everything about me, apparently.
“You didn’t think I’d forget.”
“It’s been a hard year to keep track of dates.” It’s not an answer but it’s the only thing I can manage that isn’t as heavy as I feel.
“I haven’t forgotten a single one of your birthdays since I was old enough to read a calendar, Sawyer.”
A hush surrounds us. The only noise is the hum of the cooler in the back and the radio playing faintly from the front of the store.
I swallow hard. “Knox.”
“I know.” He shifts the baskets to his other hand. “I’m not trying to make it weird.”
“You’re failing.”
That gets the smallest huff of a laugh out of him, and my chest loosens again, the tension breaking just enough that I can breathe normally.
“Come on.” He nods toward the register. “Let’s go pay before we end up with an entire fish-themed wardrobe.”
We head to the register, making small talk with the chatty local ringing us up. Knox pays before I can get my card out, and I let it happen. I’m too tired to fight him on it, and it’s the least he can do for being an ass.
Outside, the heat’s less oppressive than earlier, and the sunset above Main Street casts a golden hue over the buildings.
Knox hands me my bag and our fingers brush, his warm and calloused, causing sparks to shoot up my arm.
Our eyes catch and hold, and for a second, I think he’s going to comment on the touch, but after one breath and then another, he doesn’t, so I swallow it down too.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, breaking the silence.
Am I? There’s so many other feelings coursing through me, hunger is the farthest from the top. I should eat before going back to the motel, but do I want to spend more time with Knox? I’m still so angry at him. At our situation.
He’s engaged. There’s nothing we can do about that, and no matter what we say or do, there’s still feelings between us. I’m tired of fighting them. I’m tired of the guilt and the grief and the restraint. I’m tired of being good, but I don’t want to be bad either. I’m a fucking mess.
“I didn’t realize it was such a loaded question,” Knox says.
I blink and clear my throat. “Everything between us is loaded. You’re Owen’s brother. You’re engaged to Ella. You’re…you.”
He sighs and rubs his jaw. “I told you how it is with Ella. What she is to me. I—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “But she doesn’t. Despite what her and Owen did. Despite it being some weird arrangement that you refuse to tell me about. It’s still wrong, Knox.”
He keeps his lips pressed in a line and that gets to me. I brace for the fight, for him to push back the way he always does, and instead, he just stands there with his bag hanging from his hand, shoulders dropped an inch.
“I know it’s wrong,” he almost whispers. I have to step closer to hear him. “I’ve known it’s wrong since…since forever, and I keep wanting you anyway. I don’t have it in me to stop wanting you.”
My pulse pounds, every instinct screaming at me to comfort him. To say fuck it all and give in.
I’m not there yet. Not after everything.
“I should go.”
“What if we’re just friends?” he says, reaching for my arm. “If that’s what you need. I’ll take whatever version of you I’m allowed to have, Sawyer, because I can’t lose you completely. Not after all this time. Not after what we’ve been through.”
“Friends?” I almost laugh. “Knox, we haven’t been friends in years…not truly.”
What I don’t say is that I can’t lose him either. Can’t lose him but can’t have him. We’re in quite the fucking predicament.
His thumb draws circles on my forearm. “Then we don’t need a label. It’s just you and me, one day at a time—hell, one minute at a time if that’s what you need.”
His thumb keeps moving, slow circles that I feel everywhere, and I hate how easy it is to let him get under my skin. How easy it’s always been.
“And what happens when one of those minutes turns into something we can’t take back?”
“Then it does.” His eyes are wide, pleading.
“I’m done pretending I have a plan, Sawyer.
I don’t. I just know I’m not walking away from you again.
Us coming here at the same time, meeting in the same place…
it means something. I don’t believe in fate or luck or any of that shit, but this…
you and me, I can’t explain. And I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried.”
He’s killing me. Those eyes. His words. Knox is never this open. Not in all the years I’ve known him and it’s cracking my chest in two. He’s a man of facts, of data. For him to stand here and say he believes in fate means so much more than anyone else on the planet saying the same.
I don’t know what to say so I stay quiet, listening to the bell chime on the market door, distant conversation coming from tourists walking, the hum of insects in the fading sunset.
It’s grounding. I can’t say what’s in my heart, because if I did, I’d tell him that I feel the same way.
That I can’t stop loving him even though it’s the only thing I want.
That he’s infuriating and awful but also kind and brilliant.
That he’s the person I think about before I fall asleep and the second I wake up and even in my dreams when I reach for him he slips out of my grasp.
“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” I say. “Maybe we just both needed to get out of Ashford tonight and coming here is muscle memory.”
“Maybe. But neither of us ever shops here. We come from a long line of loyal Mercer Mart customers.” He shrugs, deadly serious. “This has to be fate, Thorne. And I think the universe is telling you to let me buy you dinner.”
“The universe, huh?”
“The universe.” He nods and pulls a hand through his hair. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”
“You’ve never followed a rule in your life.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He turns toward his Jeep, parked along the street. “Come on. We don’t want to make the universe wait. We already have enough bad luck.”
“Luck? Who the hell are you?”
He laughs and heads toward his car, expecting me to follow. I should say no for all the reasons…being with Knox is a bad idea. Then he looks back at me over his shoulder, that stupid smirk on his face, and every one of them dissolves.
“Fine.” I move to his side before I change my mind. “But I’m still mad at you.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”