He opened his mouth to argue, but paused when a voice called from the foyer.
“Anybody home?”
Toni’s shout echoed through the house. “Shamus!”
Isadora returned to peeling potatoes as Shamus walked in with Toni at his heels. Lucian greeted him and her hands slipped when she heard another familiar voice.
Ignoring the slice she’d nicked out of her thumb, she drew in a staggering breath only to be swathed in disappointment as a younger version of Sawyer entered the kitchen.
Piercing blue eyes met hers. “Happy Thanksgiving, Isa.”
Covering her frustration and giving herself a quick reality check, she smiled and wrapped a paper towel around her bleeding thumb. “Happy Thanksgiving, Slade. You too, Shamus.”
“What are we making?” Shamus asked, sidling behind the island and lifting the various foil coverings off the dishes set along the counter.
She offered a description of the menu and then they fell into small talk. There was something magical about the way the three boys laughed, sharing years of inside jokes and unguarded ease with one another.
When Slade bumped Lucian’s shoulder with his and gave his head a shove, she suffered a pinch of envy. Her brother rarely let people get that close to him, yet these boys managed to break down his walls.
“How’s your father, Slade?” The words left her mouth before she had the chance to consider if that was a strange question for her to ask.
“He’s good. I worry about him being all alone in the house now that I’m away, but he says he’s glad to have me gone.” There was laughter in his eyes, eyes so familiar in shape and shade.
“What are you two doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Same as we always do, heading into the city for dinner. Then I’ll probably go out with the guys and he’ll likely go home to watch reruns of NCIS .”
“You should come here for dinner.”
Lucian turned, his dark eyes questioning, but not really suspicious.
Trying to sound casual, she explained, “I don’t see why the two of you should have to travel all the way to the city to eat in some restaurant when we have plenty of room at our table.”
“Thanks. I’ll run it by him and see what he says.”
The conversation shifted, her presence already forgotten as they moved on to plans for the current evening. Isadora wanted to remind Slade to be sure he asked Sawyer about dinner tomorrow, but that seemed pushy and might draw suspicions. For the rest of the night she obsessed over the possibility of seeing him again.
After only a few hours of sleep, she found herself back in the kitchen, preheating the oven and readying the bird. While it was her goal to have a nice home cooked meal for her family, it now became imperative that everything be perfect.
As she bathed and dressed two things became clear. If Sawyer showed up he might not touch her. She accepted that and would make do, because the other possibility was that he wouldn’t come at all and her disappointment would be enough to spoil the entire holiday.
By two o’clock the table was dressed. Toni continued to walk around the house on the phone, telling redundant stories to anyone who would listen about how immature a boy in her class was.
Lucian appeared in the dining room and gave a slow whistle as he spotted the table. “Wow, I didn’t know you had this sort of domestication in you, Isa.”
“Does it look all right? It’s not too much?” She fussed with the napkin rings that she’d crafted out of hot glue and silk foliage.
“Yeah, it looks great. But why all the fuss? It’s just us.”
She stilled, a painful ache forming in her belly. “Are Slade and his father not coming?”
“I don’t know. He probably forgot to ask.”
“Why don’t you call them?”
“I would, but Toni has the phone attached to her head.”
Uncharacteristically frazzled, she went to the door and saw her sister plopped on a chair in the library on the other side of the foyer. “Toni, get off the phone. It’s Thanksgiving and you’ve been at it all morning. Give it a rest and go get dressed for dinner.”
She scoffed. “It’s only two o’clock and what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
“It’s a holiday. You should look nice.”
Her sister frowned and continued her conversation, making some snide comment about nagging grown-ups not understanding today’s fashion.
Returning to the dining room table, Isadora brushed a hand over her brow, startled to find it slightly damp.
“Hey, Isa, take a breath,” Lucian said, noting her fatigue. “Everything looks great. Sit down and relax.”
But she couldn’t relax. Once she’d extended the invitation to the Bishops everything seemed so much more important. She’d waited three months to hear from Sawyer without a word. And now, with the boys home from college, she had an excuse to see him again and was determined to get an explanation for his absence.
She wasn’t sure what she wanted more, to see him or to hear why he hadn’t called. The fading chance to have either undermined every bit of calm she’d established over the past twelve weeks.
Turning back to the library, she snapped, “Toni, hang up the phone!” She faced her brother. “I’m going upstairs for a few minutes. Find out if they’re coming, because if not I have too many plates on the table.”
Leaving him with a confused expression she retreated to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. Her eyes closed as she fought for equilibrium. What the heck was wrong with her? She was waspish and emotional, and behaving nothing like herself.
Sitting on her bed, she stared at the carpet, waiting for the tension in her shoulders to ease. It seemed even the deepest breath couldn’t penetrate the barrier between her common sense and her anxiety.
It aggravated her that a man could make her so unbalanced. She’d been fine, accepting that he wasn’t going to call until she saw Slade and found out Sawyer was doing nothing more than sitting home every night watching reruns. Now her little crush—or whatever this was—had bubbled up and erupted out of control. She had to do something about it, but she couldn’t do anything until she was able to look him in the eye and demand an explanation.
