Page 42 of Sawyer
Lisa was fully on board with the idea, but back then, I just wanted to forget.
I didn’t want to hear Mason’s name or think about him. I stopped Michael before things could go that far.
But how the hell did he know about Sawyer?
“Did Lisa or Chris tell you?” I asked in a quick whisper, glancing over at Chris, who was using the hose at the grooming station, its noise drowning out most of our conversation.
I hadn’t mentioned Sawyer to either of them again—not about what happened after our not-date, anyway. As far as they knew, I’d only helped him with his bar’s menu.
Michael leaned in closer to the camera, narrowing his eyes as he studied me.
“Look at you, Case. Even with your crappy camera, I can see the sweat on your forehead and the way your eyes are darting around. Your voice is shaky... You’re nervous about me finding out something, which means this guy is someone I definitely wouldn’t approve of, right?”
He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make me squirm. Then, with a smirk, he added, “And based on your history, that can only mean one thing—he’s a shifter.”
My jaw dropped.
Whowasthis guy? Sure, we both liked watching true crime documentaries, but Michael was never this quick at putting things together.
When I didn’t respond, Michael continued, “And you just confirmed it yourself. Your silence gave it away.”
There was no point lying now. “It’s this guy I met. He’s really nice…” I trailed off, unsure how to continue.
I wanted to tell Michael everything about Sawyer, but for some reason, the words just wouldn’t come.
Michael pursed his lips, concern flickering in his eyes. “Just be careful.”
I nodded, grateful for his understanding, but still uneasy.
Michael shifted back to his original question. “So, what’s the real reason you’re not coming up here?”
I rolled my eyes and smiled. “It’s the same day as a town meet—” I started to explain.
Before I could continue, the bell over the front door chimed. I glanced over, my heart suddenly racing. “I’ll call you back,” I whispered, cutting the call.
Just as I closed the laptop, Garth’s voice came from the doorway. “Hope that wasn’t a personal call,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips.
I looked up slowly, forcing my expression to stay neutral despite the churn of anxiety in my gut.
“Family emergency,” I replied quickly.
A familiar itch flared in my arm, right along the scar, as Garth’s eyes swept over me. The silence between us grew heavy, making me shift in my seat.
“Did you get the rent money I sent over?” I asked, trying to sound casual, though the slight tremor betrayed me.
Garth ignored the question, his smirk deepening as he leaned in uncomfortably close.
My back straightened, instinctively leaning away, desperate to put some distance between us.
“Business seems a little slow,” he remarked, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Need any help?”
I forced my eyes back to the laptop, pulling up the appointment schedule just to avoid his gaze.
“It’s just a slow morning,” I muttered. The itch on my arm burned now, hot and unbearable. “We’re usually pretty full.”
Garth leaned even closer, his face now inches from mine. I could feel the weight of his stare, and something about his presence made my skin crawl.
For a brief, unsettling moment, I thought I felt him sniffing the air around me, and I quickly stood up.