Page 138 of One Night with Number Nineteen

How long does it take to change a tire, anyway?

“Do you think Sawyer liked my singing?”

That knot in my stomach grows. “I think⁠—”

“I looked for him during ‘Jingle Bells’ but I couldn’t see him.”

“I—”

“Why does that bag have my name on it?” Ollie asks, popping over to another subject with all the aplomb of his four-year-old attention span—one that practically makes my head spin as he pushes his mug away and rushes over to the bag Sawyer gave me at the concert.

“Sawyer brought that for you,” I say.

A glance over his shoulder. “Why?”

“I think it was his way of saying congratulations for all your singing.”

Ollie’s face lights up. “Can I open it?”

“I think we should wait for Sawyer.”

He considers that then sighs. “You’re right,” he says, sounding far too old as he traipses back over to the table and snags his mug. Some hot chocolate spills over the rim but he just licks it off the back of his hand and asks, “Can I watch my show before bed?”

“Sure, bud,” I murmur. “But hot chocolate first.”

“’Kay, Mom.”

He makes short work of his drink then zips into the family room and less than a minute later, his show’s theme song is playing on TV.

Exhaling, I finish my hot chocolate then clean up.

And do it watching for Sawyer.

Same as I do while I pack lunches and meal prep and throw a load of laundry in.

Then as I give Ollie a bath and read him stories and tuck him into bed.

It’s only as I walk down the stairs, intending to lose myself in The Book That Shall Not Be Written that I hear the soft scrape of the key in the lock.

Sawyer pushes inside, his expression…

Sends cold sliding down my spine.

“Where have you been?”

His gaze avoids mine and he shoves his hair back with a grease-stained hand, rubbing at that spot on his neck again. “I changed the tire then I had to do a couple of things for—” He presses his lips together. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Except, I think it does.

Of course it does.

In fact, I’m finally realizing precisely how much it does matter.

“Is he awake?”

“No,” I say quietly.

Sawyer’s eyes close. “Oh, right. I’ll just…go.”