He rounded the small table and sat across from her.
Paxton gazed out over the street, idly stirring the straw poking out of her iced tea. “It’s a pretty day,” she said.
“Yeah,” Sawyer agreed. He looked up at the cloudless sky. “Maybe we’ll finally have a day without rain.”
“At least the rain showers haven’t been too heavy.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Are we really talking about the weather?”
She brought her gaze to his. “It seems like the safest topic. Anything else will probably turn into a fight.”
Sawyer’s eyes slid shut. He tipped his head back and released an aggravated sigh. “It doesn’t have to be that way, Paxton. For the most part last week was peaceful. Why can’t we go back to that?”
“You don’t get to ask that question, not when you are the one responsible for creating the chaos.”
“Okay, first of all, chaos is a bit over the top. I made an observation, a valid one. I refuse to back down when it comes to the surveyors. You need to trust me on this one, Paxton. The very least you can do is consult with the engineering team at Bolt-Myer. Let them know my concerns and see what they think.”
She sat upright in her chair. “I—”
“Okay, here we go,” Shayla said, arriving at their tables with her hands full. She set the first plate in front of Sawyer. “One caprese with extra basil.” She turned to Paxton. “And one roast beef po’boy with a bag of chips. I’m out of those butter pickles you love so much,” she said. “I forgot to order additional jars from Mrs. Blackwell before she went out of town. I’ll give you two spears the next time you’re here.”
Shayla’s eyes darted between Paxton and Sawyer. “Um, is everything okay?” she asked.
“It’s fine.”
“Yes.”
“I totally believe you both,” Shayla drawled. “And I just won the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. That blue van should pull up any minute now.”
“Shayla, please just leave it alone,” Paxton told her. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Fine,” Shayla said, giving Paxton a look that implied that they would certainly talk later. Maybe once Shayla got the full story about whatever was going on, she could clue Sawyer in. Just like old times.
He’d never admitted to Shayla how he felt about her best friend back when they were in high school, but Sawyer had always seen her as an ally. She was smart, and unlike Paxton, who had never been able to see past that giant chip on her shoulder, he knew that Shayla could tell that his interest had been real.
She probably thought he was pathetic as hell to still seek out Paxton’s attention after all these years, especially if she knew about that night he and Paxton had spent together, and how she had subsequently left him without a word. She had to know about their one-night stand. Girls talked. Especially girlfriends who were as tight as Shayla and Paxton.
Maybe if he could convince Shayla to petition her on his behalf, maybe then he could convince Paxton to look beyond that image of him that she’d created in her own mind—a spoiled rich guy. Something he’d never been in his life. Sure, his family had money, but Sawyer had never flaunted it. His parents had raised him to be more humble than that.
Paxton’s image of him was of her own making. Maybe if she took the time to really see him—the real him—she would like what she saw.
Or maybe he was just kidding himself.
After all, they weren’t in high school anymore. He couldn’t rely on Shayla to help him win the girl.
But he had to do something. Sawyer refused to believe all was lost. He knew Paxton felt something for him—something other than scorn, or even worse, indifference. He’d felt it that night; he saw it even now when she looked at him. Those times when she forgot to raise her guard, when she allowed that shield to fall and gave him a glimpse of her softer, sweeter side. That’s when he knew that she was worth the fight.
“Paxton—” he started, but she cut him off.
“Can we just not talk about work right now?” she said. “I don’t want to argue.”
“And you think I do?”
She looked at him. “No, I know you don’t. It’s just...easier.”
“It’s easier to argue with me?”
She studied him. “Yes,” she said. “I know it isn’t fair, but...” Her voice trailed off as she shrugged and reached for her tea. She took the lemon wedge and shook off the excess tea before sticking it between her lips and sucking.
Sawyer was hit with a tidal wave of longing so strong he nearly drowned. He was broadsided with memories of the last time he’d witnessed her do that very thing.
It was the night he’d walked into Harlon’s bar, hoping to find refuge from one of the shittiest days of his life at the bottom of a shot glass. It had been the second time in his life that Sawyer had entered the bar. Hell, he could probably count the number of times he’d driven out to Landreaux on one hand.
But that night he had needed solace and solitude, so he’d made the drive across the creek, because he figured no one would bother him. He hadn’t counted on seeing Paxton there, because by that time he’d come to terms with the idea of there never being anything between him and the girl he’d pined for throughout his adolescence. In fact, Sawyer had forgotten that she occasionally still worked at the bar.
She must have sensed his pain that night, because instead of ignoring him, she’d made a point to check in on him several times. And when he’d begged her to not let him drink alone, she’d broken her own rule of drinking while on the job, poured herself a shot of tequila and sucked hard on a lemon after downing it.
Sawyer’s eyes zeroed in on her mouth as she sat across from him right now, and his body ached as he remembered the magic those lips had worked on him later that night. The way she’d trailed her delicious tongue along his body, and how he had reciprocated in kind, licking his way up and down her smooth skin, sweetly tasting every inch of her.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Stop...remembering.”
