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“Which would just hex the land, right?” Aubrey jokes.
I giggle. “If you and Caleb came here and fell in love,” I tell Lauren, “and Aubrey and Dalton did the same, I think this place is a good-luck charm more than anything.”
“What about you?” Marian asks.
“What about me?”
“Doesn’t that just mean it’s your turn?” Lauren says.
I shake my head, determined not to even think of Sawyer. “I’m glad I can help, Lauren. You remind me why I love bridal design so much.” It means everything to me to give her this sense of control and freedom.
After Lauren and I list the things she wants to incorporate into one final dress, Aubrey points at the shoes I left near the door. “I was just talking to Dalton about getting that pair. My other shoes are beat. The tread is almost worn to the sole from all the hiking we do here.”
I glance up from my book. “Oh. Sawyer dropped them off.”
“Sawyer, huh?” Marian asks.
I look up in time to see Aubrey and Lauren exchange glances. Marian seems alert. “Yeah. Sawyer.”
“Is something going on between you two?” Aubrey asks.
I grunt a laugh. “Because he dropped off shoes?”
“Those aren’t cheap,” Marian says.
Now, I look like a materialistic snob. “They do seem sturdy,” I admit.
“They are,” Aubrey says.
“So it’s not so much that he bought you shoes,” Lauren says, “but that he wanted you to have sturdy footwear.”
That, or he can be quick to suggest I don’t bother him anymore. I can’t tell which it is. He wants me to have better access to bug him or to stay away?
“They’re just shoes.”
“Are you sure?” Aubrey asks.
I feel awkward, pressured to defend myself about anything happening with anyone. Instead of responding, I fall back to an old staple I used in Paris constantly. I avoided the discussion by pretending to be slightly offended.
“I think I would know if something was going on between me and Sawyer.” My tone is bitchier than I want it to be because, in reality, it feels good to have girlfriends who would be enthusiastic about a guy like Sawyer being interested in me. It’s a night and day difference to my “friendships” over the years, all the acquaintances I merely put up with, those people who only wanted to be near me because of my wealth and status.
If any of those so-called friends learned that a construction worker was giving me attention, they’d ridicule me. If my mother was aware a blue-collar man with dirty, work-roughened hands like Sawyer was making me feel all these butterflies in my stomach, she’d throw a fit.
Lauren and Aubrey are not judging him as anyone inferior, and I wish I could embrace that laid-back mentality as easily as they have.
Later that night, long after the three women left, I can’t shake him from my thoughts. I decide to take a hot bath and forgot about it for a while. I change out of my clothes and put on my robe but head back to take one last look at the sketch.
It’s no longer a matter of if something could be going on between me and Sawyer but a matter of if I want something to be happening there.
Stop. Thinking. About. Him. I sigh and shake my head, wishing I could clear out these errant thoughts about him just as quickly.
Tapping my pencil against the edge of the sketch, I wonder if this is it. If I’ve finally finished the sketch for Lauren. It’s taking me longer than it might otherwise, likely because of how often I keep thinking back to Sawyer, but it looks complete.
“But I need to find better fabric samples first.” It won’t do to show her the final sketch and not have something for her to feel, too. As I pull my tablet closer to research where I might find a better shop or supplier, a loud cranking and grinding noise erupts from the basement.
“Oh, shit.” I scurry toward the couch, eager to get off the floor, as though the vibrations could seep through the floor. I swear I hear scurrying sounds, and as my heart races, I imagine all kinds of vermin and beasts lurking down there.
I call Dalton, hating that I’ll sound so whiny and desperate, but it’s late. He doesn’t answer.
