I let myself take her in, freeing myself from the agonising weight of her aquamarine gaze.
She’s still as beautiful as I remember, even if she strived so hard to hide herself away back in high school. Pulled into a loose braid, her long blonde hair rests over one shoulder, tendrils of ashy locks framing her face, skin golden and speckled with freckles. Her generous curves still fill out her clothes effortlessly, if anything more now—a floaty white blouse hugs her chest, while her round hips and soft thighs are poured into a pair of light-blue flared jeans, finished off with brown boots.
Yet, it’s like I’m standing in front of a stranger. Because Honey Goldman is amom—something I might have known if I’d ever been able to find her on social media on the occasional late, dark night I gave in to the temptation to look her up. One thing is for certain, she’s not the quiet choir girl I once knew who could barely look me in the eyes during our tutoring session. If I thought we couldn’t have been further apart back then …
‘You’re back,’ I state croakily, unsure what else to say. I don’t like it—the way I’m reduced to speechlessness in her presence. This isn’t me. I was literally about to pour out my charm with that pretty brunette but that all withered away the second I heard Honey’s voice.
‘For good, I hope.’ She briefly glances down once to the little boy, a soft smile pulling at her lips.
But why would she come back? Isn’t Willow Ridge just a town of painful reminders for her like it is for me?
The kid tugs on the hem of Honey’s blouse to whisper up to her, ripping both mine and Honey’s attention finally from each other. ‘Do you knowtheSawyer Nash?’
‘Oh, um …’ Her voice is shaky, and she worries her lip—like she used to when she was contemplating what to say—before her eyes gradually drag back up to me.
Because what does she say? That we’refriends? We’re not friends. I’m not sure we were ever technically friends. Friends don’t run away and—
No. I’m not going there.
I’m SawyerfuckingNash. The cowboy with no fear. I’m not going to let a goddamn fling from when I was a stupid teenager bother me. I worked tirelessly to strip my mind of her years ago. I’m here to ride a beast of a bull, prove to this town that no matter how hard you knock me down I willalwaysget up, and win a bunch of cash doing it.
I don’t need the past dragging me down. Not today.
So, I throw on my winsome smirk, the one I was warming up for the brunette before I got bulldozed by a miniature cowboy, and reassume the bravado of the man I’ve become. I square my shoulders and turn back to the boy. ‘Damn right she does, buddy.’
The little boy’s mouth pops open, his head bouncing between Honey and me, like he can’t figure out how we could possibly be acquainted.
That lip of his works again like he wants to say something, but there’s almost a wariness in his stance, in the way he’s shrunk himself, so I just smile and say, ‘’S’alright, buddy. I don’t bite; you can talk to me.’
His eyes brighten at that, shoulders relaxing too, and finally he takes down a huge gulp of air, as though this is the biggest moment of his life, before announcing, ‘Sir, I am a huge fan.’
I can’t help from chuckling, because I sure as hell have never been calledsirbefore. Ain’t nothing gentlemanly about a lot of the things I’ve done. But Honey doesn’t laugh, instead she abruptly rips her gaze from me, gawping down at the kid for some reason.
‘Is that right?’ I ask him. ‘And what’s myhuge fan’s name?’
He swallows, glancing to his mom, before finding the courage to tell me, ‘Noah.’
It takes more strength than I’d like to admit not to let my smile fall.
To fight against the frown that wants to take over.
It’s just a coincidence,it doesn’t mean anything,I have to tell myself. That she wouldn’t name him after something so private between us. Especially after the way she left …
But I can’t let it get to me.
I just need to get through this conversation, this competition, and then I can get the hell out of Willow Ridge for a while. Away from the woman who will forever serve to remind me of how easy I am to leave, how hard I am to love.
2
Honey
I can’t believe what’s happening. I’m stood in front of Sawyer Nash while my little boy attempts a conversation with him—the same little boy who struggled to speak to any of his teachers or classmates for the whole of kindergarten last year. He’s barely said a word to anyone but me and his grandma all summer since we moved, yet he bumps into the bull-riding champion who I last saw nine years ago with tears streaming down my face and suddenly he’s found his voice.
Running into Sawyer was enough to send shockwaves through my world but seeing him talk with Noah has thrown my world completely off-kilter.
I always knew there was a chance we’d meet again when I made the decision to move back to Willow Ridge from North Carolina this summer. I’d be lying too if I said I hadn’t occasionally looked him up in all his bull-riding glory over the years, and with my son’s obsession with anything cowboys and rodeos, Sawyer’s competitions werefun to show him. It quietened that lingering guilt too, seeing Sawyer was out there achieving all the dreams he had as a worn-down seventeen year old.
Not held back by me.