Chapter 19
Nineteen
Sawyer
“Bye, sweetheart!” My mom waves from her open front door. “Thanks for a great day!”
My belly’s full of food, and even though the morning wasn’t the easiest, overall it wasn’t the worst.
No huge meltdowns. No major damage control needed to be enacted.
And Mom, Lainey, and even Ollie seemed to get on well at dinner.
Win-win-win.
So why is my stomach in knots?
“Because it’s only a matter of time,” I whisper.
Before it goes wrong again.
Before it goes wrong with Lainey.
I should leave it alone, leave her and Ollie alone.
But fuck me if I can do anything except turn the steering wheel toward her house.
She opens the front door as I’m walking up, mouth curving. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“Are you okay?” She steps closer, touches my jaw. “Is it your neck again?”
My neck hasn’t hurt since she worked on the knots a few days ago. “Nah, Pages. I’m just a little tired.”
“And you have to get on a plane tomorrow,” she says. “I’m sorry. I should have told you to go home instead of coming here.”
I touch her cheek with my free hand. “I wanted to come here.”
“But—”
“Let me in, Pages.”
Soulful brown eyes on mine.
Then she steps back and lets me in.
“Saw-yur!” Ollie says, running down the hall, his dinner clothes swapped for pajamas, his hair a little damp from his bath.
He skids to a halt in front of me then throws his arms around my waist.
Fuck, if that doesn’t kill in the best possible way.
“Hey, bud. Love the jammies.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Santa got them for me.”
I smile at Lainey. “Santa did good.”
She smiles back.
“Are those for me?” Ollie asks, pointing at the bags in my hand.
“One of them.” I hold the gifts up. “The other’s for your mom.”
“We have presents for you under the tree.”
My heart stutters in my chest. “You do?”
Lainey steps close, something in her eyes that has my heart stuttering a second time. “Why don’t you grab them, sweetie, and we’ll meet you at the couch.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” I begin.
She just touches my jaw. “Yeah, we did.” Then adds before I can, “Let’s go sit down.”
What can I do but follow her?
“Here, Saw-yur!” Ollie says the moment I’m within five feet of the couch, holding up a box wrapped in dog-themed Christmas paper. “I wrapped it myself.”
It’s barely covered, a hodgepodge of paper and tape and a dash of ribbon. “It looks awesome,” I tell him.
And it’s true.
It’s maybe the best present I’ve ever received—and I haven’t even opened it yet.
“Do you want to open yours first?” I ask.
“Nope.”
I laugh, surprise rippling through me. Then get to work on opening the present—something that’s no easy task considering the sheer volume of tape used.
Eventually, I make it through the tape and the ribbon and the paper.
But what’s inside—
“Ollie picked it out,” Lainey says quietly. “Because—”
“You like to tell jokes and they’re super duper funny.”
My gaze locks with Lainey’s. “That’s all,” she says, still quietly, worry edging into her eyes. “Not because…you know.”
I look down at the box, pulse speeding.
Dad Joke of the Day Calendar.
“I know,” I tell her softly.
“Do you like it?” Ollie asks.
“I do.” I ruffle his hair. “Should we read one?”
“It doesn’t start till January first,” he says.
“Oh. Well, how about a sneak peek, then?”
“Okay!”
I open the box, unwrap the calendar, pick a page at random, and read, “What do you call a bear with no teeth?”
“Hmm.” Ollie taps his chin.
Lainey and I share a smile.
“I don’t know,” he eventually says.
“A gummy bear.”
A pause.
Then he cracks up and a heartbeat after that, Lainey and I are laughing too. It’s impossible not to. It’s contagious.
Eventually, we sober up and I promise to share more jokes.
“Open mine next,” Lainey says, nudging a box (that’s much more neatly wrapped) toward me. “It’s not as funny as Ollie’s, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“You sure you guys don’t want to go next?”
“Open it, Saw-yur!” Ollie demands.
“Open it,” Lainey agrees, albeit more gently.
I tear open the paper, tug the lid off the box, and feel my heart squeeze all over again.
“Pages,” I whisper.
“For your neck,” she says.
“Want to try it out?” Ollie asks.
“Maybe later,” I tell him. “Right now, I want you and your mom to open your presents.”
I pass them their bags, and Ollie tears into his—
“Whoa! Really?” he exclaims, tugging the adorable stuffed penguin with the adorably grumpy face.
“Ollie,” I say, making the toy waddle in his direction. “Meet Ollie.”
He grins and hugs the grumpy penguin close, and I’m glad all over again that I ordered and paid for express shipping the night Lainey mentioned him wanting one.
Because the look on his face?
Totally worth it.
“I love him! Thank you, Saw-yur!”
“You’re welcome, buddy.” I return the hug he gives me then turn to Lainey, who’s watching me with a soft look on her face. “Your turn,” I urge.
She pulls out the tissue paper and then the set of pens I noticed she likes. The notebook I included alongside them was a last-minute audible.
I just liked the smattering of colors on the cover. Thought it would fit into Lainey’s chaotic office.
“Thank you,” she whispers, stroking her fingers over the front. “It’s gorgeous.”
“I thought you might keep it by your bed so you don’t have to get up when the ideas strike you.”
Her face goes even softer, but all she says is “Thank you,” again.
“I almost got you tickets to Rent, but I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see it.”
“Mom knows every word to Rent,” Ollie says matter-of-factly.
Pink on her cheeks. “Well, it is my favorite musical.”
I make a mental note to find out her schedule.
Because I’m definitely buying her those tickets now.
Ollie’s run off to play with his toys, so I help her gather up the detritus and follow her into the kitchen to throw it away.
“How’d you know I like musicals?”
I touch her cheek. “Pages, you have playbills pinned to the wall of your office.”
Soft brown eyes, teeth nibbling her bottom lip.
God, she’s beautiful.
God, I want her so much.
But—
“It’s getting late,” I begin.
Begin because a moment later, her lips are on mine.
It’s not soft or sweet. It’s deep and passionate and has me hard in a second.
“Thank you,” she whispers when we finally pull back. “God, Sawyer”—her bottom lip trembles and she runs her fingers along my jaw—“thank you for being you.”
I brush away an errant tear, not understanding why a stuffed penguin and some pens have brought her to tears. “Pages, what’s wrong?”
She shakes her head, leans into my touch. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I think things are finally right.”