Page 44 of One Night with Number Nineteen

I always have.

Always will.

But it’s impossible to not notice that Ollie’s limp, sleepy body seems to grow heavier by the day.

I tuck him in, turn on his nightlight, and slip out, closing the door behind me. When I get downstairs, I half-expect to find Sawyer in the kitchen, doing the leftover dishes.

He’s not.

And the popcorn bowl and plates from the cinnamon rolls he and Ollie ate are still on the coffee table.

That reassures me like nothing else can.

That’s normal.

Not Sawyer being so sweet and wonderful and patient and neat and thoughtful and⁠—

“Enough,” I whisper, snagging the dirty dishes and carrying them over to the sink.

But the moment I turn on the water, the back door opens and Sawyer comes in, his hair glistening with a few rain drops.

“Looks like it’s gonna dump soon,” he says, drying his shoes on the rug and coming directly over to the sink. A heartbeat later, I’m nudged out of the way and he’s rinsing the dishes, putting them away.

“I can wash a bowl and a couple of dishes.”

“I know you can, Pages,” he says easily. “But I’m guessing you’ve washed plenty of dishes in your time, so I’m happy to do a couple extra. Both the front and back yards were empty, by the way. No sign of anything out of the ordinary.”

I blink at him.

Then again.

Then blurt, “Why are you being so nice?”

He freezes for a second then starts moving again in that easy way he has—rinsing off the soap, loading them into the dishwasher, drying his hands on a towel. “I’m always nice,” he says as he turns to face me.

There’s something in his eyes…

Something that tells me it’s not that simple.

“Sawyer—”

“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?”

Every cell in my body freezes. “What?”

“Your eyes. Your hair. The way your cheeks go pink”—a faint smile—“like they’re doing right now. It makes me want to kiss you, to see if you taste as sweet as you seem.”

“I’m…what?”

He tugs lightly at a strand of my hair, runs the backs of his knuckles over my cheek. “I should go home, Pages. Let you get some rest.”

Every woman has their limits.

Even a woman who’s slow to trust and doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.

Especially one who doesn’t know what she’s doing when it comes to the beautiful, confusing man standing in her kitchen.

Except one thing…