Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Sawyer
SUNLIGHT FILTERS THROUGH the blinds, painting soft stripes across the bed.
For a moment I don’t move, letting myself rest in the unfamiliar luxury of waking without dread pressing against my chest. Jake’s arm is draped over me, heavy and protective, and Hattie lies curled at the foot of the bed like she’s guarding us both.
I turn my head and find him watching me, his expression unguarded in a way that makes my heart twist.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.” My voice is softer than I intend, like I’m afraid to break the spell.
He reaches over and brushes his fingers through my hair. “You okay?”
I nod. “Better than okay.”
Something in his face eases, like he’s been waiting a long time to hear that. He leans over, kisses me slow, unhurried, as if we have all the time in the world.
We linger there, wrapped in the kind of silence that doesn’t need filling. The lake outside is impossibly still, a mirror catching the early light.
“Coffee?” he finally asks.
“Only if you’re making it,” I tease.
He laughs, kisses my forehead, and disappears into the kitchen. I lie there, listening to the quiet sounds of a morning I didn’t think I’d ever want to see. The kettle’s whistle, Hattie’s nails clicking across the hardwood, the low hum of a song playing from Jake’s phone.
When he returns, he sets a mug on my nightstand and slides back in beside me. We sip, shoulders brushing. The coffee is warm, steadying. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself imagine tomorrow.
The quiet stretches, comfortable but edged with something tentative. Finally, Jake says, “Last night…” He stops, then shakes his head. “I don’t even know what to call it.”
“Perfect,” I offer, though my chest tightens with the weight of what comes next.
He looks at me, steady, serious. “I don’t want to mess this up, Sawyer. I don’t want to move too fast and scare you off.”
I set my cup down, curl my knees up under me. “You’re not the only one who’s scared. I don’t even know what I’m capable of… what I can promise.”
His hand finds mine, thumb moving slow across my skin. “I’m not asking for promises. Just… let’s see where it goes. One step at a time.”
The simplicity of it, the patience in his voice, steadies something in me I didn’t realize was shaking.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He leans over, presses his lips to my temple. We sit like that for a long time, two people treading carefully over the fragile bridge between what was and what might be.