Last First Kiss (15 page)

Chapter Eighteen

T
HE
BLOCK
OF
tofu sat on the counter. After he washed his hands he’d poked it once, and the damn thing quivered. How the hell was he supposed to cook this? The grill was his kingdom, where he reigned as lord and master. That pale beige cube threatened to bring him to his knees.

But this was what Annie ate, what she liked. And he needed to show her he could make space for her in his life.

He reached for his phone and tapped in “best easy tofu recipe.” The first hit was from a blog. If it ranked that high, it must be good. He clicked on the link and then froze. Annie’s face stared back at him.

Musings of a Mighty Mama?

This must be her blog, the one she made offhand references to. He sat in a stool in his kitchen and read. And read. Until he realized the clock was closer to six than five and he had to fix things quickly.

A
LIGHT
RAIN
fell as Annie walked up the front path, gripping Atticus’s hand. Sawyer’s house was strong and simple, like the man himself. All the lines looked exact, the kind of place that stayed cool in summer and snug in winter, with a roof that would never tilt in strange and unexpected directions.

“Welcome,” he said, opening the door in anticipation of their arrival. Maverick stuck his head out and gave a friendly bark in greeting.

Atticus covered his ears with his hands, cowering behind her legs. “No dogs!”

She gave Sawyer an apologetic look. “He’s afraid of dogs.”

“Righto.” Sawyer looked between the boy and the dog before giving a low whistle. “You stay upstairs for now, boy.”

“I’m sorry,” Annie said. Atticus never said why he didn’t like dogs, and he only ever shrugged if she asked.

“Not a problem.” The dog followed Sawyer obediently from the room.

Low fiddle music played on surround-sound speakers and the stone fireplace was dark on account of summer, but those large overstuffed couches before it would be cozy come winter.

Sawyer returned. “Make yourself at home.”

Funny, she already felt that way. “Your house is lovely.”

“I should give you the tour. Still have bits and pieces to finish off but it’s come around.”

“You built this place?”

“I had help here and there, but the work’s mostly mine.”

“That’s impressive.”
And so hot.
A threaded needle stabbed through her heart, drawing the broken pieces together. Here was a guy who knew how to build, to pull things together, and to grow, creating beauty in the process.

“First, I need to check on dinner.”

“Smells good,” she said, following him into the kitchen. Atticus stayed behind to play with a wooden kaleidoscope positioned on the coffee table.

“I hope so.” The way he looked, moving around the kitchen . . . He was such a man, there was no other way to describe it. Testosterone practically wafted off him, but yet he wore a purple oven mitt with—wait, what did that say?

Kiss the cook.

He must have heard her chuckle. “What is it?”

“Admiring your glove.”

He glanced down at it, his cheeks reddening. “I won it in a raffle last year. The color’s not my favorite, but I’m confident in my manhood.”

You said “manhood.”
Apparently she was a dirty-minded seventh-grader.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?” she asked.

“Sure thing, down the hall on the right.”

She got in and shut the door, leaning against it while fanning her face. This room wasn’t going to do wonders for her nerves either. The claw-foot tub promised all sorts of wicked delights.

She went to the sink, running water over her wrists to try to cool down.
You are fine. You are fine. Don’t explode.

She walked out and froze in the kitchen doorway as he withdrew a baking pan from the oven. “Is that—”

“Tofu.”

“Wait.” Was she hallucinating? “You? Sawyer Kane? Baked tofu?”

He shrugged. “Don’t get excited until you see how it tastes.”

“Okay, sorry, but for real, that’s so . . . cute.”

He threw her a side glance, tilting his head a fraction. “Soy cute?”

“Oh my God, stop.” She leaned back, resting her elbows on the counter. “It’s not fair if you’re punny too.” Just like that the panic subsided. How could she be nervous around this guy? It was Sawyer. Her Sawyer. The guy she’d known for forever and a day.

He picked up a fork and cut a piece, spearing it on the tines. “Tell me how it tastes. No way could I put that in my mouth.”

“You’re missing out.”

He advanced, holding out the fork. “I’ll live vicariously.”

