18. Ginger
18
GINGER
I t’s five o’clock in the damn morning, and I’m already dressed, bundled up for the cold, and piling up the last of our things for the overnight trip to the falls. My nerves got me up at four, and I gave up trying to get more sleep.
Sawyer is punctual, pulling up in front of my house at five on the dot. His big frame fills his door as he climbs out. The back is packed with supplies from my dad, and I try not to ogle him through the window.
But the way his butt fills out those jeans and how his shoulders stretch against that flannel has me feeling warm.
I open the door before he can knock and can’t keep from staring at him. The dreams that plagued me all night were of him, naked, above me, and they haven’t let go of me. Sawyer is the kind of man that doesn’t mind my silent stares. He simply watches me in return.
When I finally shake myself out of my stupor, I wave him inside.
The moment I close the door, I let myself soak in how near he is, and I can’t help but steal a taste of him, pushing up on my toes. He bends to slant his mouth over mine with a need that overpowers my good sense.
His kiss is minty from his toothpaste, but I can’t savor it. Breaking apart, we’re both breathing heavily. Livewires ready to spark on contact.
And fuck, the way he looks down at me has my insides turning to goo.
“Good morning,” I say, trying to diffuse the roiling tension.
“Morning.” Sawyer’s voice is husky and low, a rumble that shakes tremors through me. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “This is dangerous.”
I let loose a giggle that has me covering my mouth because—of course, it is. It might be part of why I like it. A little part that has me feeling more my age than I have in a while.
“You mean being alone with the world’s youngest chaperone? Absolutely.”
I pat his cheek when he smiles at me. It’s the barest tilt of his mouth, but it’s the way his eyes light up that has my heart skipping beats. I brush my thumb over his jaw and the stubble there.
“I should check one her. We can just stuff her in the back with her pillow and blankets and let her fall back asleep. She always does that.”
Sawyer nods, kisses my forehead again, and steps away. He often speaks volumes without saying a word. It makes me want to learn about every silent conversation we can have.
I slip away and into Gracie’s room. She’s working on getting ready, her frenetic energy filling the small space.
“I’m almost ready, Mom,” she says, rummaging in her closet for something.
“That’s what you always say,” I chide gently, My daughter seems to be allergic to being on time and being organized. I, on the other hand, am never late.
When we get back into the living room, Sawyer looks like he wants to say something, but I speak before he can.
“Grab our things. They’re by the door.”
He doesn’t hesitate, and I’m glad he doesn’t seem offended.
As Sawyer loads our things in the bed of his truck, Gracie gets in the backseat. Unrolling her sleeping bag, I tuck it around her, and grab her pillow to prop up her head. The other sleeping bags and blankets I stuff on the floor and in front of her.
Mom and Dad used to do that for me when we went camping. I hated being buckled in and unable to actually fall back asleep.
I check the house one more time for anything I might have forgotten on my checklist— yes, I made a checklist .
But Sawyer grabbed everything. I pull my cold brew coffee from the fridge, already creamed and sugared with my own special blend of flavors and meet him back at the truck. He’s watching Gracie through the window like she might hurt herself if he doesn’t.
I like it. He’s so sweet. Gentle. Gentler than I bet most people can imagine.
My dad’s a big marshmallow, and I’m his only child. As tough as he made me, he was always so careful with me.
I can feel Sawyer’s attention shift to me as I lock the door and round the back to get in beside him. Shaking the jar at him, I say, “I’ve got coffee.”
He opens a paper bag on the seat between us and hands me a foil-wrapped breakfast burrito. Oh my God, I take a bite and moan at how much flavor he managed to layer into it.
Sawyer is practically grinning at me, red creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.
We sip and eat for a few minutes before he puts the truck in gear. Once I finish my breakfast, I prop my arm across the cooler between us and open my hand to wait for his. It takes two seconds for his fingers to slide through mine.
The drive is quiet but companionable. Soft rock music plays on the radio.
It feels right.
When we make it to the falls, Sawyer and I unpack at the small campground while Gracie eats her cold breakfast burrito with a soda. She’s full of energy by the time everything’s unloaded.
“I can help with the tent. Grandpa taught me last year, and I’ve been practicing.”
I laugh as Sawyer blinks at her. It only takes him a second to nod, because she’s already stomping her way to the tent. He lets her take the lead as I set out the lanterns and chairs, staking them around the fire pit. I also put up a tarp that catches the wind and redirects it from our little spot.
It’s cold, but it’s a mild kind of cold when the wind isn’t piercing us.
“Missed a step,” I hear Sawyer say softly behind me. Glancing back, I see that he and Gracie are holding the tent poles. She’s concentrating, and he’s letting her think through it.
God, this man knows how to squeeze my ovaries.
By the time we finish setting up camp, the sun has started to warm us. I plant my hands on my hips and survey the tent. “Good job. It looks sturdy. We just need to put up the food, then we can go fishing.”
Sawyer has the cooler and sealed bags in hand before I finish my statement, hoisting them up to keep animals from breaking into them.
I gather the poles and tackle box and let the two of them lead the way to the bottom of the falls. Gracie holds his hand the whole way down, and he stops her from tumbling twice. Her giggles send the birds flying through the branches.
And I love the way she smiles up at him, but more so, the way he smiles down at her with his eyes.
I don’t really fish. I can. I’m competent enough to bait my hook and pack my fish in ice. Never cleaned one though. Guts are not my favorite part of food.
Sawyer does well sitting beside her, nodding as she talks, tells stories, asks questions. He answers them when he knows it, which is most of the time. When he doesn’t have an answer, he tells her.
