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Across from us, framed in an ornate stand in the corner of the room, bathed in the ambient light streaming through the window, is a full-length mirror. Sawyer already joked that we could have fun with it later, but now our eyes meet in the reflection.
“When you finish this next one, I want to come along. I’ll carry your suitcases across the whole damn country for the next tour.”
“Okay, calm down back there. It won’t be for a little while, at least.”
“Regardless, I’m there. I don’t want to miss a second of watching you shine.”
It’s 3:00 a.m. and I’m wide awake, energized by this affection from him. “What do you think people say when they people-watch us?”
He swallows, then shrugs against my back. “I don’t know. You’re the expert with this.”
“I like to think I rubbed off on you a little bit this week.”
“Just a little.” He shakes his head, smirking. “I think they would say, this guy is one lucky bastard.”
I poke his hand. “Be serious. I want to hear what you think.” I could really get used to the way he presses his lips to my neck and shoulders and back, or the way he grazes my skin with gentle caresses when we lay like this: almost absently, but always with intention.
“I am being serious. I think they’d say you’re way out of my league.” He swallows a yawn. “They’d say, look at that happy couple over there. They’re having a great time, so in love.”
My eyes grow at the word. “We’ve known each other less than two weeks.”
“Do you think other people think that? When they look at us together, do you think they see strangers? Or do you think they see two people who need each other, who are each better because the other is in their life?” He stifles another yawn and drapes an arm around my waist, pulling my hips more tightly to him. He closes his eyes and eventually drifts to sleep.
I settle deeper into his embrace, wondering what it’s like to love and be loved by Sawyer Dawson.
Wondering if, somehow, I already know.
Post-Cruise Extension
A February Sunday, Coastal California
Gwendolyn
“Is that him?” Nancy peers around me. Her assignment: look for red shorts. She’s pointing toward a man in red basketball shorts and a black T-shirt with a white visor strapped around his head.
“No,” I answer. “He’s wearing a light blue shirt, remember?”
“Right.” She scans the crowd again, clapping instinctively as the runners stride past us. We saw him at mile six, then again at twenty, and now we’re waiting for him at the finish.
The tracker app projects that he’ll be here within the next four minutes, if he maintains the solid pace he’s held for most of the race. Not that any of us cares about his time; we’re all just so proud of him for being out here. And we all love him.
Nancy flew out with him last week so he could get in a few runs at the right climate. The winter back home has been rough, with biting winds and icy air, and he wanted his lungs to remember what it’s like to run outside without getting freezer-burnt before having to do it for 26.2 miles. I think he also just needed a week away to really focus on himself and his running, instead of focusing on others twenty-four seven.
He and Nancy moved into my place temporarily while I’ve mostly stayed with Gram. They just showed up, about a week after the cruise ended, ready to help however they could. We cycle through shifts at Gram’s place, I miraculously meet my deadlines, and Sawyer dives into the world of online tutoring and freelance work creating educational materials in addition to being Gram’s favorite nurse, my therapist, and an athlete in training. Additional roles include: my boyfriend; possibly the love of my life.
Sawyer’s mom and I flew out two days ago with Gram, who’s just as feisty as ever, even on wheels. Mel was a huge help with navigating through the airport and ensuring we had all our luggage and our sanity when we traversed the country. I’d met her before; we’d celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together, and she’s just as comfortable and kind as her son.
“What about him?” Gram asks, and I follow her gaze down the far side of the finisher corral to another man in red shorts. This one’s wearing a light blue shirt and black sunglasses with bright blue mirrored lenses, and we all recognize him at the same time, erupting into cheers and screams as he approaches the finish line.
I gallop along the long chute, shouting his name and any encouraging words I can think of, but he doesn’t look like he needs it. He looks incredible, and he finishes with a smile spread wide across his face. I wait off to the side, the rest of the group weaving through the spectators toward me.
Sawyer emerges from the finisher area with a bottle of water and a banana in his hand, and I crash into the medal around his neck when I throw my arms around him.
“You did it! I’m so proud of you!”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. You really kept me going that last point-two,” he says with a wink.
Mel slides in to hug him, not caring that he’s drenched in sweat, as moms are wont to do. “Congrats, Honey. You did great.” She holds him at arm’s length and takes in his face, then musses his hair and steps back to make room for anyone else who wants a chance to congratulate him. Wisely, Nancy and Gram keep a safe distance when they offer their accolades. I don’t care about the sweat, and he knows it. He pulls me against his side and munches on his banana.
