Chapter Eighteen
“It’s beautiful, Sunny,” Sawyer said, stepping through the French doors at the rear of her town house and into the keyhole garden. “It’s pretty incredible what you’ve been able to do in such a small space.”
“You should see it in the spring when everything is blooming.”
He walked out from under the tent awning that covered the small, flagstone patio and fingered the ends of the multitudinous scarves that were tied to each of the support poles, some silk, some cotton, some woven, most all of them bleached heavily by years of exposure to the sun.
“My mother had a thing for scarves,” Sunny said, humor and honest affection lacing her words. “I guess I’ve gotten used to them, because I couldn’t take them down.”
“I think they’re kind of festive,” Sawyer said, meaning it.
“Oh, no,” Sunny said, “this is festive.” She reached back inside the door and flipped a light switch. It was late Friday afternoon, and being early November, that meant dusk was fast encroaching. The shadows were deep enough that the twinkling lights filling every nook and cranny of the backyard were quite easy to see.
“Wow,” Sawyer said, stepping off the patio, out from under the awning. Strand upon strand of small white party lights had been wrapped in and around the branches of the short dogwood that filled the back corner. They also outlined the edge of the six-foot-tall, board-over-board privacy wall that bordered the three sides of the tiny yard, and were wrapped around the support posts of the awning, and the edges of the awning itself. “That is very festive.”
“I’m only sorry you’re not getting the full musical accompaniment to go with it.”
He arched a brow at that. “Should I be afraid to ask?”
“Very,” she said, smiling and pointing back under the awning to the tall speakers that framed the doorway. “My friends used to call it Woodstock South. But at least old Mr. Bennett next door doesn’t scowl at me any longer when we take our trash out at the same time, so I have that going for me now.”
“Sounds like your mom believed in putting a lot of life in her life.”
“She did that,” Sunny said, smiling as he walked back toward her, happy he was here. And a lot less nervous about it now that he was.
He’d called her the night after she’d returned home from the Halloween party, and they’d talked for several hours. The topics had been as wide-ranging as all of their conversations. Sprinkled with topics of importance, some that were silly and innocuous, all of them entertaining. Five days later, it had become something of an evening ritual between them. She’d text him hello when she got up in the morning, as he’d already been awake and working for a few hours at that point, and he’d call her when they were both ready to turn in. There were the very occasional texts sent during the day, mostly photos showing something one of them thought the other might like to see, but they seemed to have tacitly agreed not to intrude too much into each other’s workday.
She might be a little more sleep deprived than she’d like to be, but with the uninterrupted time at work, it seemed like a minor sacrifice to make. The only downside was that every minute they spent talking had made her miss him that much more. She still heard from Addie regularly, and now she and Bailey were talking, too, and she was enjoying getting all three perspectives about what was going on at the mill in particular, and the Hollow in general. Having met most of the other guild members and their families at the Halloween party, she felt she was really becoming a part of the town and its goings-on. And she liked it. She liked it a lot. Who knew?
In fact, it had highlighted just how cut off she was from the people in her own little world. Mr. Bennett was actually the only neighbor she knew by name, and they were hardly acquaintances, let alone friends. She’d lived in her house her entire life and that was the sum total of her involvement in the neighborhood. She could put the blame on city living and the high turnover that happened in the neighborhoods there, hers included. But she knew it was also due to her not making any effort to reach out. Stevie’s family lived in the Adams Morgan area, right in the city, and they were having block parties every other week it seemed. It hadn’t happened that way for her in Old Town, and yet, she hadn’t been in the Hollow but a few times, and already felt like she knew everyone there.
“Bailey told me about your fairy gardens,” Sawyer said, sliding his arms around her from behind, then turning her to face him. “I’m sure the wee folk enjoy the party lights.”
“Mmm,” she said, sliding her arms around his neck, her body singing to life at his touch. “I hope so.” She was amazed they hadn’t torn each other’s clothes off and gone at it right in her foyer the moment he’d arrived. Their evening conversations hadn’t been entirely centered on local gossip and revealing childhood stories. Some of them, in fact, had gotten downright . . . heated. And in a very good way.
She’d worked herself up into quite a state of nervous anticipation. She knew things would be good between them when they were finally together again, but she’d had some qualms about having him in her home, mostly because he’d be the first man she’d ever invited there. She still went to bed in the room she’d slept in since childhood, though she’d long since had it redone to reflect the adult who lived in it now.
Her mother’s room was simply her mother’s room and she couldn’t imagine moving in there, particularly since by the end it had far more resembled a hospital room, complete with adjustable bed and racks for holding various bags of intravenous fluids and oxygen tanks.
She didn’t think she’d ever be comfortable claiming it for her own. She thought she might turn it into her office, with built-in library shelves to store all of her rapidly expanding research materials.
“Where are your thoughts?” he asked, kissing her forehead, then nudging her mouth up to his.
“On you,” she said. “On having you here. It’s not something I’ve done before.”
