October 6, Sunday

THE CRISP autumn air nipped at my cheeks as I scribbled away in my notebook, trying to capture the essence of my heroine's latest romantic misadventure. Nearby, Sawyer worked diligently on repairing yet another vandalized headstone, his strong hands moving with practiced ease.

The scratch of my pen and the gentle scrape of Sawyer's tools created a soothing melody, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of falling leaves. But the elephant in the graveyard was becoming too big to ignore.

Resolute, I set aside my notebook. "Sawyer." My voice sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet cemetery. "Can we talk?"

He looked up, a wary expression crossing his face. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath. "About the other night... do you regret it?"

Sawyer's hands stilled. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the repaired headstone. Finally, he shook his head. "No, Josephine. I don't regret it. Not at all."

Relief flooded through me, followed quickly by confusion as he continued, "But I don't think it should happen again."

"Oh," I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. "May I ask why?"

He stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I'm single for a good reason."

"Which is?"

Sawyer's eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought he might actually tell me. But then he looked away, his jaw clenching. "It's complicated. Let's just say I'm not good for anyone right now."

I wanted to press further, to unravel the mystery that was Sawyer King. But something in his expression held me back.

"I understand," I said softly, even though I didn't.

He nodded, seemingly relieved that I wasn't pushing the issue. But as he turned back to his work, I couldn't help but notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze kept flickering towards me when he thought I wasn't looking.

Despite his words, the chemistry between us was undeniable. It crackled in the air like static electricity, making my skin tingle whenever he came near. And I knew, with a certainty that surprised me, that Sawyer felt it too.

The sound of tires on gravel broke the charged silence between us. We both turned to see a sleek red convertible pulling up to the graveyard gates.

A curvy woman with a shock of vibrant red hair stepped out, her heels sinking slightly into the soft earth as she made her way towards us. She carried a professional-looking camera and had a notebook tucked under one arm.

"Hi there!" she called out cheerfully. "I'm Rainie Stephens from the Atlanta Journal-Constitution . I'm hoping you folks might be able to help me out with a story I'm working on."

I glanced at Sawyer, who had stiffened at the word "story." He stepped forward, offering a polite but reserved smile. "What kind of story?"

Rainie's eyes lit up. "A spooky one! With Halloween coming up, we're doing a feature on graveyards in the South. Detective Jack Terry is a friend. He mentioned this place might have some interesting tales to tell."

I felt a flutter of panic in my chest. The last thing we needed was more attention on the Whisper Graveyard, especially with Rose's empty grave still unexplained.

"I'm afraid there's not much to tell," Sawyer said, his voice casual. "We're just a small-town cemetery. Nothing spooky about that."

The woman angled her head. "But what about the recent vandalism? And I heard rumors about a disturbed grave—"

"Local mischief," Sawyer said easily. "We'd really rather not bring any more attention to the graveyard. We don't want to encourage tourists or thrill-seekers."

The reporter looked disappointed but nodded. "I understand. Mind if I at least take a few photos of the grounds?"

Sawyer hesitated. "We'd rather you didn't."

"But it's a public place, right? Just a couple of quick shots."

He relented with a nod.

She snapped a few photos, then gave a little wave. "Thanks."

Sawyer watched until she drove off, then glanced at his watch. "I should go, too."

My face must have registered disappointment because he hesitated. "I meant what I said, Josephine. It's not you—it's me."

I dipped my chin to acknowledge his words. Call me crazy, but I believed him.

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