She deserved something . Her aggravation only multiplied when she admitted Sawyer wasn’t just any man, but a man she’d known her entire life. A man she trusted. A man who didn’t have the courtesy to call!
Enough was enough. Sawyer needed to come to dinner. She needed to see him again so she could understand what the heck was going on. If he came and nothing happened then that would be the end. She would not pine her days away for a man who didn’t want her. She was not her mother.
And if he didn’t come… Once the boys were back at school she would drive to his house and confront him. He might be a coward, but she’d be damned if she’d scare so easily. Ridiculous!
Once she composed herself, she returned downstairs. Toni was wearing a dress Isadora couldn’t discern the color of, but it looked nicer than what she’d had on before. Lucian was watching television.
“Did you call?” she asked, as she nosed through the bar for a complimentary bottle of wine.
“Yes. I told them four o’clock. Is that good?”
She turned, her breath suddenly reaching her lungs. “They’re coming?”
Lucian nodded. “That’s what you wanted, I thought.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s good. Four o’clock will be fine.”
Over the next hour, she dressed the hors d’oeuvre platters with centerfold worthy garnish and set the sides in the spare oven to keep warm. The doorbell rang at precisely four o’clock and her mind scrambled.
Removing her apron, she checked her reflection in the window and adjusted the straps of her bra. She’d worn a dark sheath dress with a pale cardigan. Out of necessity, her hair was twisted into a chignon at her nape.
Voices carried from the foyer and her heart thundered wildly in her chest. Should she greet them? Act busy with the fo
od preparations? Perhaps offer them a drink or pour one for herself?
Before she could decide, the door to the kitchen swung open and Lucian walked in, Slade on his heels.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she greeted, her smile a bit shaky. Was there a misunderstanding? He was supposed to ask his—
Sawyer’s tall form appeared and her breath skittered out of her lungs. He was as handsome as ever in a cable knit crewneck sweater sewn of what looked like soft blue. It brought out the shade of his eyes. Yes, she was pretty sure it was blue.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” he greeted, placing a bottle of wine on the counter.
The boys disappeared into the dining room where she’d set out the appetizers. She remained frozen in place, unable to utter a sound or break her stare as she looked into those intense eyes.
“I considered bringing scotch, but after last time … everything I had on hand would have been an affront to our palates.”
As he mentioned their last encounter she realized how much she’d feared he wouldn’t. The knot in her chest eased and she smiled. “Thank you for the wine.”
“Thanks for inviting us. It’s been a long time since we had a home cooked holiday meal.”
“Well,” she responded excitedly. “This is my first. I was hoping to make it as traditional as possible, but we’ll see.”
She looked at him, a thousand questions running through her head, but suddenly she’d lost the nerve to ask a single one. Where have you been? Why haven’t you called? How could you just leave me wondering like that? Didn’t you like being with me? Did I do something wrong?
Everything inside of her seemed to jump and bounce too fast for her frame to hold still, so she opened the spare oven and reached to remove the stuffing. “Ouch!” The hot dish clattered against the oven rack.
Sawyer rounded the counter as she cradled her singed fingers to her chest and cursed herself for being so scattered.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s fine. They’ve been warming for the past hour. I should have expected the dishes to still be hot.”
“Let me see.” He carefully extricated her fingers from the clutch of her hand and examined the tips.
He was so close she could see the grain of his beard, the coarse hairs waiting to grow along his jaw and form a shadow by evening. He had a small freckle by his right temple. Thick black lashes fringed his piercing eyes as they studied her fingertips.
Her heart beat with clumsy thumps behind her ribs as she breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, so recognizable the fragrance triggered some sort of accelerated arousal in her body. Her clothing was suddenly an irritant and she had the urge to strip as if she were on fire.
“I think you’ll live,” he whispered, sparing her a teasing smile. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss on the pads of her fingers.
She studied him, a deep urge to climb onto him and wrap her limbs around his strong hips. But there was also the urge to slap him. Looking away, she searched for an oven mitt.
But when her hand pulled, he tightened his grip. She glanced back at him questioningly, hoping to read something in his expression that might tell her what he was thinking. She held his gaze he slowly released his hold. Coward!
Flustered, she said, “Dinner should be ready in a few minutes. Why don’t you pour yourself a glass of wine?”
“Can I get something for you?”
Yes, an explanation would help, then you can get undressed and meet me in my bed. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
He waited with the men at the table as she and Toni carried the last of the dishes to the dining room. Lucian carved the turkey with inexperienced flare and Sawyer offered a toast.
“I’m grateful to be spending the holiday with good friends. Everything looks delicious, Isadora. Thank you, again, for inviting us.” When he spoke, especially the word delicious, his gaze seemed to devour her, though no one else appeared to notice, so maybe she was hallucinating.
The side dishes were wonderful, though the turkey turned out dryer than she’d hoped. The men helped themselves to seconds and several bottles of wine were emptied.