He knew he wasn’t the only one affected. He knew it.
“How many times this past week have you thought about that night?” Sawyer asked her.
“I haven’t.”
“Liar.”
She tossed the lemon wedge onto her plate. “It’s this damn lemon,” she said. “You weren’t thinking about that night until I sucked on it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Pax. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about it—not just this past week, but for the past three years.”
Disbelief was evident in the look she tossed his way.
“Are you saying that you haven’t thought about it the last three years?” he asked her. She remained silent, but he caught the stiffening of her jaw.
Sawyer huffed out a gruff laugh. Shaking his head, he said, “Telling yourself that you’re not affected doesn’t make it true, Paxton. It’s just a form of lying to yourself.”
She tore her eyes from his, choosing instead to stare at the building across the street. “Sometimes lying to yourself is a good thing,” she said. “It’s self-preservation.”
“So you’d rather lie to yourself than face the truth of what happened between us? Do you really think it’s realistic to ignore it?”
Frustration saturated the heavy sigh she blew out. She returned her eyes to his, a mixture of annoyance and pleading resting in their hazel depths. “Sawyer, we’ve been over this.”
“No, we haven’t. I’ve tried to bring it up, but you won’t discuss it.”
“Because there’s nothing to discuss.”
“Paxton, we—”
“We spent the night together. One night. That’s all it was, Sawyer. I’m over it.”
* * *
It was difficult to ignore the h
urt that flashed across Sawyer’s face, but Paxton knew it was for the best. Acknowledging that her words had the ability to hurt him would require her to acknowledge that there actually was more than just sex between them, and she wasn’t willing to do that.
His strong jaw was rigid with tension, frown lines bracketing his mouth. His stony gaze held a hint of mockery.
“I guess you think I should just get over it, too,” he said, his lips tilting in a cynical smile.
“Sawyer—” Paxton started, but she stopped before she could apologize.
This is what she wanted. She wanted him to get over it and not bring up that night ever again. Because while he may have thought it was a night of shared passion, for her it represented something entirely different.
It was one of the most selfish acts she’d ever committed.
She’d used him that night. Selfishly. Unrepentantly.
She had known he was hurting that night. It had been visible on every part of his face. Paxton had been floored to even see him in her part of town. The only people who tended to hang out in Landreaux were the people who lived there. Paxton was hoping that would change when her mother’s new and improved bar officially reopened tonight, but realistically there was nothing else in Landreaux to entice people who lived in the southern portion of Gauthier to cross the creek.
But Sawyer had come out to her neck of the woods that night three years ago. He’d told her that he’d just returned from the hospice care facility in Slidell where he had brought his father.
His voice had held so much hurt as he shared that it was the step he had dreaded since the moment the doctors told him his father’s cancer was terminal. He’d gone through the same with his mother back when they were in high school, and Paxton remembered that period when his normally smiling face had been drawn and distant. The golden boy had lost a bit of his usual luster.
Like it had for his mother many years prior, moving into hospice care had signaled the final stage for his father.
Paxton had taken pity on him. How could she not when she could see how much he was hurting?
She’d served him one drink and then another. Then she’d joined him at the end of the bar after he’d begged her to do so. Paxton had promised one quick drink before she had to go back to work, but it had been a slow night at Harlon’s, and most of the patrons were regulars who didn’t require constant attention.
She and Sawyer had shared a drink, and they’d talked. She’d leaned on the bar and talked to him for more than two hours in an attempt to get his mind off his troubles. Then she’d offered to drive him home, to the huge house he’d grown up in on Elm Street in the heart of Gauthier. A home she used to stare at with longing, wondering what it looked like on the inside.
Once there, Paxton’s well-meaning generosity had taken a backseat to her selfishness. Forgetting that she was there to help him, she’d decided to help herself to the one man she’d always longed for.
She’d taken advantage of him that night, preying on his vulnerable state of mind and finally fulfilling her fantasy. It had been everything she’d expected and more, but when she’d awakened the following morning, Paxton had been so ashamed that she could hardly stand to look at herself in the mirror.
All she had to do was reverse their roles to realize how disgusting her actions had been. If it were Belinda she had just taken to hospice care, and Sawyer had used her in that way, she would despise him for it. He just didn’t realize that he should feel that same way about her.
As she looked at him across the table right now, Paxton felt a pang of the same guilt she’d felt the morning following their one-night stand. She’d hurt him again with her lie—because God knew she was not over sleeping with him.
Picking up bits of potato chip crumbs from the table with the pad of her finger, she cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”
His brow rose. “Did you snap?”
“You know what I mean, Sawyer. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
He rested his forearm on the table and leaned forward. “You just told me that you’re over sleeping with me. Tell me how that wouldn’t sound harsh to any man?” he asked, his deep voice edged with tension.
