Chapter 7 #3
His lashes are thick and dark—ridiculous, honestly—and his teeth are somehow both too white and too straight. And he’s so damn big he makes the entire Audi feel like a toy car.
I look away before it looks like I’m checking him out. Which I was. Kind of. But not on purpose.
Compliments make me uncomfortable. Like I’ve been given something I didn’t earn and now I have to figure out how not to break it. I never know what to say—thank you always feels too small, and anything else feels like I’m trying too hard.
Sage wouldn’t hesitate. She’d smile, flip her hair, and say something quick and clever. Something that made her seem charming and unbothered. She’s always known how to do that—take a compliment and make it feel like it belonged to her.
I’ve never been good at that.
I just feel exposed, like I’ve been seen in a way I didn’t ask for.
It’s not that I think people are always lying. It’s that I don’t know how to believe them. Somewhere along the way, I started measuring myself by my flaws. Somewhere in the range of too-much and not-enough . Too blunt. Not soft enough. Too distant. Not easy to love.
So when someone says something kind—says something good—I freeze. I don’t know what to do with it. Because if I let it in, even for a second, I’m afraid I’ll start wanting more.
And wanting more has always been the fastest way to get disappointed.
Maybe that’s why I just give him a nod and the smallest smile I can manage. The seat warmer suddenly kicks in, and I sink into it.
“My mom’s a pretty good cook,” he says, casually. “She’s no Molly Wilding, but she holds her own.”
That makes me snort. “Nobody could be Molly Wilding if they tried.”
He smirks at that. “Are you two close?”
I shrug, my eyes fixed on the snow-frosted windshield. “I guess.”
“You guess?” he repeats, brow lifted like that answer didn’t compute.
I pick at a loose thread on my glove. “We’re close. Just…different. She’s warm and chatty, like my sister. She makes everyone feel like they’ve known her forever. I’m…not really any of those things.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks over at me. So I keep going, even though I probably shouldn’t.
“I was always closer to my dad,” I admit. “We just…got each other, I think. He didn’t ask questions when I was quiet and he didn’t take it personally. He’d just sit next to me and wait until I was ready to talk. Or not talk.”
Sawyer nods, quiet. “Heard a lot about him. Sounded like a good man.”
I press my hand to the heater vent, letting the warmth spread across my palm. “He was.”
It comes out softer than I meant it to.
Sawyer shifts in his seat a little, one hand still on the wheel, eyes flicking over to me for a second like he’s weighing whether to say it.
Then he goes, “My dad will never admit this, but when we were younger and Lane was still on the circuit? He used to collect all the magazines that featured him.”
I turn to look at him. “Seriously?”
He nods, smiling. “Thought he was a total badass. Especially when he had the mullet.”
That makes me laugh. Not just a polite little exhale, either—a real, honest laugh that bubbles up before I can stop it. My hand flies up to cover my mouth, which is stupid, but a reflex. It’s loud in the quiet of the car. Unexpected, even to me.
Sawyer’s head snaps over like I startled him. His eyebrows lift. “Huh.”
“What?”
“You have a nice laugh.”
I scoff, still trying to pull myself together. “That’s not a thing. No one has a nice laugh.”
He grins. “Someone totally can. And you do.”
I could say thank you like a normal person. But instead I go with, “Whatever.”
His smile grows like that just amused him.
I look back out the window and stare as if the snow falling outside is fascinating. “What about you? Are you close with your family?”
He nods once. “Pretty close to my mom. And my siblings.”
“And your dad?”
He shrugs. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
There’s a beat where he doesn’t answer. Just keeps his eyes on the road. Then—
“Depends on the day. On how many hours he’s worked. Whether or not he’s arguing with the county over some zoning bullshit. He’s a good dad—don’t get me wrong—but he’s…a lot. Stubborn. Sharp when he’s tired. Doesn’t always know when to soften up.”
I nod slowly. “So basically, he’s a rancher.”
Sawyer lets out a short laugh, nodding again. “Exactly.”
I glance over again, but he’s looking straight ahead, jaw set, mouth still twitching like he’s somewhere between a smile and a sigh.
And I don’t know why, but something about that makes me feel…less alone. Like maybe we both grew up learning how to read a room before walking into it.
The driveway curves around what looks more like a mansion than a house. There are more windows than any home could possibly need. Definitely more square footage than any of the Wilding Ranch bunkhouses. Possibly more than the Wilding Ranch, period.
Sawyer puts the car in park and cuts the engine. Then he turns to me, almost sheepish. “Just a heads-up—it’s gonna be a lot.”
I look at the house and snort. “Yeah, I figured. You’ve got a whole herd roaming around in there.”
He laughs, short and real. “That’s one way to put it.”
I reach for the door handle, and his voice is sharp. “Don’t you dare open that.”
I freeze, my hand mid-reach. “Are you serious?”
He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Dead.”
“I can open my own door, damn it!” I call after him as he jogs around to my side, boots crunching in the snow.
He opens it with a flourish. “I know. But I don’t want you to.”
I step out slowly, arms crossed. “You’re deranged. Like, you might actually need to seek professional help.”
He grins. “Most people would say thank you.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Most people don’t get yelled at for touching their own door handles.”
His smile widens, all smug. “You’re welcome.”
I roll my eyes and start toward the front steps.
Before I even reach them, I can hear the chaos pouring through the walls—people laughing, someone yelling, what might be a blender going at full speed.
The front door opens before we even get to it and I catch a glimpse of something—or someone—flying down the hallway at warp speed.
And I’m realizing that I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I’ve just gotten myself into.