“I know,” he said, because she had told him that already. “If it’s not comfortable, I told you I’d be happy to book a room and—”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s fine.” She stretched up to kiss him again, thrilled beyond measure that she could simply and finally do that. She thought she might be doing it often over the next few days. Bank them for the next time they were apart. “It really is,” she told him when he eyed her skeptically. She fingered the collar of the pale blue chambray button-down he wore. “This might be the first time I’ve seen you in something other than sweaty T-shirts or fur.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
She laughed, and he caught her in a soul-searing kiss before she’d finished. By the time he lifted his head, more than her ability to breathe had been compromised. Her knees were feeling a bit wobbly as well.
“I missed you, Bo Peep.”
She smiled and flushed and felt basically pretty damn good all over. “You should know, I’ve had to return it to the rental shop,” she said with mock gravity, placing her hand over his heart. “So, if you had some kinky ideas about pantaloons and a shepherd hook—”
He covered her hand with his own and matched her mock gravity. “As sexy as that outfit was, what with the millions of impenetrable layers of crinoline and the turtleneck that covered every inch of your torso, as it happens, the only ideas I had, kinky or otherwise, require zero costumes. In fact, I was thinking a clothing-optional weekend would simplify matters entirely.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Wow, well, how very . . . thoughtful of you. Thrifty, too. Think of all the laundry soap I’ll save.”
“I try,” he said, humbly. “And seeing as your work is all about conservation, we could shower together, too.” He leaned down to kiss the corners of her mouth. “Save on water.”
She sighed and leaned against him, wondering how she’d gone a whole week without this, conveniently refusing to think about how much harder that was going to be after this weekend was over. She felt young and silly—it had been a week, for goodness’ sake, not a year—but maybe that’s what it felt like when you were falling head over heels. And falling felt pretty damn good as it turned out. When it wasn’t terrifying, anyway.
He was spending that night with her, all of Saturday and Saturday night, then they were picking up the lambs in Maryland Sunday morning, and heading on down to Blue Hollow Falls that afternoon. She’d stay with him at the cabin that night, and drive straight to D.C. very early Monday morning, putting in an hour or two at the end of the day to make up the difference if she was late due to city traffic, which was pretty much guaranteed.
It had initially been planned that he would just pick the lambs up and head home Sunday afternoon. But when she’d commented that she’d miss seeing Bailey’s face when the two new arrivals were introduced, he’d offered that alternative idea. Though she might be kicking herself come the crack of dawn on Monday, right now it meant another night together, so she was all for it. The truth was, in addition to seeing Bailey, she wanted to be back in the Hollow, too. She was already trying to figure out how she could fit in a quick little trek out to the greenhouse. She’d promised Stevie she’d take some photos. And she wanted to see it again, take more time, just . . . more.
But that was Sunday. Right now they had a whole night ahead of them, followed by a whole day. Just the two of them. It felt like a glorious vacation to her, filled with endless possibilities. “There might be a flaw in your water conservation theory,” she said, starting to unbutton the front of his shirt.
“Oh?” he said, looking down at what she was doing, and making not a single effort to stop her. “Why is that?”
She gazed up into his blue eyes, thinking they looked even more brilliant against the blue of his shirt, his dark hair, and the tan he’d likely have all winter from spending so much of the summer and fall out of doors. “You’re assuming we’d only be in the shower the normal length of time.”
“Ah,” he said. “You may have a point.”
She’d unbuttoned his shirt halfway down his chest, revealing a snowy white, perfectly clean T-shirt. She’d been about to tease him about that, but he was nudging her away just far enough so he could reach down and grab the hem of the button up and the tee and pull them both over his head.
“Well, hello there,” she said. She wanted to rub her hands all over that magnificent chest. Then take a bite out of it. That’s how good he looked.
“You make your living doing research,” he said, “so I thought you’d probably want to test your theory out.” He lifted his arms. “I’m simply a willing test study subject.”
She stepped back into his arms, almost closing her eyes in bliss as she breathed in the scent of him again. “I was thinking . . .”
“Go on,” he said, rubbing his hands up along her spine, tucking her more snugly against him.
“Well, it wouldn’t really be a proper conservation test if we don’t actually need a shower.”
His eyebrows lifted in consideration. “See, that’s why you’re the scientist.”
“Botanist.”
“Tomato, potahto.”
She giggled. “So, do you have any ideas on how we could get a little perspiration going? Maybe you could help me in the garden with some repotting,” she said, all chaste and innocent. “Or we could water the—”
“So, your bedroom would be . . . ?”
“Top of the stairs, on the left,” she answered immediately.
A second later she was head down over the back of his shoulder, with one of his strong arms clamped over the back of her thighs, while her hands grappled at his waist for a handhold.
“I’d have carried you the traditional way, but it’s a narrow staircase.”