She opened her mouth and he paused, lifting it to his lips and blowing softly. “There, better,” he said, offering it to her.

She took the cooled bite and chewed. “Good, really good.”

He tugged her hips flush to him and kissed her forehead. “Remind you of anything?”

The flavor was familiar. “Actually, it tastes like something I make a lot.”

He gave a satisfied grin. “Means I did it right.”

“I don’t understand.”

“
Musings of a Mighty Mama
. I never knew anyone who wrote about their life for strangers.” He kept her against him. “Don’t wiggle, you. I’m not judging, I’m trying to understand. You’re a good writer.”

She quit trying to get away. “You think so?”

“Hell yes. Me? I can barely string two sentences together.”

“You do fine with me.”

“I know, that’s the thing of it.”

“What?”

“With you, hard things come easy.” He kissed her forehead, his lips fastening against the wrinkles in her brow, smoothing away the worry. “I liked your blog. It’s you, at least in part.”

She sighed. Where’d that come from? The sound came heavy, weighted with worry.

“Why don’t you take this wine and sit.” He handed her a glass. “I’ll call in Atticus and fix the plates.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever let you go.” She meant it as a joke, but it didn’t feel anywhere close to funny.

He flashed a private smile, grabbing a stack of dishes. “When I built this house, I took my time and my patience paid off.”

The honeyed wood, the balance of airy floorplan and cozy mountain cottage—yeah, he’d made a perfect home. “I agree.”

“I’m starving.” Atticus wandered into the kitchen as Sawyer finished setting the table.

“Grab a seat, I’ll serve you right up,” he said.

When was the last time someone had done this? Made her dinner with wine and bright flowers?

The answer, never, didn’t hurt like it should, because now someone had.

“So . . . champ, what’s the deal between you and dogs?” Sawyer asked after Atticus demolished half his burger.

He ducked his head. “One chased me.”

“When?” Annie asked, surprised. She’d never seen a dog go after Atticus.

“At the playground by our old house,” Atticus muttered. “Dad was on the phone and one ran after me. I climbed up the slide, but it barked so loud. It wanted to bite my head off.”

“Oh, honey—” Annie set her fork down, her heart squeezing.

“Would you mind meeting my friend, Maverick?” Sawyer asked in his easy way. “He looks big, but the only thing he ever wants to bite is a bone.”

Atticus giggled even though his features remained tense. “I don’t know.”

“How about this,” Sawyer said. “I’ll put him on a leash, and he can show you his tricks.”

“Your dog can do tricks?”

“A few.”

“Okay,” Atticus said, looking more curious than afraid.

Sawyer gave Annie a wink and left the room, returning a minute later with the German Shepherd on a leash.

“Why don’t you tell Maverick to have good manners at the table and sit. Use a strong voice.”

“Sit,” Atticus ordered, and Maverick immediately obeyed.

“Nice job.” Sawyer gave an approving nod. “Now, Maverick hasn’t gotten a chance to meet you yet. How about you ask him to shake your hand?”

Atticus giggled before saying, “Shake.” The dog lifted his paw, and Annie pressed a hand over her heart when Atticus slowly reached out and brushed it, only for a second, but still. Her little guy faced down his fear with Sawyer’s help.

The rest of dinner went smoothly. Sawyer caught on that asking questions opened Atticus up.

“You like the Giants?”

“They aren’t real,” Atticus said automatically, giving Annie an uncertain glance. “Right?”

“I meant the baseball team,” Sawyer said.

Annie shrugged with a rueful laugh. “Apparently the rule is teach them what you know. Baseball doesn’t fit in my wheelhouse.”

Sawyer sat back in his chair. “Looks like I’m going to need to stage an intervention. So, you’ve never thrown the ball around?”

“Nope.”

“Do you own a glove or bat?”

Atticus shook his head, hiding his bashful smile behind a sip of his water.

“You disapprove?” Annie asked Sawyer.

“No,” he said after swallowing. “But I think I could help out this situation.”

And as Annie glanced between Sawyer to Atticus, currently staring at the man with open fascination, something told her he could do exactly that.

