Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sawyer
It takes me a week to realize this has stopped being temporary.
It’s probably intentional because if I think too hard about this, I’m going to have to admit things I’ve been avoiding.
Like why Kayla has slept in my bed every night this week or why I haven’t asked her to stop.
The first night it happened, it felt like an accident. She’d fallen asleep after dinner, curled against me with her hair spread across my chest and her breathing slow and steady.
I told myself I’d move her eventually. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was.
The second night still felt less accidental, but the third night definitely wasn’t.
Now it’s Sunday morning, and she’s still here, tangled in the sheets beside me like she belongs—somehow, the world hasn’t ended yet.
I drag a hand down my face as I sit on the edge of the bed, deliberately avoiding looking back at the bed.
The longer I look, the harder it is to leave, which is exactly the kind of problem I try not to create for myself.
By the time I get out of the shower, she’s already up. The smell of coffee drifts through the apartment. When I walk into the kitchen, Kayla is standing in front of the open refrigerator, wearing one of my T-shirts and a pair of shorts.
Her hair is twisted up carelessly on top of her head while she studies the shelves like she’s trying to solve a complicated puzzle.
“You know,” I say, leaning against the counter, “normal people usually close the refrigerator door while they’re deciding.”
She glances over her shoulder. “I’m evaluating options.”
“You’ve been evaluating for three minutes.”
“Important decisions take time.”
She finally grabs a yogurt and shuts the door. “You’re very judgy for someone who just woke up.”
“I’ve been awake for two hours.”
“Show-off.”
I watch her move around the kitchen like she’s done it a hundred times, like she lives here … permanently. That thought should concern me more than it does.
Especially because it doesn’t feel strange anymore.
It feels … normal.
Kayla hops onto one of the stools at the island and opens the yogurt. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”
I loosen the collar of my shirt slightly. “Family dinner.”
Her spoon pauses halfway to her mouth. “Oh.”
I shrug. “It’s Sunday.”
“Right.”
She nods slowly, then goes back to eating like the conversation is over.
I hesitate. It’s unusual for me since I normally make decisions a lot faster than this. But something about the way she’s sitting there in my kitchen makes the words catch in my throat.
I rub the back of my neck.
“They’ve already met you,” I say finally.
Kayla looks up. “So?”
“So …”
I exhale. “You could come.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “You’re inviting me to family dinner?”
“I’m acknowledging that it wouldn’t be weird if you showed up.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.”
She grins. “Too late.”
A few seconds pass, and then she slides off the stool.
“Well,” she says casually, “if your mother is cooking, I’d be stupid to say no.”
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth lift slightly, and suddenly, Sunday dinner doesn’t feel like something I have to endure.
* * *
By the time we pull into my parents’ place, it is already loud. Not music loud … family loud.
Voices overlapping through the open kitchen window, someone laughing, the unmistakable smell of garlic and tomatoes drifting outside.
Kayla glances toward the house. “You weren’t kidding.”
“About what?”
She gestures toward the front door. “It sounds like a small wedding in there.”
“It’s Sunday.”
“That explains everything.”
I walk up the front steps and open the door without knocking.
The second we step inside, Brooklyn’s voice cuts through the room. “Well, well, well.”
Kayla mutters under her breath. “Oh no.”
My sister walks into the entryway with a grin that already tells me I’m going to regret bringing Kayla here.
“You came back,” Brooklyn says to Kayla like she’s greeting a long-lost friend.
Kayla shrugs. “I was promised food.”
Brooklyn laughs and hooks an arm through hers. “Smart girl.”
Before I can escape, Hudson appears from the kitchen.
His eyes flick between the two of us. “Did Sawyer voluntarily bring someone to dinner?”
“Miracles happen,” Brooklyn says.
Hudson smirks. “Dad owes me twenty bucks.”
“Why?” Kayla asks.
Hudson jerks a thumb toward me. “Because I said he’d bring you back.”
I roll my eyes and walk toward the kitchen. “Can we not do this?”
Too late. The entire table is already looking at us.
Dad is at the head of the table with Ma beside him while Chase and Livia are arguing about something on the other end.
Cole spots us first. “Well, look who decided to show up.”
Ma stands immediately. “Kayla!”
She walks over and pulls her into a warm hug, like they’ve known each other for years. “I’m so happy you came.”
Kayla laughs slightly. “I was told there would be food.”
Dad chuckles. “Then you came to the right place.”
I pull out a chair while everyone settles back down. For the first ten minutes, the conversation is chaotic in the way family dinners always are.
Stories from the restaurant. Cole complaining about suppliers. Brooklyn teasing Chase about a girl he’s been seeing.
Kayla jumps into the conversation easily, laughing at something Hudson said.
Once again, I find myself watching her instead of participating, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Cole leans back in his chair and looks between the two of us. “So,” he says casually, “is this the part where we pretend Sawyer didn’t bring a woman he’s been living with for over a month?”
Kayla chokes on her drink. “Living with?”
I glare at him. “She needed a place to stay.”
Cole raises his hands. “Relax.” Then he grins. “I’m just saying … this is new.”
Chase nods in agreement. “Very new.”
Brooklyn leans forward. “I like her.”
“Thank you,” Kayla says.
For a while, the conversation moves in six different directions at once. Cole and Hudson start arguing about something happening at the restaurant.
Brooklyn interrupts them to correct a story Hudson was telling.
Chase keeps throwing in sarcastic comments that make Ma shake her head.
It’s the usual chaos.
Normally, I’d be halfway checked out by now, but tonight, I find myself watching Kayla instead.
She leans forward when Brooklyn starts telling a story about a customer who tried to return an empty plate of pasta.
“That’s not real,” Kayla says, laughing.
“Oh, it’s real,” Brooklyn insists. “He said the sauce was ‘emotionally disappointing.”
Kayla presses a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing harder.
Hudson jumps in. “Wait until she hears about the guy who tried to pay with a coupon from Olive Garden.”
Kayla nearly spits out her wine. “No way.”
Cole grins. “Way.”
Within minutes, she’s talking to them like she’s been sitting at this table for years.
Laughing, asking questions, and jumping into the stories without hesitation.
The strangest part is … no one’s treating her like an outsider.
Ma is already sliding another plate of food toward her.
Brooklyn has completely turned her chair so they’re facing each other.
Even my father is watching her with quiet interest while she talks.
Kayla fits here so naturally that it almost feels like she’s always been part of this room.
And for some reason … that realization hits harder than anything my brothers could say.
After dinner is done, I’m still sitting at the table, drinking some wine as I watch Kayla help Ma do dishes.
Hudson studies me for a second before shaking his head. “You’re screwed.”
I look up. “What?”
He nods toward Kayla. “You like her.”
“That’s not—”
“You do,” Cole says immediately. “It’s obvious.”
Livia laughs. “Oh my God, he does.”
I lean back in my chair. “You’re all insufferable.”
Hudson shrugs. “We’ve known you your entire life.”
Cole nods. “You’ve never brought a woman around more than once. And you definitely haven’t had one living in your apartment.”
My jaw tightens slightly because the annoying part is that I know they’re not wrong.
I glance up at Kayla while she listens to Ma telling a story. The way she leans forward when she laughs. How she fits into the disorder of this family without even trying.
Something shifts quietly in my chest. A realization I’ve been avoiding for weeks.
They’re all right. I am completely screwed.
Because somewhere along the way … I fell for her.
The idea of walking away from this—from her—doesn’t even cross my mind anymore.
For the first time in a long time, I start wondering what it would look like if we stopped pretending this was temporary.
If we actually tried. If we dated.
The thought should terrify me. Instead … it feels dangerously possible.