Last First Kiss (Brightwater #1)

by Lia Riley

  Love,

  Annie

  And here she was, almost two decades later, ready to let it all go. But the fact was, even if she wanted to stay, and she wasn’t positive if she did, Five Diamonds wasn’t hers to keep. Claire and her dad were both on the deed, and they said sell.

  She glanced to the strange little dog, but it was gone, having disappeared without a sound. They’d have to keep an eye out. It could be lost, or a stray, or maybe a wanderer from one of the surrounding properties.

  She closed the lid and tucked it back beneath the board, then walked to the house under an invisible weight. When wistfulness knotted her throat, she swallowed it away.

  She was a mom and couldn’t dream young Annie’s impossible dreams, not anymore. She wasn’t the free-spirited girl who ran around this farm in tutus and yellow rubber boots, but a grown woman with a practical plan to move her son closer to family and focus on growing her career.

  She walked into the kitchen as Claire hung up the phone. “That was Hank over at King Realty.”

  “Oh yeah?” Annie folded her arms. How much did her sister miss their life here, the simple way things used to be, before adulthood had complicated everything?

  “Good news. The house isn’t officially listed and already they have eight expressions of interest. We stand to make a fortune.”

  “Sounds great.” Annie walked to the cookie jar and peered inside. Crud. Only crumbs remained. At least she could do some baking for distraction.

  “Good walk earlier?” Claire said, unable to keep a straight face.

  Annie’s cheeks warmed. “Yeah, it was nice.”

  “Nice?” Claire snickered, hoisting herself up onto one of the counters. “You looked like you’d been with a one-eyed trouser snake.”

  “Claire—Jesus!” Annie burst out laughing despite herself. “I am going to miss you. Can’t you stay longer?”

  “I wish. I’ll miss you too, Lil’ Bit.” Claire’s face turned serious. “But promise me this—once Atticus is off on his little adventure, you won’t wallow.”

  Atticus? Annie started. Claire was right. In forty-eight hours her son would depart for a Disneyland vacation with Gregor and Margot. Annie had never spent more than a day without him. Didn’t have the first idea how she’d pass the time. Maybe researching San Francisco real estate? Writing a resume?

  Her former self would be aghast that they were selling the farm. Maybe she’d gotten older, but had she really grown any wiser?

  ANNIE PULLED IN front of the small regional airport. “You sure we can’t get out and walk you in?”

  “No way, this is easier. I hate goodbyes.” Claire turned and blew a kiss to Atticus. “Be cool, little man.”

  He pretended to catch the kiss and flashed a thumbs-up.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking—about Brightwater,” Claire said, pushing open the car door. “It’s getting pretty cool, isn’t it?”

  “There are a bunch of cute new shops popping up around Main Street,” Annie replied cautiously, not sure where her sister was going with the conversation.

  “You seem at home here.”

  “I do?” Annie pushed up her sunglasses.

  “I know we’re selling and everything, but I don’t know . . . ”

  “What?” Annie demanded. “What don’t you know?”

  “This trip has given me a lot to think about.” Claire banged the roof of the car. “I’ll see you around, sister.”

  “Wait, but our plan still stands right? Atticus and I moving to San Francisco? Be neighbors? You’ll dominate the world of food trucks, while I take on the Internet?” Claire made her feel safe in the way only a best girlfriend/sister/ninja could.

  “Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans, Lil’ Bit.” Claire threw her arms over her head. “Remember, take some time to find your joy.”

  Annie shook her head. “Call me when you land, okay?”

  “Will do. Love you.”

  “You too.” Annie blew her a kiss, laughing, and drove out of the airport, making her way back toward Brightwater. She passed a ramshackle roadhouse, dry volcanic landscape, and seemingly unscalable mountains.

  How could Claire say Annie seemed at home in this wild, harsh climate? And as for Sawyer, a summer fling was one thing, but seasons had a funny way of always changing.

  A siren sounded and she looked up. Lights flashed behind her.

  What the heck? She’d been going the speed limit, under actually, and obeying all traffic laws—oh my. . .

  Sawyer climbed out of the patrol car and she knocked the back of her head against the seat. Objects in the rearview are closer than they appear and he looked close enough to lick. She glanced beside her. The Five Diamonds real estate advertisement from King Realty lay on the passenger seat. On impulse, she flipped the page over before Sawyer reached her window.

  “Mama, why are you shaking your wrists?” Atticus piped up from the backseat.

  Shoot, she was actually wringing her hands. It wasn’t that selling the property was a big state secret. Sawyer knew her plan. The problem was, the two of them were also playing make-believe, as if there wasn’t a clock counting down above them, and she wasn’t ready to quit that game.

  The gravel crunch grew louder and then there he was. His aviator glasses hid his gaze as he peered into her driver’s side window, scruffy jaw and all.

  “Sheriff,” she croaked, less sultry than she’d prefer.

  “Miss Carson.” Sawyer’s mouth crooked as he ran a thumb under her chin. “You’re under arrest for being too damn cute.”

  “Hey, do you carry a gun?” Atticus called out.

  She sucked in a breath, trying to recalibrate as he said, “Yeah, I do.”

  “For killing bad guys?”

  “Atticus,” Annie said, turning around. “That’s a little bloodthirsty, don’t you—”

  “No, I haven’t killed any bad guys.”

  “Maybe one?” Atticus sounded hopeful.

  “Not even one.” He glanced between them. “So, about my dinner invite. I was wondering if you’d both like to come around to my place this evening?”

  “Your place.” Everywhere she looked would be Sawyer. Sawyer smells. Things Sawyer liked.

  “Yeah, it ain’t fancy, but it’s home.”

  “What will you make?” Atticus cut to the chase.

  “What do you like?” Sawyer responded.

  “Not kale soup.”

  “Kale what?” Sawyer squashed his brow in confusion, dismay, or maybe a combination of both.

  “Puke soup.”

  Annie pursed her lips. “He’s not a fan.”

  “Can’t say I blame him.” He cocked his head at Atticus. “How about a burger?”

  “A hamburger. Or . . . or . . . one with cheese?”

  “However you like it, champ. I’ll even throw in fries.”

  “Yes!” Atticus kicked out his feet in delight.

  “Sound good?” he said to her, expression quizzical.

  “I . . . ” She fiddled with the radio dial. “I actually don’t eat meat.”

  “Really?” Sawyer kept his voice neutral. How Switzerland of him. “What about fish?”

  She pointed at her face. “Nothing that has one of these.”

  He shook his head with a low, rumbling chuckle. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Do you have a time in mind?”

  “Any time is Annie Time.”

  Why did that phrase swell her heart like helium? “Six, then?”

  “Sounds good.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before walking back to the car.

  “Mommy?” Atticus asked, jamming his foot into the back of her seat as she resumed driving.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you love Sheriff Sawyer?”

  The engine revve
d and she eased her foot off the clutch. “What makes you ask that?”

  “Whenever you see him you smile.”

  “Do I?” She mentally raced through explanations and arrived at the most simple. “I guess he makes me happy.”

  “That’s good. I like you happy.” He fell back into silence, absorbed in the comic he’d brought along for the car ride.

  Annie’s whisper was quiet. Only for herself really. “I like me happy too.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  THE 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 f
riend, 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.”