Chapter 20 #4
His eyes stay on me, and I feel it more than I see it—that still, steady attention of his. It makes it harder to dodge my own words.
“I got made fun of a lot,” I say, shrugging like it doesn’t still sting a little.
“My freckles. My red hair. I was taller than most of the boys until ninth grade. Skinny as hell. I never really liked the things other girls liked—Barbies, cheerleading, doing each other’s makeup and hair.
I wanted to be outside. Wanted to be around horses. ”
I glance up, almost expecting him to look away. But he doesn’t.
“And when I did make friends,” I say, “I was always a little too….outspoken. The most popular girl in the fifth grade invited me to a sleepover and I told her I didn’t want to come because she was mean to people at recess.
I thought I was just being…clear, you know?
But she cried and told everyone I was a bitch. ”
I give a dry laugh. “I didn’t get invited to many sleepovers after that.”
I should probably stop talking. But I don’t.
“I thought it would get easier as I got older,” I keep going, even though every part of me feels like I should shut up. “But it didn’t. Not really.”
Sawyer stays quiet, but he’s still looking at me, not even pretending to be focused on skating anymore. And for whatever reason, that makes the words keep coming.
“Sage has always been the more likeable one. People gravitate toward her in a way that they don’t with me, and they should. She’s good at making people feel wanted.” I glance down at our skates for a second, then back up. “I’ve never been good at that.”
I shrug. “And then there’s Ridge. People love being around him. They think it makes them interesting by proximity. So I never really know who’s being genuine with me and who’s just hoping to get closer to him.”
I don’t mean for it to sound bitter. It’s just the truth.
Sawyer raises a brow, like he’s trying to work something out. “So you’ve never had a boyfriend?”
The way he says it—almost disbelieving—makes my stomach twist. My cheeks heat, and I know it has nothing to do with the cold.
“I have,” I say, clearing my throat. “One.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can tell he’s surprised. He’s a handful of years older than me, and with a face like his, he’s probably had more relationships and sexual encounters than I can count. Meanwhile, I’m out here blushing over the fact that I’ve only had one.
I take a breath. “It wasn’t great. He made me feel like I was…ornamental. Like I looked good beside him, but that was kind of the extent of it. I could never really be myself. If I said too much or disagreed with him or made a joke he didn’t like, it was like I was doing something wrong.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He used to say I had sharp edges. That I was too much for most people.” I pause, my voice a little flatter now. “So I started shrinking, a little at a time.”
I shake my head. “Eventually, I didn’t even recognize who I was around him anymore. So I ended it. And I guess I just haven’t wanted to do that again.”
His hands grip mine tighter again, but he hasn’t let go. We’re still gliding—slow and clumsy—but forward all the same.
There’s a beat of quiet between us, just the sound of blades carving the ice and some Christmas song playing faintly from the speakers overhead.
Then Sawyer says, “You know that isn’t true, right?”
I blink, pulling my gaze from the rows of string lights lining the rink. “Know what isn’t true?”
My eyes scan the crowd. A little girl in a bright pink coat slips and belly-laughs on the ice while her dad pulls her back to her feet. A couple glides past us holding hands, cheeks red from the cold. Everything feels soft around the edges. Gold. Crisp. Quietly alive.
“That you’re too much,” he says.
I look back at him. He’s not smiling. Not teasing.
“The guy you dated sounds like an insecure piece of shit. He didn’t know what to do with someone who was better than him. You intimidated him, Wren.”
My breath catches, just a little.
“Your honesty? That’s rare. And it’s good. People don’t always know what to do with good things. Especially when they haven’t done the work to deserve them.”
My throat tightens.
“You’re exactly enough,” he says, his voice low. “The right person won’t want less of you. They’ll feel lucky they get it all.”
I glance away, eyes sweeping across the rink. A boy in a beanie is chasing his younger sister in wide, clumsy loops, both of them laughing so hard they can barely stay upright. Someone’s taking a photo near the entrance, the kind that’ll probably end up on a Christmas card.
I can feel Sawyer still looking at me. Waiting, maybe, or just…being there. I don’t look back.
I’ve never known what to do with moments like this. I want to believe him, but I’ve never had much proof that words like that don’t come with conditions. Most people offer kindness like it’s a coupon—good for one use, redeemable only if you behave the right way after.
You’re strong, but maybe you should dial it back.
