Chapter 9 Sawyer
SAWYER
I’m walking down the street in the middle of Old Town Alexandria, whistling and grinning, a pink bakery box tucked under one arm.
Brick sidewalks stretch out ahead of me, uneven in that charming, historic way, like they’ve been judging people for centuries and will continue to do so long after I’m traded.
The buildings lean in close, red brick and white trim, shop windows already awake with plants, pastries, and hand-lettered signs promising things like artisan and small batch whether you asked for them or not.
In my other hand, I balance a cardboard drink carrier like it contains state secrets and sealed FBI files. The best donut place in Alexandria doesn’t mess around. Neither do I. If you’re going to show up somewhere with baked goods, you show up correctly.
A bell jingles as someone steps out of a café behind me, the smell of coffee chasing me down the block. Somewhere nearby, a dog barks with purpose. A delivery truck idles. Old Town is already fully alive, and somehow also pretending it’s not in a rush.
“Hey, Sawyer!”
I lift a hand without breaking stride. “Morning.”
“Good game last night!”
“Thanks!”
“Rough loss, man—still, go Dominion!”
I grin, reflexive and easy. “Always.”
Yesterday’s bus ride back from our away games was split between reviewing plays, breaking down tactics for the next one, and thinking about Juliette.
The last part is deeply inconvenient, mostly because it has the ability to make my chest feel weird—and because no amount of film study nor any kind of distraction, really, seems to make it stop.
I’d tried to focus on footage, on mistakes, on what I could tighten up. But my brain kept wandering back to a plant shop that smells like soil and citrus, and the way the light catches Juliette when she’s busy with her plants—when she doesn’t know I’m looking.
By the time Leaf & Letter comes into view, I’m smiling like an idiot.
Using my backside, I push open the door and the bell rings above it, announcing my arrival like I’m being heralded by angels. “Happy one-week anniversary!”
Charlie looks up from a display of succulents, silver hair glowing in the morning light. “Thanks!”
“Hey.” I let my eyes drift around the store. “It’s just you?”
“Don’t be so bummed,” he says, a grin tugging on his lips.
“Oh, no, I thought…” I hold up the pink box. “I brought presents.”
“Yes, you did,” he says as he claps his hands together, clearly delighted. “And I accept your enthusiasm on behalf of the shop.”
I laugh and set the donuts on the counter. “Enjoy. There’s a ‘Unicorn’ donut in there as well as a chocolate glazed. Both for Theo only, okay?”
Charlie’s smile turns fond. “When he comes in after school this afternoon, I’ll be happy to give them to him.”
I take a bite of a glazed donut and look around the shop, trying to hide my disappointment. “Where’s Juliette?”
Charlie sips his coffee, never taking his eyes off me as he sets it back down. “She’ll be here soon. She overslept.”
My heart skips, grateful she’s coming in, I think. “She did?”
“It was a busy weekend,” Charlie says with a whistle. “Your video was a hit. Have you seen that it has ninety-five thousand views now?”
“Seriously?” I whip my phone out and tap open the app so I can check for myself. “Oh, wow. That’s crazy!”
“Plants and ice hockey,” Charlie says with a shrug of his right shoulder. “Who knew?”
“Not me.” I chuckle as I put Juliette’s coffee next to the register. “She’s juggling a lot of plates, isn’t she?”
“She is, because she’s had to.” Charlie tilts his head, studying me. “I’m sure by now if she hasn’t told you, you’ve found out about the jumbotron incident, yes?”
I nod. “Yeah. I know.”
“A lot of people forget that behind the embarrassment of that jumbotron moment was a marriage, a family, that fell apart.” He sighs.
“After it happened, she had to rebuild her whole life. Her ex had blown it all up, and it was so public that she couldn’t protect Theo from it. Or herself. So she took the hit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing, she’d had this shop for about six months when it happened.
I’d just started working for her and watched as people came into the shop just to look at her.
‘Look’ is kind, actually—more like they would stare, take pictures.
Didn’t buy a thing. They wanted to be near the woman whose heart had been ripped out on national television, give her their opinions of her marriage and how she can do better next time. ”
My jaw tightens. I can see her with her shoulders slumped, lips firmly pressed together but trying to smile through all of it for her son, if for no one else.