It occurred to her that their father hadn’t called. Perhaps, being that Thanksgiving was an American holiday, it slipped his mind all the way over in Europe. The thought niggled, but didn’t consume her as it once would have. If anything, she was irritated on Lucian and Toni’s behalf.
“Can I sleep over at Liz’s?”
Isadora’s thoughts of withdrawn family evaporated. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“So?”
“So I’m sure Liz is doing stuff with her family.”
“Only dinner at her aunt’s. She asked, and her mom said it was okay. Lucian’s going out.”
“Lucian’s an adult,” she diplomatically pointed out.
“God.” Toni shoved her fork across the table. “I’m never allowed to do anything.”
Before she could comment on her sister’s rude manners Lucian spoke. “Antoinette. Apologize. If Isa says no then the answer’s no. Don’t argue.”
Taken aback by her brother’s mature intervention, she stared at her sister. Sawyer and Slade remained silent, waiting for the awkward family moment to pass.
“Sorry, Isa,” Toni mumbled.
Her instant apology was another shock. Though it was a holiday, it was also the start of a long, much-needed weekend. “If Liz’s mother said yes, then I suppose it’s fine, but I have a lot to clean up. You’ll have to get a ride.”
“Lucian can drop me off.”
“Oh, can I?” their brother asked, voice thick with sarcasm. “Fine, but you have to help Isadora with the dishes first.”
“Deal.”
Who were these people?
Once everyone seemed pleased with the terms, the easy conversation continued. As the meal concluded, Isadora found it difficult to look in Sawyer’s general direction.
The men retired to the den where a football game played on the television. Toni dutifully helped her clear the table and wrap the leftovers.
“There’s so much food left. We should take it somewhere.”
“Where?” Toni asked, making quick work of returning the serving trays to the hutch.
Isadora shrugged. “Maybe a shelter?” She wasn’t sure if leftovers were an acceptable donation to food pantries. She’d look into that for Christmas. Sawyer was somehow tied to the board at St. Christopher’s. Maybe he’d know.
Once the kitchen was clean and the dishes were all put away it was dark. Lucian returned with a fresh shirt and a look of masculine intent glimmering in his dark eyes. “You ready, brat?”
“Yeah. Let me get my bag.”
Toni disappeared and Isadora sighed. “Thanks for taking her.”
“No problem. You have plans tonight?”
She laughed. “I’ll probably read for a split second, then pass out.”
“You should come out with us.”
She frowned. “Where are you going?”
“A club in Folsom.”
“An underage club?”
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Isa. Be real.”
“I don’t want you drinking and driving.”
“I’m not. I’m just driving to Slade’s and the city, then we’ll probably end up staying overnight at Patras.”
She groaned, lectures of safe sex dancing in the forefront of her mind. Not that she was one to talk. “Be safe, please .”
“I will. I promise.”
Toni appeared with her bag and Lucian withdrew his keys. Slade and Sawyer appeared and the tightness she’d suffered over the past few months returned with a vengeance. He was leaving.
“Thanks again,” Slade said, slipping on his coat. Sawyer echoed his gratitude, but made no move to hug or kiss her goodbye.
“You’re welcome. If you aren’t busy for Christmas…” Feeling stupid, she let her words drift off.
In a flurry of keys, coats and goodbyes, she watched them shuffle through the front door and sta
red silently as the taillights disappeared into the dark night. A vacant ache formed in her chest.
“Alone again,” she whispered, shutting off the front lights.
As she replayed the night she tried to figure out what this meant. Was he done with her? There was that moment in the kitchen and a few smoldering looks across the dinner table, but nothing concrete. He didn’t even casually kiss her goodbye.
Disappointed that this was probably the end and she’d worked herself up for nothing, she slid into bed. Her book rested on the nightstand with little appeal. Maybe Lucian was right. Maybe she should start going out.
She was embarrassing herself holding out hope for Sawyer—even if no one knew what she was doing. She needed to get a life. It was pretty sad that her eleven-year-old sister had a more exciting social life.
The chime of the doorbell startled her. Breath stilled in her lungs. Swallowing hard, she stared at the ceiling waiting to hear it again and a little alarmed, because no one visited at this time of night. If she was imagining doorbells she was going to the doctor tomorrow.
Another ring and she sprang out of bed, racing out of her room. Her heart so desperately wanted it to be Sawyer, but more than anything she swallowed back a hint of terror that something might have happened to Lucian or Toni. A hundred horrible scenarios raced through her head as she rushed to the front door.
Her feet carried her swiftly across the foyer as she tied her robe, but her hand hesitated on the front lock. Flipping on the porch light, she eased to her toes and checked the peephole.
All her fear washed away, replaced by some unnamable emotion teetering between relief and distrust. Sawyer…
Her breath caught at the sight of him and her mind snagged on unwanted scenarios—break up conversations, explanations she didn’t want to hear. Flipping the deadbolt with shaky fingers, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Intense eyes flashed in the glimmer of the porch light, as her chest seemed to fill with helium.
He gave a quick, somewhat telling grin and she sensed his uncertainty. A reoccurring mantra whispered through her mind... We don’t have to end this…
Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1) Page 7