‘I don’t wanna get in your way. You’ve already done enough.’ I shake my head, my words stumbling over themselves—mostly because I’m not sure if me watching him exercising is a good idea. I’m not blind, I know he’s attractive—it’s almost too distracting. And I don’t think my body’s completely forgotten that we’re not eighteen anymore, that I shouldn’t want to admire him the way I used to.
‘We’re gonna get in each other’s ways, Blue. It’s inevitable.’ Effortlessly, Sawyer picks up one of the heavy dumbbells and starts doing bicep curls with it. ‘You live here now. Ain’t bumped into the other coming out the shower yet, but it’ll happen.’
His smirk springs up as he says such with complete nonchalance that I envy, as if the idea doesn’t bother him at all, when it makes my cheeks flame. Makes mywhole bodyflame at the thought of him in the shower and—no, we are not going there.
You can live the moving in with a hot cowboy scenario from your books another day, Honey, because that isnothappening with Sawyer. There’s a reason it ended so badly the last time.
Still, I can’t change everything I do just to try to avoid too much alone time with Sawyer. Noah and I are here for the best part of a month and my stretches really help to clear my mind. And momentarily ease the ache that settled in my shoulder months ago and doesn’t seem to want to leave.
So, I draw down a lungful of air and nod, offering a grateful smile before heading to the other side of the deck and positioning my yoga mat out. I start with some basic stretches, warming my joints up before I can push them into deeper stretches and more difficult positions.
‘You ever play for others?’ Sawyer suddenly asks.
I crane my neck up from where I’m on all fours just as Sawyer’s gaze snaps back to my face from where my back arches down.
Was he … watching me?
Sawyer clears his throat. ‘Uh, guitar. And singing. You ever perform?’
‘Oh.’ I sit back on my knees, holding my arms above my head and leaning to my left, enjoying the delicious stretch that radiates across my side as I consider his question. ‘I’m not sure I have the confidence for that. It was hard enoughsinging in a choir at school, but to be the only one in the spotlight … Well, you know me.’
‘You should.’ He declares as if it’s that easy. He struggles through one more bicep curl before putting the dumbbell down. ‘Isn’t that what Georgia Hart did in those stories you used to write?’
The ones I used to read to him.
I can’t believe he remembers them.
‘Maybe one day,’ I say with the hopes of quickly moving on. Some childish dreams are best left unpursued, like I should’ve done with him. ‘What about you—with the ranch? Have you been helping out more?’
Sawyer laughs, but the humour is lost on me, clearly a joke he shares only with himself. He grunts as he drops to the floor and wraps a resistance band around his leg. ‘Trying to.’
He turns away then, focusing on bending his broken leg back and forward with the band, and ultimately failing. Our conversation ends therefore, silence surfacing.
I wonder if that time in the café with him was a fluke after all—that the past nine years has worn away the ease of conversation we once had. Even if I have been here for four days now, I’ve been working all day, and Noah usually hoards Sawyer’s attention in the evenings before I put him to sleep and read in bed. There’s not been much time where Sawyer and I have been left to talk alone.
Still, it’s probably better for both of us that way.
I continue my stretch, leaning to my right side this time, just as Sawyer huffs out and throws the band to the deck beside him in clear defeat. He sighs. ‘Sorry, I’m just still trying to figure out what this place means to me. You knowit ain’t exactly full of good memories, but it’s mine now with my dad gone. Still, it’s keeping me busy while I’m not able to do what I truly wanna be doing.’
Bull riding. Travelling the country. Being wild and free.
I nod and glance at his broken leg, my heart aching for him. It must be hard having your dreams suddenly pulled from you. ‘Do you—um … Do you want some help with your leg?’
Sawyer’s eyes flash and then he swallows. ‘Sure.’
In all honesty I thought he’d say no. And now I realise I have to touch him. Why the hell did I offer to do that?
Maybe it’s because I can’t stop myself from wanting to help him. To prop him up when he’s down. Just like we used to do for each other.
Slowly, I walk over to him, inhaling deeply when I reach the end of his feet. Sawyer’s eyes never leave me as I drop to my knees before him, his throat working again. The air feels charged now I’m closer, but I have to ignore it. Just push through and help him out—because I’m his friend. That’s why he offered for me to stay. That’s all.
Carefully, I lay my hands on his foot and knee—but he instantly jolts.
‘Sorry,’ Sawyer laughs, a deep, hearty rumble that seems to echo through the lands of Lucky Star. ‘Your hands were colder than I expected. Give ’em here.’
Strong, warm hands harbour my own, cradling them as he rubs his rough skin over mine to create heat, no doubt hardened and worn down from years of bull riding. It’s the first time we’ve properly touched and that electricity from before still skitters over my skin.
Yet, it’s nice to have someone doing something like thisfor me—it’s technically for his benefit, but it’s almost like a mini hand massage with the way he kneads his fingers into my palm.