Page 45 of Won't Back Down
“I could definitely eat.” Now that my attention wasn’t absorbed in the work, my stomach decided to make vocal protests at the long stretch since my last snack.
Sawyer chuckled. “Why don’t you set up our picnic spot by the fireplace while I pull things together?”
“That I can do.”
I put my notes away and moved our chairs to make space for one of the thick comforters. Might as well do this whole indoor picnic thing right. I dragged over a small mountain of pillows so we had something to lean against. Then I carefully lit the candles. All clustered together in the fireplace, they made for a rather romantic ambiance. Not that we were necessarily going for that, but it was hard not to focus on the fact that we were sheltering in place together, all by ourselves. It felt close and intimate. I was achingly aware of the fact that it had been three whole days since he’d kissed me. I’d replayed the other night in the kitchen over and over, wishing he’d just let the damned sandwich burn.
He’d been affectionate since then, touching me often, still sharing my bed. But he hadn’t pressed for more. I suspected he wouldn’t in private, but not because he wasn’t attracted. Those kisses we had shared weren’t just acting, and sharing a bed had made certain biological facts more than obvious. He enjoyed kissing me. But he’d said he wouldn’t do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, which meant that if I wanted more, I’d have to be the one to press for it.
Sawyer joined me on the blanket, dropping down with a zippered cooler and one of the big wooden cutting boards from the kitchen. He began pulling things out. Multiple cheeses. Salami. Olives. Roasted red peppers. Apples. A box of fancy crackers. A bottle of wine. The container of cookies Delilah had sent home with us.
“Sawyer Malone, did you really prepare a charcuterie spread for our hurricane party?”
“I mean, it was all stuff in the fridge that would go bad if the power stays off for a while. None of it requires cooking, so…”
“Color me impressed.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d thought to make this a little more romantic himself.
“You want to work on getting that wine open while I start slicing? Corkscrew’s in the side pocket of the cooler.”
I did as he asked, pouring us each a glass of chilled Lambrusco. “Bubbly. It feels like a celebration.”
“Sort of is. It’s our one-week anniversary.”
Not entirely sure how to take that, I sipped at the wine. “So it is. Nothing has imploded, and no one has come after us to shout ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’”
He picked up his glass. “Cheers to that.”
We clinked glasses and drank.
“Dig in. There’s plenty more where this came from.”
I piled salami and a slice of sharp cheddar on a cracker with some roasted red pepper and bit in, letting the salt of the meat and the sharp bite of the cheddar meld on my tongue. “Mmm. This definitely beats the last hurricane party I attended.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sawyer popped an olive into his mouth and chewed. “What happened at that one?”
I snagged a square of what I thought was gouda to go with a piece of apple. “I was riding things out with Bree and Ed at his place. A bunch of the Brewhouse staff were there, too. Somebody had the bright idea to do karaoke by phone, and it was so bad. Karaoke only works if the singers are good or everyone else is drunk. Bless her heart, Bree has a lot of fine qualities, but being able to stay on key is not one of them.”
Sawyer huffed a laugh. “She and Ford were well matched in that. He’s totally tone deaf.”
Because he’d brought them up, I indulged my curiosity. “Do you know what happened between them that last summer before y’all joined the Navy?”
He stacked pepperoni and cheese on a cracker. “I have my suspicions, but Ford’s never talked about it. Shuts down any time anybody brings her up. Why? Do you know?”
I hadn’t been the only one to succumb to those strawberry daiquiris, but my allegiance had to be to Bree here. “I know part of it, but it’s not mine to tell.” I picked up a slice of salami and fed it to a patiently waiting Roy, who’d taken up sentry on one corner of our picnic blanket to hoover up any forgotten leftovers. “Do you think they’ll ever make it to being friends again?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of hurt between them. Has to be, to destroy a friendship as long and deep as theirs. I’m not sure what it would take for them to bridge the gap.”
We ate and talked of less consequential things as the storm raged around us. When my glass was empty, Sawyer lifted the bottle. “More? It’s bubbly, so it won’t keep.”
“Sure. If you’ll help me polish it off.”
He split the remaining wine between our glasses and settled back across from me on the blanket, shoving the now empty board aside. The room was warm, but not yet uncomfortably so. The flicker of candlelight and the wine made it feel like a night for confessions and questions.
“What do you want to do with the rest of your life?” When Sawyer went brows up, I hurried to add, “I mean, babysitting me isn’t going to be a full-time job. Obviously, you’ll want to get back to doing something once I’ve stopped derailing your life. What might that be?”
He swirled the wine in his glass and took a long sip. “I don’t have any idea what I want. The only real constant in my life has been the sea. All those years fishing. Not that I want to go back to that—the Navy, I mean.” He dragged a finger around the lip of the glass. “I feel a little lost. I don’t know who I am since I was discharged. Now that I’m back on Hatterwick, it’s hard not to feel like the son of the town drunk from the wrong side of the island again. A lot of people still see me that way.”
Incensed, I set my mostly empty glass on the hearth and sat up fast enough that I startled Roy. He abandoned us for the dog bed in the corner. “I don’t. That’s not who you are. That’s never been who you are.”