Chapter 18
Eighteen
Lainey
“Oh, aren’t you the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen?” Sawyer’s mom says as Ollie smiles shyly up at her.
Nancy Hill has Sawyer’s blue eyes, but that’s where the similarities end.
Where his hair is long and blond with some curl to it, his mom’s is close-cropped and dark. And where he’s tall and muscular, she’s short and…there’s something fragile about her.
As though one wrong push will have her crumbling.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
Ollie presses his face into my leg.
“Oliver,” I supply. “And he can be a little shy sometimes, but he’s happy to meet you.”
She smiles and waves then glances up at me. “Sorry,” she says. “You’re adorable too.”
I grin. “Thanks. I’m Lainey.”
“I’ve heard all about you, Lainey—”
“Not all,” Sawyer begins, alarm sliding across his face. “I just—”
“I wasn’t going to tell her anything embarrassing, sweetheart,” she says, patting his shoulder and Sawyer’s mouth clamps closed. “But we were just talking about your books. How exciting that you’re a published author!”
“It’s a fun job.” I smooth my hand over Ollie’s head, straightening the mussed strands. “And I’m really lucky I get to do it and make a living out of it.” A gust of wind cuts through the air—and my jacket. Shivering, I nod toward the restaurant. “Should we go in?”
A flurry of emotions across her face…and frantic words out of her mouth. “Oh, right. Of course! You must be starving. And cold. That storm is rolling in.” She looks at Sawyer. “They’re probably starving. And cold! Let’s get inside!”
“All right, Mom,” he says, snagging the door and tugging it open so she can hurry into the restaurant.
But when I go to follow, he catches my arm, slowing me, his lips coming to my ear. “If you need to go, for any reason, just go, okay?”
I frown, start to ask him what the hell that means, but—
“Sawyer!”
He drops my arm, ushers us inside, then hurries over to his mom. “What’s wrong?”
Her lip wobbles. “They don’t have our reservation.”
“That’s because it’s under me,” he says calmly, turning to the hostess. “Sawyer Hill.” A smile. “Party of five.”
The woman scans her screen for a moment. “Yup. I see you now.” She gathers up some menus. “If you’ll follow me.”
We trail her through tables.
Not every one is full, but it’s busier than I expected for Christmas.
Then again, not everyone celebrates and not everyone has family to celebrate with. Plus, not everyone wants to cook a huge meal.
I know I didn’t want to—nor the cleanup that comes along with it.
Especially because Ollie wouldn’t eat anything other than rolls.
He’s not especially picky, but he doesn’t love holiday food so ham and turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing and salads that don’t have anything green in them (or those that do) aren’t in his four-year-old diet.
Pointless for me to make all that food just for me.
We sit at a table in the corner of the restaurant and spend the next couple of minutes getting settled in—taking menus, unfolding napkins, opening the plastic packet of crayons so Ollie can color on the sheet they thoughtfully included—so I don’t immediately clock it.
But as we’re offering up ideas of what to order, my spidey senses start tingling.
“No, honey,” Nancy says, “I don’t like that sauce, remember?”
“Right, Mom. Sorry, I forgot.”
She pats his arm. “Always forgetting about important things, aren’t you?”
The phrasing and her tone make it sound like a tease.
But there’s something off about it.
Something that has the edges of his smile dimming.
“How about lemon chicken?” I interject. “Ollie and I both really like that sauce.”
Her eyes light up and her smile widens. “That works! And then we can get the lo mein you like, honey,” she says to Sawyer. “And we’ll get the rice and wontons and…”
She names off what I would normally say is far too much food.
Only I’ve seen how much these guys eat.
I smile over at Sawyer. “For your hollow leg?” I tease.
He winks. “Hey, it takes a lot of work—and food—to keep this body in this kind of shape.”
And what a shape it’s in. Yum.
Thoughts I keep in my head, thankfully.
Because saying it aloud in front of his mom or my son…
But he clearly knows I’m thinking it, leaning close and murmuring for my ears only, “I’ll let you admire it later.”
Heat in my cheeks, drifting lazy fingers down my belly, between my legs.
He settles one big palm on my thigh and it takes everything in me not to gasp.
It’s hot and strong and his pinky drifts up and down, up and down.
I shiver.
The edge of his mouth tips up.
