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Kace led us further past the kitchen into the glass-walled dining area. Over the next hour, the rest of the Fixer Brothers and a few family and friends gradually filtered into Kace’s house for the dinner party. Kace’s personal chef and catering team laid out an incredible meal for us, and by the time we were sitting down and eating, I was on cloud nine.
And selfishly, I really liked being here with Sawyer, too.
I’d known the Fixer Brother guys and Kace for a good while now, but the fact that they were getting to know my friend only made things easier. Everything felt better when I had Sawyer next to me, and tonight had been no exception. Already, there had been a few moments where I said something in the wrong way to someone, and Sawyer was there to clarify what I’d meant. At times when I’d normally awkwardly spend five minutes standing near a wall, he’d been there to talk with me.
We were better as a pair. Even if I always knew it was dangerous for me to think that way. One day, he’d likely have a wife and family. And me… well, who the hell knew what I’d end up doing.
Nathan stood at the head of the table and tapped on his glass a little while later, the sound ringing throughout the room.
“All right, all right,” he called out, the rest of us quieting down. “I just want to say thank you to all of you, firstly, for coming out here tonight. The camera crew is set to arrive in about an hour, so we can relax and enjoy our dinner now before it’s time to film. All of you have made my life better by being in it, and I know the rest of the world is going to love you all just as much as I do on Season Two of The Fixer Brothers show. Enjoy, and know that what happens in the hot tub here stays in the hot tub here, okay?”
Everyone hollered out and clinked their glasses together, toasting to the evening. I devoured the food on my plate probably faster than I should have—Kace’s personal chef had made incredible Wagyu steaks with a red wine reduction sauce, and I about died and gone to heaven on the first bite.
“I want to drink this fucking sauce,” Sawyer said, leaning over toward me and whispering in my ear.
“Even the potatoes, too,” I said. “I’ve never had mashed potatoes this good. What is his chef putting in these things, liquid gold?”
“Liquid gold, maybe some truffle powder.”
“Truffle powder?”
“Yeah. Mushroomy kind of stuff that makes food taste way too good,” he said.
I shrugged. “Never heard of it.”
He furrowed his brow. “You’ve never heard of truffles?”
“I’ve heard of chocolate truffles,” I offered. “Around Christmas they sell little bags of them down at River Brews. Delicious little fuckers.”
“But you know a lot about flavors and ingredients for brewing beer,” Sawyer said, a hint of a smile on his face. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of truffles.”
“So sue me.”
He snickered. “Won’t sue you, but I might make fun of you. Just a little. And take you out sometime to a restaurant that has truffle fries.”
“Fuck off,” I said. “But also, that sounds great.”
We laughed it off, getting lost in the conversations around the table. Everything was good: the food, the people, the “vibes,” as Kace would have put it.
But as we ate I noticed that Sawyer got a bit quieter. Shawn, Nathan, and Charlie commanded the table as they usually did, telling horror stories from their early days in construction work. Sawyer laughed politely, but the sparkle in his eyes seemed to dim a little as the meal went on.
And I knew Sawyer. Something was haunting him, suddenly, and I didn’t know what.
I reached over and squeezed his thigh under the table.
“Hey,” I said, my voice low. “What’s on your mind?”
He glanced over at me, blinking his big eyes. “Oh. Just that the food is incredible. Must be liquid gold in there, like you said.”
I held his gaze. “Yeah,” I said. “The food is good. What else?”
The look on his face showed that he understood exactly what I was trying to get across with my eyes.
“Feeling like an impostor again,” he said gently, giving me a look that was so sweet and sad at the same time—like he wanted to attempt to smile for me, but couldn’t quite get it off the ground.
And that look cracked my heart right in two.
“You belong here,” I said, my voice resolute. “And I’m right here with you.”
He gave me a cursory nod. “I know, I know. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
I knew that on some level he was telling the truth. When his impostor syndrome flared up, he knew it wasn’t logical, and he knew nobody else saw him that way. But the feelings were always real, like a passing storm cloud that dimmed his light.
