Chapter 33 Brie
brIE
Sitting on the floor, curled up by the fire, the familiar buzz of being around Sawyer is still there.
I used to blame this feeling on annoyance, frustration, or even trepidation over how he might be setting me up.
Now? I feel none of those things. There’s a lightness in my chest just from being here, like I might float right up to the ceiling if it weren’t for this blanket over my shoulders.
The fire crackles beside me like a chatty friend.
Sawyer, fresh from the shower, is in the kitchen, moving around so fast I can hardly see what he’s up to.
When I asked if I could help, he gave stern instructions to just keep warm.
For once, I didn’t question his kindness as I changed into a flannel and boxers and settled by the hearth under a blanket.
He brings a cast iron pan over, carefully placing it in the fireplace to cook the chicken and vegetables nestled inside. He doesn’t have to do this on the fire, but I like that he is. There’s something intimate about it.
My stomach grumbles.
“I heard that,” he says. The firelight casts his face in reds and golds as he shoots me a teasing smile that cranks my pulse up. “Be right back.”
A minute later, he’s back with a plate of meats and cheeses, a bottle of wine, and a couple mugs. He’s dressed in gray sweats and a waffle-knit henley. It’s like a cozy second skin to his muscled body, and I can’t help tracing my eyes over him. My nipples bead tight and heat pools low in my belly.
We agreed to take things slow. But what does that even mean when he’s already seen me naked and had me writhing multiple times?
There’s that ever-present buzzing electricity between us that has me clenching my thighs together.
The smart thing is to take things slow.
I spent nearly my entire life thinking the worst of Sawyer. Being suspicious of him at every turn. Even though he isn’t that same kid, all it does is prove how little I actually know the true Sawyer.
He gives me a bashful smile as he pours, sending another little thrill through me. “Sorry I don’t have proper wine glasses. Never needed them before.”
“Why do you have wine if you don’t drink it?”
“I didn’t say I don’t drink wine.” He sits down on the floor in front of the hearth with me, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m just not fancy about it.” He raises his glass. “I drink the cheap stuff, remember?”
“Right, because the Ikea wine glasses I own are the epitome of class.”
He clinks his mug to mine. “Cheers to there not being an Ikea within two hours of here.”
I smile, but I kind of love Ikea. I spent many a Saturday morning walking through the showrooms and buying seasonal items. Blue Ridge lacks other things I love, too. Target. Trader Joe’s. An Ethiopian restaurant.
Sawyer interrupts my thoughts on small-town hell. “And cheers to the tree missing the main cabin.”
“Cheers. You’re taking the absolute destruction of your back porch pretty well.”
“Best case scenario if the tree had to hit something.”
He rolls a square of cheese into some prosciutto and, before I can do the same, he offers it to me.
It could be a book of handwritten poems for the way my body reacts.
A fizziness erupts in my belly, floating up to my chest and expanding.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling, but it’s no use.
He sees it, and shoots me a devastating grin I feel between my legs.
“To be fair,” he continues, “I wasn’t crazy about the porch. I threw it together without much thought while waiting on materials for the back of the house to come in. I think I should’ve made it bigger.”
He threw an entire porch together without much thought?
Images of him chopping wood earlier today—was that just today?
—come to mind. The thump of an axe on wood echoed to the bathroom where I was hiding.
When I looked out, I saw him throw his axe down and rip a log in half with his bare hands.
It was the most unhinged, sexy thing I’ve ever seen.
If I wasn’t so mortified from already trying to get in his pants, I would have gone outside and tried all over again.
“Silver lining,” I say, shaking the image. “What else would you change about the porch?”
He pops a slice of salami into his mouth. “Besides the huge oak lying across it? Not sure. What would you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say into my mug.
What’s wrong with me? I’m suddenly shy with butterflies in my stomach. This is what it felt like those months after Sawyer drove me home in the rain. I noticed every look in my direction, keenly aware of him in every room.
And now, it’s the same. Every look feels like a caress, making me as nervous as a schoolgirl.
Oh my gosh.
I have a crush on Sawyer.
Like a teenager.
Just like before.
But it’s different this time. Sawyer’s different.
His knee bumps mine. “You have something in mind, I can tell. What is it?”
For one panicked second, I stare at him, wondering if he can read my mind. This is stupid. We’ve more or less admitted we like each other, so why am I hesitating to tell him how I feel?
“Come on,” he presses. “Tell me what you think would make it better.”
