‘Again’ by Brooks & Dunn.
‘Tell me it wasn’t a coincidence,’ he begs.
‘I sang it for you,’ I admit, frozen in the headlights as he walks over, boots—one cowboy boot, the other his medical boot—scraping against the gravelly parking lot floor.
His chest sinks at that, eyes softening at me as he steps into the headlights, their buttery glow lining him in an angelic way. I know he always sees himself as scarred, too easily swayed by the devil on his shoulder, but if he could only see himself the way I do—he’d see that he’s just as much a saviour.
‘I wanted to dance with you so badly earlier, Blue.’ Sawyer unfurls his arm, strong hand outstretched and waiting. It’s the easiest decision to slide mine into his. To let him pull me close to him, as his other hand finds the small of my back, fingers splaying out possessively.
He dips his head, moustache tickling my ear as he whispers, ‘Show everyone how lucky I am to hold someone as golden as you in my arms.’
My heart squeezes, my stomach fluttering at his words. At the devotion shining in his eyes as he gazes down at me, all the while rocking me in a gentle slow dance. I’m oblivious to the cold of the December night in the warmth of his embrace.
‘You make me believe, Blue,’ he rasps, fingers pulsing against my back. His eyes roam over my face. ‘That maybe I can love one day.’
His words have me sinking deeper into him, resting my head against his chest, listening to his steady heart as the headlights warm us. Sawyer leans his chin on the top of my head, holding me in a way that can only be described as worshipful.
‘I believe in you too, Sawyer.’
I wonder what the stars think as they watch us dance. Did they know back in his truck bed all those years ago that we’d be torn apart? Did they twinkle above us unfettered because they also knew we’d find our way back to each other eventually? That they kept our secret knowing our fates would always be intertwined, and they’d watch us dance in the silence of the night once again.
31
Sawyer
‘May, that was damn right delicious,’ I announce as I throw my knife and fork onto my empty plate and lean back into my chair with a satisfied groan. That might have been the best Chicken Parm I’ve ever had. ‘I ain’t got a clue how you’re gonna beat that for Christmas tomorrow.’
The dining room is filled with a warm amber glow while the ranch outside the slightly fogged-up windows is covered in a thin blanket of white snow. Snowflakes have been cascading down all day, much to Honey’s dismay as I had Noah outside too many times battling him to see who could catch the most on our tongues. Trixie won by a long shot.
May chuckles to herself at the other end of the table, a quirk of her lips following. ‘I’m just warming up, Sawyer.’
Noah finishes his last bite too and mimics my exact reactions, cutlery launched onto the plate and then he sinks into his chair, rubbing his stomach with an overly dramatic noise to signal his fullness.
Honey and I exchange a humoured look, eyes sparklingat my little shadow—it’s become a joke now, how much he likes to copy me. Just getting practice in for when he becomes a bull rider himself, I say. It’s because he admires me is what Honey thinks, though. Not sure I’m really worthy of that.
‘Grandma,’ Noah calls across the table. ‘Is it time yet?’
‘Time for what?’ I ask, my brow furrowing as the other three around the table all glance at each other, eyes lit up almost as bright as the twinkling lights circling the tree in the other room.
May nods and waves her hand towards the archway. ‘You know where they are, Noah. You can get down and grab them.’
Shaking with excitement, Noah leaps from his seat and rushes out the room, Trixie inevitably following, probably thinking she’s going to get a treat. She sniffs at Noah when he wobbles his way back in, tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrates on not dropping the presents piled in his little arms.
Still confused as hell—and slightly concerned I was supposed to get everyone a present for tonight—I raise my brows at Honey, hoping for some elaboration. She just bites down on her lip, trying to hold in a grin that has my heart racing. There’s a glassiness to her eyes that is definitely a result of the brandy in the eggnog she’s had a few cups of already.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, watching Noah offer his grandma, then mom a present, and make his way around the table to me.
Each present is wrapped the same, except mine has my name scrawled across it in black pen. Noah beams so brightly as he hands it over, and once it’s in my hands, hebounces back to his seat, his own present in his lap. The gift is soft through the paper, and I really have no idea what to expect.
‘Our family has a little tradition each Christmas Eve that we all get new pyjamas. It’s the one present we can open before Christmas day,’ Honey explains. Now her smile is gentle, almost wistful, but it has my heart beating even faster than her grin.
They … included me in their tradition.
Theirfamilytradition.
I’ve never torn open a present faster. I throw the wrapping paper to the floor for Trixie, who gets straight to tearing it apart—better the paper than furniture. My heart lurches into my throat when I’m left with a pair of long red pyjamas covered in little green Christmas trees and strings of multicoloured lights. They’re gaudy and tacky and damn right awful—you’d usually never see me dead in them—but you bet your ass I’m going to wear the hell out of them now.
Slowly, I drag my eyes up to find everyone else holding a pair too, all with the same pattern. It’s the matching part that gets me. That makes me light-headed and needing to grab the table just to ground myself as something in my world starts to slot into place.