Part 3 (2/2)
”Like Blue?”
She laughed and shook her head. ”A little worse than Blue. Kind of like lions protecting their den.” She squinted, thinking about how protective they were. ”Yeah, like that.”
”Or like older brothers protecting their only sister?” He kissed the back of her hand. She liked that he was so affectionate with her. ”It's cool. I respect that. My friend Brock has two younger sisters, and I'm probably about as protective of them as Blue is with you. But Brock? It sounds like he's more like your brothers. I think it comes with sibling territory.”
”Maybe. I adore them all, even if they're protective of me. But enough about me. What about you? Do you have siblings?”
”No. It's just me and my folks. I'm close with both of them, though. They're one of the few couples who have made it through thick and thin and still managed to stay happily married. I see them often, and I told you about my dad's illness, so I stick close to home. How about your parents? Are you close?”
She dropped her gaze as a familiar pang rattled inside her. They'd gotten so far off track from talking about the poem, but it had been a long time since she talked about anything other than frivolities that she didn't want to stop. And after hearing about his father, she felt they had even more in common, and she wanted to share that with him, too.
”My mom pa.s.sed away a few years ago.”
”I'm sorry.” He squeezed her hand. ”Were you close?”
”Very. When I was away at college we talked every week, and she'd send me the funniest cards and cookies and...” She swallowed past the thickening in her throat. ”Wow. I haven't talked about our relations.h.i.+p in ages. I had such a hard time when she pa.s.sed away, but I thought I'd moved past it. I didn't realize how emotional I still was over losing her.”
Most guys would probably fidget and change the subject, but Sawyer opened his arms and gathered her in close. He pressed his hand to the back of her head without saying a word, and it was exactly what she needed. She soaked in the comfort of his embrace and the thoughtfulness of his silence.
”Thank you for understanding,” she said, feeling mildly self-conscious. ”I'm sorry for being so emotional.”
”Don't be sorry for feeling something. That's the world's great separator-those who feel and react to their feelings and those who cower from them.”
”Sawyer...” She didn't know what she wanted to say, but everything he said touched her profoundly, as if he'd climbed into her head and taken notes about the way she saw things.
”Sorry. I know I have a strange view on things.” He set his hand on her leg and s.h.i.+fted his eyes to the brook.
She reached for his hand. ”If it's strange, then I'm strange, too, because it's exactly how I see things. I just worried that I was overwhelming you. You know...” She smiled and shrugged. ”TMI and all that.”
”After dealing with my father's illness, I've learned that there isn't much that can overwhelm me.” He held her gaze. ”And certainly not anything having to do with emotions.”
She sighed with relief. ”I've dated a few guys who didn't really get me.” She fidgeted with the edge of her s.h.i.+rt. ”From my choice of clothing to the way I live my life.”
”How's that?” he asked.
”Kind of like your father's 'Race of the Pebble' poem, I guess. Fluid beauty rus.h.i.+ng, rippling. Needful and overflowing. Not the beauty part, but feeling like I'm moving through life and accepting it as it comes, just sort of soaking it all in. I don't stress over what could be or over making a ten-year plan. I live life for now, and if I'm happy with what I'm doing and the people I'm spending my time with, then life is good. If I'm not, then I'll reevaluate.”
He touched her cheek and said, ”I know exactly what you mean, including the beauty part.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, and she felt the warmth of him flowing through her veins-and ached for another kiss.
When he gazed back at the brook, he said, ”You know how the herring are thick when they run upstream and they churn the brook as they jump the concrete steps toward the pond?”
There was something so soothing about his voice that it quieted Sky's desire for that kiss, filling another part of her-a part she couldn't pinpoint and hadn't realized was also longing to be touched.
”When my father was penning that poem, he said to me, Son-he always calls me that, never calls me by name-see more than others see. Be more than others are. You're too interesting to be single layered. Too many people go through life seeing only what they expect. They view life waiting to be heard, rather than listening and seeing what others do not.” Sawyer's eyes warmed as he turned toward Sky.