Her squeal of surprise had changed to a squeal of something else entirely when his hands slid up her bare calves, under the tea-length skirt she’d been wearing. Old habits die hard. She thought her mother would be thrilled to know her daughter tended to favor skirts over trousers, even when given a choice.
Choices.
She’d been exploring a few of those over the past week, but hadn’t told him about any of it yet. It was too soon. And a part of her wanted to see what it would be like when they were together again. See if it was as wonderful as she’d remembered, or if she’d painted over their time together with a fantasy brush.
At the moment, staring at his very fine backside while he drew his fingertips farther and farther up the inside of her thigh, she was thinking maybe she’d downplayed just how wonderful it had been. Of course, that might be because all the blood rushing to her head was making her dizzy.
She whooped out a laugh when he slid her over his shoulder and deposited her on her bed with a bounce. She was already reaching for him as he followed her down.
* * *
In the decadently wanton hours that had followed . . . and extended through Saturday, and last night . . . before starting up again as the sun had come up that morning, Sunny learned a little more about Sawyer, and a lot more about herself.
She learned he was picky about his toothpaste, but thought body soap doubled perfectly well as shampoo. She learned he eschewed chocolate and sweets, not because they weren’t good for him, but because he had absolutely zero self-control around them. As evidenced by the now-empty container of leftover chocolate frosting that had been sitting in her fridge since she’d made cupcakes for Stevie’s birthday. Although, to be fair, it had served an additional use as a foreplay condiment. She’d never be able to look at cupcake toppings again without blushing.
She’d learned that he didn’t make his bed—something she already knew from that night at the cabin—but that he never left clothes lying on the floor. Well, he might have initially left them there, mostly because they’d been yanked off in the heat of—so much heat—but he routinely picked them up, his and hers, whenever he next left the bed.
She learned he would help with anything she asked him to do in the kitchen, but should never be left to his own devices on dinner prep. He had very different ideas from her as to the kinds of things that belonged together in the same pan. If it was a leftover, if was fair game. Conversely, he also made the fluffiest, tastiest scrambled eggs she’d ever eaten. Who knew using a food processor to whip eggs would create something so delicious? And he liked his toast one shade this side of burnt, which was exactly how she liked hers. Raspberry jam for her. Apple butter for him. He’d brought her a homemade jar of the sweet, brown spread, a gift from Addie, then gone through half of it himself. He’d promised her her own jar on his next trip.
About herself she’d learned that she liked having someone around who could open the raspberry jam jar without running it under scalding hot water for ten minutes, then threatening to smash it with a hammer. She’d learned that showers for two were, indeed, significantly more entertaining than showering alone, but she’d been right in assuming her water bill would not be getting any lower. And she was perfectly fine with that.
She’d learned that while the utter peace and quiet she’d come to treasure over the past nine or so months was still a balm to her soul, hearing him use his lovely baritone to sing eighties pop tunes was the perfect soundtrack when the silence started to feel oppressive rather than restorative. That he easily and quite wittily made up lyrics for the words he didn’t know, many of them delightfully bawdy, added tremendously to her enjoyment.
Most shocking of all, she also learned that after less than forty-eight hours of having him under her roof, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be as comfortable banging around in the place by herself again. Her mother had been larger than life and such a huge presence, in ways both good and bad, for so long, Sunny had honestly been concerned about her ability to live with anyone else, ever again. The soundtrack that had been life with her mother haunted the house, echoing from every room, every corner. She didn’t think any number of years would ever completely silence that echo.
She smiled now, thinking that after only two days with Sawyer, the kitchen would forever echo a terrible rendition of the Back Street Boys’ “I Want It That Way.” In the shower, it would be Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing,” which would also forever make her blush. And in the backyard, her mother’s sanctuary, her own sanctuary, it would be Frank Sinatra’s “It Had to Be You,” which he’d sung to her as they’d danced under the fairy lights. For that gift alone, she could have loved him forever.
But living with someone was about far more than singing down the ghosts of her past. She didn’t think she ever wanted to give up the sublime and treasured gift of being able to set her own schedule to suit her own needs, doing what she wanted, when she wanted, whether it be at six o’clock in the evening, or three o’clock in the morning. She didn’t have to set her clock to anyone’s medication schedule, or sleep with one eye open in case a medical machine buzzer went off.
She was at the kitchen counter, staring out the window into the backyard, rinsing off the last of their breakfast dishes so they could get on the road to Maryland, when he came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He had a habit of doing that, one she hoped he’d never break. He leaned down and nudged her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck, in that spot he already knew she loved most. It made her shiver in delight.
“The bags are packed and in the back of the Cooper.” He kissed her there again and she could feel him grin against her now-heated skin. “I even made the bed.”
“Racking up those brownie points,” she teased, smiling. “I approve.”
“I was hoping you could show me the brownie point redemption catalog later so I could pick out my prize.”
She laughed and leaned in to the warmth of him. Her eyes drifted closed and she thought, Then again, maybe even the biggest sacrifices were worth it.