Chapter Nineteen

“W
ENT
FOR
A
ride?” Archer sauntered into the barn as Sawyer removed Ranger’s saddle, giving the stock horse an affectionate pat on the haunches. His younger brother had a bachelor pad apartment upstairs, but he wasn’t home much.

“Looks like it.” Sawyer took off the saddle blanket. What was Archer up to? Usually he was too busy hanging at the bar with friends or chasing skirts to spend time at Hidden Rock.

“Okay, smart ass.” Archer leaned against the wall, uncorking a flask.

“Drinking before noon is one thing,” Sawyer said, furrowing his brow as he checked the horse’s hooves. His brother needed to start taking life more seriously. It wasn’t one big party. “Drinking before nine is another animal all together.”

Archer raised it up. “It’s water. I don’t have another bottle.”

“Really? That’s a surprise,” Sawyer muttered, glancing up when Archer kicked a hay bale with sudden force.

“Everyone thinks they know me, but no one ever takes the time to see who I really am.”

Sawyer straightened at that, tilting back his hat to wipe his forehead. “What the hell do you think I see?”

“A screwup,” Archer snapped defensively. “Only good for having fun.”

Sawyer hooked his thumbs under his belt. “Not true.” That was all his brother did, but he was smart, had a good head for figures and the natural charisma of a leader. He could do anything he put his mind to, if he’d only try.

“Hey, I know where I fit in the Kane brother pecking order. Wilder, he’s the bad ass. And you? Well, shit. You’re you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The good guy.” Archer hooked a hand around the back of his neck. “Aw hell. Look, I’m not trying to dump my crap on you.”

“Hey, I’m family, means you have a year-round dumping license.”

“Nah. It’s all good.” He took another slug of water.

“I do think you like fun.” Sawyer weighed his words carefully. His brother hadn’t ever approached him for any sort of heart to heart before. He didn’t want to squander the opportunity. “But I also think you want to stay in the shallows, that you’re afraid of going out deeper.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” Archer bristled.

Something had crawled up his ass, but what?

“Suit yourself.” Sawyer hung the saddle on the peg. “I’m afraid of lots of things.” If he wanted Arch to be honest, he’d best be honest too.

“You?” Archer braced his hand on a stable door. “What are you afraid of, Big Man?”

“Women, mostly,” Sawyer said wryly. One tiny, pixie-haired woman in particular.

“That’s the truth.” Archer gave him a tentative glance. “I’ve got one that scares the shit out of me.”

“That right?” Archer had never looked this shaken up over anyone from the opposite sex.

Archer shook his head. “Enough about me. What’s the story with you and Annie Carson?”

Sawyer stilled. “What do you mean?”

“So it’s true then?” Archer whistled low. “When I first saw her back in town, I wondered if you’d make a move. Took Grandma to confirm it. She’s got one hell of a bee in her bonnet this morning.”

Shit.
“So she knows?”

“I guess she watched Annie and her little boy leave last night.”

Sawyer resisted the urge to face-palm. Grandma had spied on him? Why should that be a surprise? Of course she did.

“Got to say,” Archer said, “I’m not seeing great things coming from this situation.”

“The feud stops with me,” Sawyer responded firmly. “And if you say a thing about Kooky—”

“I’m not talking about any of that. You know I don’t give a shit.”

“I invited a neighbor to dinner. Her son has never ridden a horse, he’s never even thrown a ball around, Arch.”

“So that’s it then, you’re going to play daddy? Be the hero?” Archer looked skeptical.

Sawyer made a warning note in the back of his throat. “You can talk out your ass with your friends all you want, but don’t ever say a fucking word sideways about Annie or her son.”

“I’m not.” Archer threw up his hands. “Jesus, man, listen to yourself. I might like the shallows, but you’re in over your head.”

Sawyer watered the horse. Archer had no idea how deep he’d gone.

He hadn’t made love to Annie yet, even though the wait might actually kill him. On more than a few occasions in life he’d sported a pair of blue balls, but never this bad, to where it caused physical pain and kept him on the sweet edge of anticipation.

Sure, he’d had plenty of sex, even sex he’d thought was love. But that was a pale imitation, a shadow on the wall, flickering but not real.