”He taught me how to accept everything, from my range of emotions to differing lifestyles and opinions. He looked beyond the miraculous way the herring managed to make their way upstream and saw the pebbles below that were being tossed and turned from the herring's movements. And he spoke of the pebbles as if they were alive. I think he taught me to think of everything that way-as if it were alive.”
He gazed up at the star-studded sky, and she saw his Adam's apple jump as he swallowed whatever memories made him grow silent.
”I promised you dinner. We should probably go.” He pulled her in close again.
He was more than a head taller than her, and with the moonlight at his back, he looked even more handsome than he had when she'd first seen him at Governor Bradford's. Sky knew it was because he'd shared so much of himself with her that his looks moved to the background and his emotions filled the s.p.a.ce between them. She'd never met a man who opened up so easily. She'd thought that she and Blue were as close as two friends could get, but it had taken a few weeks until they shared these types of intimate conversations-and even then they felt like they rode the surface compared to her conversation with Sawyer. She was a little overwhelmed by the sense of feeling like she knew him so well after just a few hours.
”Thank you,” he said, as he tipped her chin up and gazed into her eyes.
”For?”
”For reminding me of some of the best moments in my life. I hadn't forgotten them, but I hadn't revisited them in so long that I had almost forgotten how special they were.”
He drew her close again and held her. His heart beat against her cheek, and despite wanting to kiss him again and again and again, she reveled in this moment of closeness.
Chapter Four.
SAWYER AND SKY ordered lobster rolls at a walk-up restaurant on the Provincetown pier and ate while sitting on the beach. The sand was cool and the breeze coming off the water was brisk, but when Sawyer touched Sky's hand, her skin was warm. They talked for a long while, and he realized that they both enjoyed similar styles of music-ranging from Top 40 to country and jazz, and they both hated sauerkraut, mustard, and mullets, which they shared a laugh over as they lay back on the beach, their sides touching, and gazed up at the stars.
”Do you ever wonder how different your life might be if just one element had been altered?” Sky asked.
”Like if I hadn't gone into boxing?”
She turned to face him, her eyes wide. ”You're a boxer?”
”I didn't mention that?” Sawyer wasn't surprised that she didn't recognize him. Not just because she probably didn't follow boxing, but because he'd never accepted any offers for sponsors.h.i.+ps. The idea of having his face plastered over a billboard selling boxing equipment or pus.h.i.+ng certain clothing lines or energy drinks had always turned him off. Sponsors.h.i.+ps were for guys whose egos needed stroking. The only stroking Sawyer's ego required was done by his own compet.i.tive nature to be the best. Winning his boxing matches was all the notoriety he needed-and if it had come without a belt, he wouldn't have cared. He'd have trained just as hard, fought just as tough, to know in his own head that he was the best d.a.m.n fighter in his division. And it was that determination that would secure his father's financial future.
”No,” Sky said. ”I would have definitely remembered that.”
The distaste in her tone surprised him. Usually women went crazy over his career.
”I'm sorry if I didn't mention it.” He pushed up on one elbow so he could look into her beautiful, though wary, eyes.
”You actually get into a ring and punch people?” she asked. ”And they punch you?”
He smiled at the simplification. ”Yes, but it's really more than that.”
”Enlighten me,” she said, pus.h.i.+ng up on her elbow so they were eye to eye.
”I take it you're not a fan?” He reached for her hand to see how far she was withdrawing, and thankfully, she laid her hand in his.
”I don't love the idea of fighting,” she said. ”But to think that you willingly do it? Let's just say I'm curious, but not a fan, no.”
”When I was a kid, I was in organized sports. Pee-wee football, soccer, baseball. And as I got older I was frustrated because the bottom line of winning or losing was out of my control. I wanted something where winning or losing came down to my own skills. My own drive and determination. My dad traveled a lot when I was younger, and my mom was busy, and I went searching...”
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