Chapter 11
I wasn’t sure if Sawyer would actually show up to work on the cabin. He seemed off last night. Or maybe it was just me. I was panicky, assuming that noise meant a bear was in the basement. In hindsight, I can see that I was overreacting. But when he showed up and seemed so concerned, I felt vulnerable and needy, eager to melt against him and let him solve all of my problems. And when he looked at me with that hungry stare, practically disrobing me with his gaze, I started to forget why leaving the realm of curiosity to fall face-first into desire was a bad idea.
He hesitated, too, telling me Jason could come by and offering to handle my repairs himself. I want to assume he was simply willing to spend more time with me, but as what? For a hope of seeing me in another robe? And if so, is that such a good idea?
Hooking up with a man is the very last thing I need to do. It would be nothing but a rebound, seeking physical comfort and wanting to scratch an itch after Owen’s breaking up with me. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I just know it’s not a remedy for anything, and my life is in need of a lot of fixing.
Considering a fling with someone like Sawyer was even more of a reach. In his rugged work clothes and those filthy smiles that suggest such wicked delight, he’s the opposite of anyone I could really bring into my life. He couldn’t stay in my bed. He wouldn’t fit in with the circles my mother expects me to linger in. Sawyer is the opposite of everything I should want to have in my life. Knowing he’s so forbidden lends him a mysterious, sexier air, but it also derails me from even contemplating anything more than a guest-and-contractor arrangement.
I can’t choose a man to make mine forever in the name of love. When Lauren, Aubrey, and Marian were talking about me yesterday, I fought to keep the truth quiet. I couldn’t explain how my mother has ruined my hope of settling down with a man for the sake of my heart.
And I can’t hide here and entertain flings with someone like Sawyer, either. It would get me nowhere, and knowing a true future is impossible makes the entire effort of seeking happiness seem like nothing but a waste of time.
Fortunately, I don’t have ample time to sit and dwell about the rut I’m stuck in. Nor can I afford the freedom to marvel at the way Sawyer does show up. He gets straight to work, beginning with the leaking kitchen sink. Instead of ogling me again and tempting me to think about his hands on me—wearing jeans and a plain t-shirt helps there—he’s diving into loosening and switching out pipes and pieces. Unlike the work he completed on making that new road for Dalton, Sawyer’s not overly loud and obnoxious within my space.
He becomes a fixture, a familiar face and presence, and just knowing he’s here and cares enough to carve out the time in his busy work schedule to fit in this cabin’s repairs comforts me. The laundry list of things I pointed out last night weren’t life or death. I didn’t take Dalton’s offer to stay here with the guess it would be equal to a five-star hotel experience. But it will give me peace of mind to know some steps are being taken to make this place more tolerable. At least that fan’s squeakiness. That sound was unbearable.
With Lauren’s decisions yesterday, I’m more honed in to what I’ll likely need to make her dress dreams come true. Now that I know how much it matters to her that she picks her own dress, I feel more pressure on my shoulders to make it absolutely perfect. Which means this day is turning out to be a wild goose chase of locating all the materials I’ll need. Searching online is a tedious process, but I start to feel hope when I realize a few shops in Denver should be able to help me out. I still don’t have a rental, but I can get one. The drive isn’t something I’ll look forward to. After so many years in Paris, I’ve fallen out of the habit of driving in America—not that I ever had much experience with it at all. Mother insisted on drivers, claiming the act of operating a car herself was beneath her.
I roll my eyes. “Wonder what the drive time…” I mutter aloud as I type on my laptop.
“Drive time?” Sawyer pipes in from the kitchen. The island where the sink is located stands in the middle of the room, giving me a full view of his progress. “Where are you going?”
“Near Denver.” Mostly. Some of the places are scattered around there.
“You’re looking at an hour, hour and a half for the drive.”
I huff. More than that. I still need a better sewing machine that can handle this job. “Plus all the time spent there.” When I was younger, I used to have a better sense of wanderlust. Not anymore.
“Interested in some sightseeing?” he guesses.
I frown, pausing from my search. “No.” I shake my head, curious what Dalton told him about me. “This isn’t exactly a vacation for me.” Getting a change of scenery sounds like a vacation, but focusing on making Lauren’s dream dress isn’t.
“It’s not?”
“Nope.” I start looking for places to stay nearest the bigger store I’ll have to stop at. No way am I driving all the way to Denver, then hurrying back after a lot of time on my feet shopping. “I just finished my class for my BFA in Paris before I came here.”
“BF what now?”
I smile. “Basically, a bachelor’s of fashion arts. I also took the required coursework for their bridal design program.”