“She was depressed for a long time. Parents whispered at school functions, kids asked Theo why his dad was so famous suddenly. We all know that man was ‘famous’ around their dinner tables because those people needed something to talk about.” Charlie goes on quietly, “She would only go home, then to work, with trips to the school for Theo as needed. Vivian and I had to drag her back into the world. She’s strong, Sawyer, comes off as grumpy to most, but she’s guarded. With very good reason.”
I swallow. Suddenly, the plant shop feels different. Not just warm and charming, but hard-won.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m beginning to get that.”
Charlie’s eyes soften. “I can see that you do.”
He’s about to say something else when we’re interrupted by the jangle of the bell over the door.
I pivot on my heel to find Juliette standing in the doorway, one hand still on the handle and the other clutching a piece of paper, like she hasn’t quite decided whether she’s arriving or interrupting.
Her hair is twisted up in that barely-contained way that tells me Charlie wasn’t lying when he said she overslept.
She looks soft. Real. Refreshed, unarmed, and absolutely gorgeous.
I’m also suddenly very aware that Charlie and I were just talking about her.
“Oh,” she says, eyes flicking between us. “Wow. I guess I am running late.”
“No,” I say too fast. “Yes? I mean—hi.”
Charlie smiles at her, warmly, as he nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “Good morning, Juliette.”
Something about the way she looks at us makes my chest do a little squeeze. Like she’s walked into a room where people were saying her name out loud and she doesn’t know if that’s safe yet.
So I do what I shouldn’t do, but it’s the thing I’m good at: I conjure up a panic distraction.
“So—uh—Charlie,” I blurt, grappling for a thought. A sentence. Anything to cover. “Those two tickets I mentioned? For this week? They’re yours if you still want them.”
“Tickets?” Charlie’s brow furrows as he stares at me, but then he lights up. “Oh, tickets? Yes!”
Juliette blinks. “Tickets?”
I nod, looking at Charlie to make sure he’s going along with me.
I probably don’t have to cover like this, but the last thing I want to do is spook her.
If she figures out we were talking about her, I can almost guarantee a spooking.
Like putting your cat in a bath—two great things that do not go together.
“Yes, tickets to a game. For me,” Charlie says, already delighted. “And Tom, too, of course.”
“Of course,” she says. “I forget that the two of you are a couple of hockey nuts.”
“He adores hockey. We are going to be insufferably happy.” Charlie grins. “Thank you, Sawyer!” Then he heads for the back, already dialing. “Tom? It’s me. Guess what? We are going to a hockey game…”
The moment he disappears, the energy in the shop shifts. We’re left standing and staring at one another. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, noticing the uneasy and awkward flush of heat in my chest. I’d blame it on heartburn, but I’m not a guy who gets it.
I point to the coffee next to the cash register. “Emergency caffeine.”
She smiles, putting the paper she’d been clutching on the counter as she swipes the hot cup, taking a drink. “You have no idea.”
“And…” I open the donut box. “Pick your destiny.”
She hesitates for exactly one second before taking one. Powdered sugar dusts her fingers. She takes a bite and closes her eyes for half a heartbeat like it’s doing something to her.
“By the way, if you and Theo ever want tickets to a game…” I begin, wanting her to know the offer is there. If, and only if, she wants it. But, this kitty only heard me say bath.
“Um…” She nods her head and waves a hand in the air, as if dismissing my words. “Did Charlie tell you how busy we were this weekend?”
I can smell a change of subject when it happens. And when Juliette is staring at me, waiting for an answer with sugar on her lip…
For a moment, I forget about tickets and plants and games and anything else that’s supposed to be between us. All I can see is the dusting of powdered sugar on her bottom lip.
It’s ridiculous. One stupid donut. But it looks like a secret she doesn’t know she’s keeping, and suddenly I’m painfully, irrationally jealous of pastry.
Her mouth curves as she chews, soft and distracted, like she’s momentarily forgotten I’m standing right here.
My brain, traitor that it is, does something wildly unhelpful—it starts cataloging.
The way her lips move. The way they press together.
The faint sheen of sugar. Drawing my attention to that tiny white smudge at the corner, turning her already perfect mouth into something even more… distracting.
I swallow. Focus.
I want to brush it away. Casually. Like this is a normal thing people do for each other. I want to be the thing she tastes instead.
Which is not a thought I am allowed to have.
Absolutely not. Off-limits. Penalized. Two minutes in the box.