“Sawyer—”
“But here’s the thing,” he continued. “I don’t believe a word of it. You’re no more over that night than I am.” His voice dropped to panty-melting depths. “You think about it when we’re in that conference room together, with nothing but that table separating us.”
A rumble of panic coursed through her at the thought of him seeing past the facade she took such care in maintaining. Paxton steeled herself against the truth of his words and summoned the most cynical look she could muster.
“That ego of yours is astounding,” she said with a sneer.
“Cut the crap,” Sawyer said. “This has nothing to do with ego.” He edged even closer toward her. “I don’t believe it when you say you’re over that night because I was there, Pax, and I remember every single time you screamed my name. I remember how it felt when you clawed at my back, how you locked your legs around my waist. How your thighs felt against my face.”
She squeezed her legs together and tried her hardest not to whimper with the want slowly spreading through her bloodstream.
Sawyer sat back in his chair and lazily twirled his straw around his glass of iced tea.
“I don’t care what line you try to feed me. I won’t believe it,” Sawyer said. “You may regret that it happened, but I’ll be damned if you’re over it.”
Paxton closed her eyes. When she opened them again, he was still staring at her with that look that said he saw right through her.
“I just want to know why you left,” he said. “Just tell me why you walked out that morning, and I’ll drop it.”
Paxton studied her hands for several heartbeats before returning her gaze to his and handing him the lamest excuse in the world.
“I realized it was a mistake,” she said. “Can we please just leave it at that? Please, Sawyer. We have three more weeks of working together. Please don’t make this uncomfortable for me.”
The intensity in his stare singed her skin, but thankfully he didn’t comment further.
A moment later, Shayla showed up at their table balancing a tray on her hip.
“I hope you two are staying for the homecoming parade,” she said as she removed their empty plates. “It started at the high school twenty minutes ago. It should reach Main Street in the next five minutes or so. The sheriff will be closing the road soon.”
“Oh, no.” Paxton pushed away from the table. “We need to get back to the other side of the street before it’s blocked off.”
“Why don’t we just stay and watch the parade?” Sawyer said in a deceptively cool voice. “It’s not as if either of us will be able to concentrate on work with all the noise anyway.”
“He’s right,” Shayla said.
Yes, he was. And, honestly, Paxton wasn’t ready to return to the confines of that tiny conference room with him anytime soon, not with the tension still pulsing between them.
“Stay right where you are,” Shayla said. “You two have the best seats in the house.”
As if Shayla’s statement had heralded it in, the faint sound of drums began to fill the air around them. The patrons who had been eating lunch inside the Jazzy Bean, along with others pouring out of the surrounding businesses, began to line the sidewalk. Moments later, the Gauthier High School marching band’s drum major high-stepped her way down the street, her knees nearly reaching her chest.
As people crowded around their table, Paxton and Sawyer both stood.
She chanced a glance his way and found him staring at her.
She sent him a plea with her eyes, silently begging him to drop the issue of their one-night stand. She wanted the
m to return to that companionable atmosphere they’d discovered over the past seven days.
Paxton’s limbs went weak with relief when she saw the faint accepting smile ghost across his lips.
Thank God.
Paxton turned her focus to the parade, which had finally reached them. It was hard not to be sucked in by the excitement of it all. The marching band led the way, dressed in their green-and-white uniforms, their freshly polished instruments reflecting the brilliant sun that finally shone through the clouds after a week of overcast skies and off-and-on rain showers.
The dance team and pom-pom squad followed the band, and in a truck right behind them was the cheerleading squad. The double cab was decorated with garland made out of crepe paper, balloons tied to the antennae and poster boards proclaiming that the Gauthier Fighting Lions would beat the Maplesville Mustangs taped to the doors and side panels.
Members of the homecoming court followed the cheerleaders, each in their own car. Paxton discovered that the trend these days was to rent fancy convertibles for the parade. Someone had even rented a bright yellow Lamborghini.
The stars of the homecoming parade were, as always, the members of the Gauthier High School football team. Like the cheerleaders, they rode in the back of several pickup trucks, all wearing their football jerseys sans shoulder pads.
Nathan Robottom, who stood alongside them, pointed out his grandson, who was a varsity wide receiver and who was already being recruited by several division one colleges in Louisiana and Mississippi.
As she watched the squad toss Mardi Gras beads, candies and Moon Pies to the mass of people now crowding the sidewalks, Paxton waded through an odd sea of annoyed nostalgia.
On one hand she was charmed by this unique slice of small-town living that was the hallmark of places like Gauthier, but standing there, watching the revelry and the reverence paid to the football players and cheerleaders brought her back to her unsettling high school days. When it came to things like homecoming and pep rallies, Paxton had always felt as if she was on the outside looking in.
She glanced over at Sawyer. The smile on his face stretched from one end to the other as he caught a small plush lion that one of the football players had thrown his way. He handed it to Mya Anderson, who had come out of Claudette’s Beauty Salon with her two young daughters in tow.
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