But he doesn’t move his hand.
And…I’m glad.
“Mom says I have a hollow leg when I eat ice cream.” Ollie’s eyes are on the coloring sheet as he dutifully fills in a dolphin. “And cookies.”
Sawyer squeezes my leg lightly then slips his hand free.
I miss it immediately.
But it’s probably for the best considering where we’re at and who we’re with.
Nancy laughs and smiles over at Ollie. “My Sawyer used to be the same way.” Her eyes tell me she’s suddenly far away. “I used to make these cinnamon chip cookies. They were almost like snickerdoodles but…”
“Better,” Sawyer supplies, something like pain rippling across his face.
“I wonder if I have the recipe somewhere.”
“You don’t,” he says quietly.
“I—”
But before she can finish that, the waiter comes by and we place our order.
Then Ollie’s asking me to color and Sawyer joins in, and eventually, Ollie warms up enough to Nancy to ask her what she thinks about his dolphin.
“That looks really great, sweetheart,” she says. “You’re really good at coloring.”
“Ms. Donna taught me,” he says, moving on to a starfish.
“Ms. Donna is his preschool teacher,” I explain.
“Do you like school?”
“Uh-huh,” Ollie says.
“Sawyer was really smart. He got all As.”
“Except for math. I was really bad at it. Reading though?” Sawyer says with a wink. “That was my favorite subject.”
Ollie looks up. “I love math.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. I can count all the way to a hundred, and I know what two plus two is.”
“You do?” Sawyer asks.
“Yup. It’s four. See?” He lines up his crayons in sets of two. “Two and two make four.”
“That’s right!” Nancy exclaims. “Boy, are you smart.” She smiles at me. “Just like your mama.”
Our drinks come and I learn that Nancy’s retired and moved to the Bay Area because Sawyer signed a long-term contract with the Grizzlies.
She likes to read thrillers, and Christmas is her favorite holiday because it gives her more time with Sawyer.
She used to be an executive assistant for a small chain of health clubs—she started the position to get a discount on the off-ice training Sawyer was doing as a kid, then ended up staying in the job because she liked it so much.
“Grab me another napkin, sweetie,” she says as we get going on our food.
“Sure.” He snags one, brings it back. “Here you go, Mom,” he says, handing it to her.
“Thanks, baby.” She dabs at her mouth then— “Oh, shoot. And my fork’s dirty. Can you—”
He’s up and moving almost before she finishes. “No problem, Ma.”
I’ve dished up Ollie’s food, helped him slice a few of the bigger pieces of chicken, and am just starting to serve myself.
Meanwhile, Sawyer’s plate is still empty.
“Do you want some chicken?” I offer.
He smiles. “Thanks, Pages. But I can get it myself.”
“Sawyer, I need more water—”
That smile grows a little weary, but all he does is grab the pitcher and fill her glass.
“Thanks, baby,” Nancy says absently then turns to me. “He’s always been so good to me. Now”—she scoops up a bite of rice—“I want to hear more about your newest project, Lainey.”
I tell her a bit about the hero and heroine.
“Oh wow,” she says. “I really like how you made their internal wounds mirrors of each other.”
I blink. “I’m impressed you picked that up,” I admit. “I usually do exactly that. It’s my favorite way to torment them.” A grin and a shrug. “Makes for more conflict and a better book.”
She nods. “I love a book that tears my heart in two before it puts it back together.”
“Faye and the rest of the women say that’s Lainey’s specialty,” Sawyer supplies, and I reach over, touch his thigh this time.
He covers my hand with his for a beat.
Then we both get back to eating.
“My mom writes really good books,” Ollie chimes in, making my heart squeeze.
“Thanks, peanut,” I tell him. “I try.”
“I can’t wait to read them,” Nancy says and her tone is genuine.
“I’ll give Sawyer one next time I see him.”
“Really? Wow, thanks!”
Ollie scoops up a spoonful of rice. “My mom has a lot of books.”
I grin at him. “Some might say too many.”
“Some might be wrong,” Nancy says with a wink that’s very much like Sawyer’s.
“That’s what my mom says,” Ollie says, making us all laugh.
The meal continues in that vein, with old stories and Ollie and Sawyer making us laugh, so much so that the laughter is what I remember most.
When what I should have remembered is…
If you need to go, for any reason, just go, okay?