Page 21 of For the Record
Coy headed back into the garage, still smiling a little as she set up her Bluetooth headphones. A moment later, her current sapphic audiobook came on. She’d read the ebook version ofThe Stepmotherby Melissa Tereze a while ago, but listening to the sexy British narrator just hit differently. Melissa was one of Coy’s favorite indie authors. She wrote sex scenes so steamy Coy had no choice but to reenact a few of them. To make sure they were realistic, of course.
Earlier, Coy had done a thorough walk around the McLaren, taking notice of the extensive exterior damage. The roof and windshield were semi-caved in, the former likely due to the car rolling. Without removing anything that hadn’t already broken off on impact, she could tell two rotors were cracked, one rim twisted right off its axle. The suspension or control arm behind it was likely damaged. The spoiler hadn’t been engaged at the time, so it might have survived the accident. The firefighters must have had to cut off the door, and the frame rail had taken the brunt of the damage. Both front fenders would need replacing, but there was the possibility of having to order a new tub that would be costly.
Today, Coy wanted to at least get started on removing what was left of the windshield and vacuuming the car out before she left. But first came the wipers. Using her ratchet attachment, she removed the wiper arms and cowl panel. The panel was still in good condition, but the wiper arms had been bent.
As Coy moved on to cutting out the frame of the windshield, it was hard not to think of Sawyer’s husband. She’d never been so personally involved in salvaging a car before. It felt intimate, knowing the few details she did. The aged blood stains on the microsuede steering wheel and dash were distracting, and she kept wondering just how the accident had happened.
When that was done and she’d set the remnants off to the side, Coy plugged in the Shop Vac she had brought and got started on cleaning out the interior. She was halfway done when she nicked her thumb on a piece of broken door jamb.
“Fuck,” Coy shut the vacuum off and squeezed her thumb, looking for glass inside the seeping wound. There likely wasn’t any, given how modern windshields were made, but Coy grabbed the First Aid kit she always kept inside Tegan’s glove compartment. She was applying a Band-Aid when Sawyer entered, dressed like she was heading out the door again. Unfortunately, the audiobook she was listening to was about five minutes into her favorite sex scene. Sawyer’s eyes widened just a fraction, no doubt catching the way the narrator’s husky voice pronounced the word pussy. She came to an abrupt stop at the foot of the stairs, one hand clenching the railing like her life depended on it. A hint of a blush darkened her beautiful cheeks.
Then Sawyer noticed the drying blood on Coy’s hand. “Cut yourself already?” she demanded, her voice at a higher octave than normal. “Are you even up to this task? Tell me now so I can put my money elsewhere.”
“Believe me, I’m up to the task.” The reply wasn’t supposed to sound seductive, but unfortunately, it was how Coy’s brain took the assignment. She inwardly groaned, watching as Sawyer’s back went rigid.
One, two, thr—
“Do I need to post copies of the contract around my property?” Sawyer gritted through clenched teeth. Wow, the woman reallydidn’t appreciate come-ons, even unintentional ones. “Here’s an idea, Casanova. How about instead of practicing your ridiculous one-liners, you memorize this look of disinterest on my face? And turn that noise off. I don’t need my neighbors thinking I’m watching porn.”
Disinterested my ass,Coy thought, her mouth tilting up in one corner as she went to switch off the audiobook. She’d seen the gleam in Sawyer’s eyes at the restaurant. There wassomethingshe liked about Coy, whether she knew it yet or not. She opened her mouth with every intention of correcting Sawyer’s use of the name Casanova, considering it was a term reserved for a man, but that wasn’t what came out.
“You hold an awful lot of judgment for someone you don’t really know. If you want, I could change that for you.”
Unbridled surprise flooded Sawyer for about two seconds before her features went blank once again. “Haven’t you been spamming me with unsolicited info about you for six days now?” One eyebrow raised with the question, and Coy thought she saw a hint of a smirk on Sawyer’s face as she held up her phone in reference. “You like dogs, have terrible taste in music, and would rather spend your savings on your car than go to Europe. Really, McCoy, I know more about you than I ever needed or wanted to.”
Coy’s whole body flushed with heat, and she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. She’d been called out, and damn, Sawyer was hot when she challenged her. Coy responded to Sawyer like she used to with her grade ten math teacher, only the allure was a hundred times more powerful.
“I like you. I don’t know why, considering you don’t give me the time of day.” Coy cracked a grin, darting a quick glance at Sawyer before looking away again. Her heart thudded in her chest so loud she was almost certain Sawyer could hear it. She swallowed. “I like the way I feel when I’m around you.”
Silence permeated the garage. The air felt charged now, and it crackled with unseen tension after Coy’s admission. She slowly lifted her gaze to where Sawyer remained on the garage steps, an inscrutable expression staring back at her.
“Well,” Sawyer stated after a moment. She cleared her throat, and Coy watched as she marched to her Range Rover. “Lock up when you’re done.”
“Have a great day, Sawyer,” Coy told her, raising a hand in an awkward side-to-side wave.
“Ahem, yes. You as well, McCoy.”
And then Sawyer was in her SUV, driving out of the open garage and away from Coy.
“Smooth, Coy. Real smooth,” she muttered to the empty room.
Chapter 11
Sawyer
Sawyer:Comment ça va, mon amour?I’m about to bake your favorite dish this morning.
Sawyer smiled softly, rereadingthe SMS before pressing Send. Her hand fluttered to her chest as she thought of her daughter so far away. She’d been in San Francisco for over a year, and Sawyer hadn’t made the time to visit.
I need to change that.There had to be a way to have the restaurant succeed and still take a week off to fly to California.
Without sacrificing those stars you want so much? Doubtful,a voice niggled at her.
Sighing, Sawyer set her phone down and picked up her cooling mug of coffee instead. As she took a sip, she glanced around the empty kitchen. It was peaceful here this early at Desmarais. It would be another hour until Kelly arrived, and Sawyer enjoyed the solitude. Now that she was short a pastry chef, there was an extra workload, but it was nothing Sawyer hadn’t dealt with before. After twenty-three years, she’d seen more than enough Dustins of the world that firing one didn’t faze her one bit. Running a respectable restaurant was crucial, not just for the restaurant’s long-term success, but to her personally. It had always been a sign that, over the years, no matter what awful thing was happening in Sawyer’s life, hearing how wonderful Desmarais was always made her feel better.
Sawyer washed her hands and set about baking Bree’s belovedpouding chômeur,a simple, maple-based cake anyone could make. It was all about the quality of the ingredients that went into it and the delicate balance of slowly combining and alternating the dry mix and the milk with the rest of the wet ingredients. As biased as it might be, Sawyer refused to use anything other than real Québec maple syrup in her recipe. Come to think of it, perhaps that was why Bree had so much trouble making it.She was missing a touch of home.
Once the batter was well mixed, Sawyer used a heavy ladle to pour it all into waiting pans. When most of it was out, she picked up the oversized mixing bowl and scraped the remaining batter into the pans as well, smoothing everything out before putting each one in the oven.