I let out a shaky laugh. Right. He’s asking about the porch.
“It’s not my place,” I say. And I don’t know if I mean It’s not my cabin or We aren’t even dating so I’m in no position to give you opinions on your home.
“If it were yours,” he cajoles, “what would you do differently? It’s just a hypothetical.”
I roll my neck. It’s not like I didn’t spend hours imagining a cabin of my own just like this once upon a time, before leaving Blue Ridge seemed possible.
And even after, as I fantasized about my ideal home, Mr. Collins’s cabin—this cabin—would flash to the forefront of my mind, taking me completely by surprise.
“A fireplace and skylights,” I say as casually as I can.
“So I could use it in the wintertime. Sip coffee and watch the creek on a chilly morning. I love the idea of feeling the bite of cold air for a second before getting warm by the fire. Or, if it was screened in, I could sit out on summer nights and hear the crickets and watch the fireflies dance in the woods. I’d need a fan for summer. ”
I look up and he’s watching me intently. Then, because it’s too embarrassing for him to know I’ve given real thought to this, I add, “And maybe a butler.”
After a moment, he plays along. “Yeah, a butler’d be good. How about a portal that leads straight to the kitchen for snacks?”
“So, a door.”
He moves his head from side to side, pretending to consider. “A door’s too pedestrian. A portal really makes a statement.”
I laugh, and Sawyer watches me as he takes a sip of wine from his mug. Honestly, the idea of having a butler is laughable to me, I was never rich enough for that to be a reality. But a nagging thought arises. Sawyer is. Or, he was.
“Uh-oh,” he says. “What’s that look?”
I don’t want to bring the mood down, but when else am I going to get the chance to really talk to Sawyer like this? If we’re going to “work through” our past, we have to actually work through it.
“I want to ask about your dad.” He watches me steadily, and I continue. “How come I didn’t know you guys had a falling out? Seems like big news.”
He takes in a deep breath. “It would be,” he agrees, and for a second, I think that’s all I’ll get, that he’s back to his riddles. But he goes on. “Dear old Dad would never let the town in on his dirty secrets. As far as they know, me going into the Navy was his idea.”
With a hollow laugh, I shake my head. “Right.” It’s so obvious I can’t believe I had to ask. And that’s why Sawyer is still the Prince of Blue Ridge. No one knows otherwise.
“My turn to ask a question,” he says.
I snap my gaze to him. “O-kay . . .”
Voice low, he asks, “How upset were you when Dev showed up with a date that night?”
Groaning, I slap my hands over my face. Of course he’d bring that up. But when I peek at him through my fingers, his eyes are flighty like . . . like he’s nervous.
Grudgingly, I admit, “I was mortified I drunkenly invited myself on his date.” A flush rises on my cheeks even now. “And I was furious you witnessed it, and even more furious because I should’ve known better.”
He looks away before asking, “But you weren’t, like, upset you weren’t on a date with Dev?”
I shake my head. “I kind of hoped I’d have feelings for him after years apart, he’s so great, but we’re as platonic as they come.” I look over. “Stop smiling!”
“Am I smiling?”
“Yes! You’re gloating.” I shove his shoulder, and he deftly captures my wrist, towing me closer.
“I’m not gloating.” His fire-lit face is an inch away. “I’m just . . . happy. Dev’s a nice, good looking guy.”
My eyes widen. “You’re jealous!”
Before, I would have assumed Sawyer asking about that night was a way to embarrass me. But he just wants to know whether I have a thing for Dev. Laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it.
He heaves a sigh and shifts us so I’m nestled between his legs, back against his front, arms wrapped tightly around me, pinning me to him.
A zing of arousal pulses through me. And then I feel his erection against my lower back, and the zing turns into a throbbing ache.
I let out a trembling breath, trying to wrest control over my base desires.
“I was always jealous of Dev,” he rasps against my ear. “He had everything I wanted.”
“What?” I let out a shaky laugh.
Dev, who grew up blocks from me in a house almost as rundown as mine, sharing a bedroom with two siblings, had everything Sawyer wanted? Impossible.
“He got your secrets and your smiles.” He says it quietly, a secret of his own.
Affection for the little boy Sawyer used to be, with untold desires and crushing pressure, seeps into me.
I lean my head back and brush my lips against his throat, smiling when I feel him shudder behind me. “Because you were ‘obsessed’ with me?” I tease, still unable to fully believe it.
“Mm-hm.” He nuzzles into my neck.