He grins, glancing up at me. “So that’s what all those sketches were about.”
I nod. I wonder what he thought they were for when he saw them the other day. I haven’t forgotten that he said they were detailed and spoke of my talent. While I know his level of critique is far different than what my clients could say, I appreciate his kind words.
“And what does a fashion designer do way out here in the mountains?” he asks. “If your calling is in a fancy shop in Paris…”
“I’m here to design Lauren’s dress, but my calling isn’t just in someone’s shop.”
“No?” He raises his brows as he tightens the faucet again. “Where would you work then?”
I stare for a moment too long at his forearms as he tightens the wrench around the metal.
“Claire?” he asks when I don’t reply, jarring me from staring.
“A few boutiques were interested in my portfolios before graduation. One has given me a chance to complete an apprenticeship with her at her shop. It’s supposed to begin this fall.”
“That’s great. Having an apprenticeship is a great way to secure work experience on your résumé.”
That was my exact thinking. “Or not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Designing Lauren’s dress is work experience outside my education. But I’m not sure I’m completely confident in my ability to do this apprenticeship or to work for anyone else. My dream has always been to open my own bridal shop. To offer my own gowns.”
“Then why don’t you?”
As soon as his question hits my ears, I clam up. I tense and hold my breath, unprepared to answer. The reply should be straightforward. I’m not opening my own bridal shop because I lack the capital resources to do so. I don’t have the money I feel like I should, and the only way I can get it is to jump through the hoops my mother insists on. I have money of my own. I inherited it after my father died, but I cannot access a single penny of it until my mother approves it. The only way I see that happening is if I marry a man she chooses, and that will end with nothing but hell for everyone involved.
Telling someone like Sawyer doesn’t feel right. He’s got to be unfamiliar with trust fund drama like this, and having to explain my mother’s motivations will likely make this easy companionship awkward. I don’t want his pity, and I know he can’t help me or save me from this situation. I have a hunch he would be a good listener, but it’s easier to skirt around the whole subject about my mother and the money she’s holding over my head.
“One day, I will,” I tell him instead, wishing it could be true.
My deepest desire is to unlock it all. I can’t figure out how she changed the stipulations of the fund to work against me, but she’s got it secured and unreachable. Even Dalton is limited on finding out the details, that’s how tight she is about the money from my father. Besides, I never had the guts to tell him about it. My cousin is a smart man who can make things happen, but I hadn’t felt the hard force of my predicament until now. For years, I shoved that worry to the back of my mind, knowing I had to get through school first. Now that school is done, though, this dilemma consumes me. I can’t dismiss it or put it off any longer, and I wonder if it would help or hurt if I open up to Dalton about it. He’s no miracle worker, but maybe he’ll have some ideas of how I can handle my mother and the way she lords over the trust fund that should be mine.
I can’t consider giving in to my mother. That’s not an option, even though I feel powerless. I simply can’t stomach forfeiting my goal of having my shop. Of being able to give women like Lauren a chance to make their dreams come true on the most important day of their lives.
Sawyer doesn’t push after that, and when he gets a call from someone on his crew who’s working elsewhere for the day, I tune him out and focus on mapping out how I can get what I need as soon as possible. I never had to hunt for materials at school, and I’m learning just how challenging this phase is in the real world.
“I’m done for the day,” Sawyer announces, pulling me out of my searching and negative musing.
I glance at the clock and realize the entire afternoon has flown by. Stretching my back, I nod at him.
“I’ve got to meet a few guys in town. We’re getting drinks.” He gathers his tools, preparing to go.
I stand, following him as he heads toward the door, envious for a brief moment that he’s so secure in his life and with his friends that he never has to worry about having someone to kick back with.
At the door, he faces me with a small smile. “Want to come?”
His words sound so simple, but they punch me with a brutal force of excitement. Do I? Hell, yes. But the opposite leaves my lips. “No, I better keep working on finding materials.”
I could kick myself. I’m not sure why I turned him down. It’s second nature to reject invitations. For so long, I made sure to have no life because school was my life. Now, though…
Why did I say that? Because he’s getting too close? Because it’s harder to remember why I should resist him?
I hate the feeling of regret that washes over me. Just because I’ve got no business starting a fling with him doesn’t mean I can’t cling to the tiny shreds of friendship he’s offering, does it?
Before I can change my mind, he dips his chin and opens the door. “I’ll pop in every once in a while, as my schedule allows. You know, to continue bringing this cabin up-to-date.”
“Thanks.” I hold the door and watch him go, torn with the idea of missing him already.
He’s not mine to have or miss. But what I wish I could have with him scares me even more because I know better than to dare to think with my heart and wish for anything lasting.