“Remember she’s leaving.” Archer’s cautionary tone returned Sawyer to the present.

He hated his brother’s words. They hit him with a sudden wallop, the way the truth often does. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

The whole reason he held off taking their relationship more physical was for the same reason Archer said. Annie had never given an indication she’d stay. But—

“I saw her yesterday.” Archer gave a sad smile. “Downtown at King Realty. After I left Haute Coffee, Five Diamonds was listed in the window. For a pretty price too.”

Sawyer swallowed thickly, saying nothing. It was all he had at the moment so it seemed about right. He wasn’t making any headway in convincing Annie to stay, and time was running out. What would happen if he failed? San Francisco wasn’t on the other side of the country. Still, seven hours by car was serious long-distance.

“You’ve had it bad for that girl a long time. Maybe—”

“Don’t.” Sawyer held a warning hand. “Don’t tell me to have fun with her.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Archer said, eyes darkening. “If you want her to stay, lay it all on the line. But be careful, okay? As much as I’d like to see you get the girl, I don’t want you getting hurt either.”

Sawyer swung out his hand and Archer clasped it back.

“Thanks, man,” he said, pulling back, but not before giving Archer a playful cuff on the chin. “When did you get wise?”

“By learning from my mistakes,” Archer said with a sheepish smile. He turned, walking out with a whistle.

A
NNIE
MADE
YET
another trip to the small Mammoth airport. This time, Atticus was off to meet Gregor and Margot. They’d go to Disneyland and then visit Gregor’s mother in San Diego, a stoic Czech woman who never really acknowledged Annie and would probably never notice she wasn’t there.

“Are you getting excited, honey?” Annie asked, kneeling in front of her son, already holding the flight attendant’s hand, his pink cast covered in black scribbles. “Ninja marks” he called them.

“Will Ursula be there?” he asked again nervously.

All he knew about Disney was
The Little Mermaid
DVD she’d found in her old bedroom. She tried sharing it with him and he nearly had a stroke when the sea witch sang about poor unfortunate souls.

“Nah, you’ll meet Mickey and Minnie.”

“Those are the big mice,” he repeated, liking everything categorized. Ordered.

He was so different than she’d been at his age, more cautious, wanting to label things.

Maybe she’d been a bad influence, too much helicopter parenting when he should be out climbing trees, chasing garter snakes, and going fishing in the big hole along the river. Instead he stayed close to home. She felt better having him near, but also guilty that she wasn’t letting him free range. He didn’t ask to roam because he knew what she’d say. “Let me come with you.”

And now, here she was doing an action that felt unnatural to her core. Letting him get on a plane, alone with strangers, and fly to Los Angeles where his father would meet him.

“All right, big boy, we’ve got to get up in the sky,” the stewardess said.

The yellow button pinned to his t-shirt read, “Unaccompanied Minor.”

Maybe she should go back to the ticketing desk. She didn’t have much money but could fly with him and then hop a plane home.

“Your first time doing this, Mama?” the flight attendant asked with a friendly smile.

Annie nodded. Why couldn’t she return the smile? Probably because her heart was breaking.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him. You like apple juice, big man?”

“Uh . . . ” He glanced at Annie. “I’m not allowed to drink juice.”

“Go ahead, it’s a special occasion.” Annie ignored the strange look from the flight attendant. Juice was basically sugar water, but maybe the kid could have a taste once in a blue moon. It wasn’t as if he survived on Wonder Bread and gummy bears.

“Love you, Mommy.”

She kissed her two fingers and held them out to him.

“I love you more.”

And then the flight attendant led him up the gangway and he was gone.

Annie stood there alone, the crazy crying lady in the airport. She collapsed in a hard plastic chair and watched the plane push back from the gate. She didn’t move until the buzzing engine faded over the mountains.

When she left the airport there was no one to hold hands with. When she crossed the street she didn’t have to remind anyone to look both ways. When she got to the car no one needed buckling up.

She adjusted the review mirror and stared at herself.

This was the first time in five years she’d been alone. Who was she if she wasn’t a mother?

“Hi, Annie,” she said, looking at the stranger. “I’m Annie.”

And she didn’t know the first thing to do with herself.