You’re honest, but sometimes it makes people uncomfortable.
You’re smart, but men don’t like it when you’re smarter than them.
I’ve spent most of my life trying to be the version of myself that people could tolerate, folding myself into smaller shapes. Softened. Smoothed out. Less blunt, less sharp, less me. Easier to carry.
Easier to leave.
So when he says I’m exactly enough, no disclaimer, no fine print—I don’t know what to do with it. Where to store something that…tender, that good , when all I’ve ever known is how to brace for the moment it’s taken away.
I look down at our hands, still joined, his grip unchanged.
Sawyer’s hand is still holding mine when I bump into something solid. Or—someone. I turn quickly, already bracing for impact, my apology halfway out of my mouth.
“I’m so sorry—”
But then I stop.
Blonde hair, rosy cheeks, a light dusting of snow clinging to her scarf. And a small, rounded bump beneath her coat.
Anna Hawthorne.
She laughs, the sound soft and warm despite the cold. “Wren, it’s okay. No broken bones.”
I blink, still caught a little off guard. “Hey,” I say, stepping back just enough to give her space. “It’s good to see you, Anna.”
She leans in for a hug and I let her, patting her back lightly before easing away.
“How are you doing?” I ask, glancing down at her belly before I can stop myself. “You look really good.”
Anna smiles, her hands resting gently on her bump. “Thanks. I’m doing okay. Actually…” She nods toward a couple standing off to the side, waiting for hot chocolate—he’s got kind eyes and a navy beanie, she’s holding two paper cups in her gloved hands. “I’m here with them.”
I raise a brow, not following.
“They’re the adoptive parents I picked,” she says, running a hand over her belly almost reflexively. “That’s Ron and Alicia—he’s an eye doctor. They’ve been wanting to spend more time with me on his days off, just to feel more connected and everything.”
I follow her gaze, then look back at her.
“They’re really nice,” she adds, her eyes lingering on the couple. “They’ve been trying to have a baby for a long time.”
A tightness catches in my throat, but I nod. “That’s amazing, Anna. I mean it. I’m glad you have them.”
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Do you know what you’re having yet?” I ask, nodding toward her belly.
Anna shakes her head, stubborn snowflakes clinging to her hair and lashes. “Not yet. Honestly? I don’t really want to know. But I told Ron and Alicia they could find out if they wanted to.”
She looks back at them—he’s handing Alicia a hot chocolate, their gloves brushing, their heads tilted toward each other.
“But they said no,” she adds with a sigh. “They said it’d be fun for everyone to find out together.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. And it is. Almost painfully so.
“I think it’s a boy,” she says, turning back to me. “I’ve been craving salt like it’s its own food group. Apparently, that’s a sign or something.” She shrugs. “Could also just be that I really like pretzels.”
I smile. “Either way, it’ll be a good surprise.”
She hums, then glances over my shoulder. “Hey, Sawyer.”
“Hey, Anna,” he says, polite and smooth.
Her gaze bounces between us, and I see it happen—the exact second the dots connect in her head. “Wait. What are you two doing out here?”
I fumble for something—anything—that sounds remotely casual, but I’m already halfway to choking on my own tongue.
Sawyer steps in, cool as ever. “You didn’t hear?” he says, bumping my shoulder. “We’re engaged.”
Anna’s eyes almost pop out of her head.
“What?!” she squeals, grabbing my hands like we’re seventeen and I just told her my crush asked me to prom.
“You lying slut bag!” she half-shouts, and I instinctively scan the crowd like we’re about to get banned from the rink.
“You told me nothing was going on when I asked why he was giving you heart-eyes at the round pen!”
My cheeks heat up instantly. I glance at Sawyer, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in amusement.
I manage something that I hope resembles a smile. “Surprise?”
She laughs and actually slaps my arm. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Then she steps back, her eyes flicking between our faces. “You know what? I can totally see it. You guys look really good together. You’ll make the most gorgeous babies this town’s ever seen.”
Great. Fantastic. If this is how it’s going to go every time, I’d rather crawl under the ice and stay there until spring.
Anna grins. “Wait—are you wearing your ring?”
I nod, tugging off my glove and holding out my hand. The lights strung around the rink catch on the diamonds and make it shimmer, throwing off little flecks of color like it’s trying to show off.
It’s beautiful. Classic. Something I totally would’ve picked out myself, if I’d ever let myself imagine a moment like this.