I lean back against a tree behind them and watch the falls in the distance. The sky is a pretty blue with a few white puffy clouds here and there. Bare branches and evergreens surround the landscape.
The gentle burble from the creek has me daydreaming about the shape of Sawyer’s back. It’s wide and full of muscle. I want to see what he looks like fully naked. The parts I got to see were stunning enough to leave an impression.
He peeks at me over his shoulder, and I send him a cheesy smile. Sawyer will keep doing it. Glancing at me, keeping stock of what I’m doing—he does that when I’m handing out treats on the rare occasion he’s not alone.
I like how when I catch him, he doesn’t flinch away. He just looks at me.
We sit for a little over an hour and a half, and we catch four fish.
“Are you going to clean them?” Gracie asks, holding my hand as Sawyer carries the fish cooler and poles. He looks like a wilderness man.
“I am.” His eyes shift to me as I help Gracie over a log.
“Will you teach me?”
Sawyer boomerangs that silent question back at me with a look, and I laugh.
“Just don’t let her cut herself.”
Gracie hops up onto a large boulder alongside the trail. “I won’t cut myself. I’m careful.”
She is. Dad already has her chopping wood and mucking out horse stalls. Using the nail gun. All under supervision, but that’s something I trust Sawyer with. He’s safe and attentive. He works with dangerous and sharp tools for a living.
“Okay,” he says in agreement.
“I’ll prep the fire.”
“Can I light it?” Gracie asks.
“If you’re not covered in fish guts when it’s time, sure. But if you’re fishy, I’m lighting it.” I tap my chest. I’m mostly teasing her, but it’s important to set boundaries and not give her everything she asks for.
She’s pretty good about it.
“Then, what do you think…s’mores afterward, Shakespeare? Do marshmallows and fish mix?”
Sawyer sends me that same smile, and I smile back. Gracie tugs on my hand.
“Why do you call him Shakespeare?”
I can’t help my laughter. “Because he talks so much.”
Gracie’s features screw up in confusion. “But he almost doesn’t talk at all.”
“Exactly.”
Back at camp, well, off to the side of camp where there’s a stream, Sawyer shows Gracie how to prepare the fish for cooking, and I collect sticks for the fire.
Cooking and eating take nearly no time at all, so we hike for part of the afternoon before dinner. Gracie has had so much sugar that she’s talking a mile a minute. I let her. That’s what being out here is for.
Sawyer pulls his camping chair close to mine and holds my hand as he sips a beer and watches the sun set. It’s been a pretty perfect day. I’m glad he was there to step in yesterday. I’m glad he’s the one to make this happen.
We munch on our hotdogs and some more marshmallows. I watch Gracie starting to flag. It’ll be time to send her to bed soon, and I’m honestly not far off with the lack of sleep I got last night.
The moment I make moves to get her in the tent, I realize how small it is. Pressing my lips together, I gather Gracie up and coerce her inside.
Sawyer in leaning forward on his knees, eyes focused on the flames when I return. Instead of slipping into my chair, I nudge him back and sit in his lap. His arms come around me immediately.
I feel safe in his embrace. Warm. Wanted. His strong hands knead the back of my neck, up into my hair as I relax into him.
“We should think of getting some sleep, too.”
“Mm.” His voice vibrates in a rich tone with my ear to his chest.
The thought of curling up with him in that tiny tent all night has my body ultra-aware of the cold air, his heat, how solid he is under me—how I want him to be under me in a bed where I can spread him out and have my fill of him.
I barely got a taste before.
Sharing the tent with my daughter doesn’t dampen my desire, even if it will curb my behavior. I still want to cuddle. At least a little bit.
My mouth forms around the underside of his jaw, and the rumble in his throat is delightful.
I force myself to climb off of him. We put out the fire and pack things away before I crawl into the tent first. Gracie is curled up and easy to make slide to the far end of the tent, but when Sawyer comes in after me, it’s pretty clear we’re going to be very close all night.
My daughter fits easily alongside me, and then Sawyer surrounds me, big hand on my hip as he covers us before he tucks me back against him. I don’t think I’ll fall asleep as fast as I do, but before I know it, it’s morning, and I’m wrapped around Sawyer’s front.
Head on his chest, leg draping over his hips, hand twisting in his shirt, I’ve half-tossed the sleeping bag off of us because he was hot beneath me.
I flatten my hand out on his chest as I wake. He’s wide, but full of lean muscle as I caress his side and press my hand against his stomach.
Sawyer’s hand tangles in my hair, his mouth pressing against my forehead. His chest shakes from silent laughter, and I catch the glow in his features before he looks down at me. “She spreads out.”
I laugh quietly against his shoulder. “Yeah, she does.”
I take a peek, and she’s sprawled out like a starfish while we’re cuddled up in a third of the tent. No complaints here.
He practically purrs as I let my hands sweep over him again. His arousal is clear against the inside of my thigh. So many daydreams pour through my mind before I sit up. I could get used to the way he looks at me first thing in the morning.
The way he looks first thing…delicious.
But it’s time to start the day before I do something stupid.
The cold air outside nips at my exposed skin the moment I unzip the flap. The sun just peeks over the horizon as I climb out with a supportive hand on my ass. I laugh and turn to find Sawyer crawling out behind me. He closes Gracie inside to keep her warm without his body heat.
That man is a furnace.
But when I step into the campsite, my heart sinks. “Oh no.”
Our food is spread everywhere. It’s all ruined. Nothing is salvageable. My heart sinks, and when I turn back to the tent, I see my daughter’s rosy face peeking out. Her eyes are wide and watery.
The tears are falling before I get to her.