Chapter 22

Reece

I don't think I can deny my attraction to Sawyer anymore. It's Monday morning and I'm getting ready for work. Suddenly, I care about the way I look. How my clothes fit. If my hair is set the right way.

At work, Sawyer and I chop wood alongside each other, but I can't look at him half the time. It helps, I suppose, that he seems distracted too.

At lunch, it's just the two of us because the rest of the guys went to check out a new food truck that started up just down the dirt road. Sawyer's lunch is made up of mashed potatoes and pork chops. I have French fries and a burger I picked up from Al's Diner last night, and a box of mini apple pies I got from Dotty's this morning.

Sawyer's head is buried in his phone, and he eats absently. I scoop French fries into his container and when he finds them there his head jerks in my direction.

Finally, he's looking at me. He picks up a fry and puts it in his mouth. "Thank you," he says, but nothing more than that, so I shove the box of apple pies into his lap.

Now, he has to look at me again. Damn his fucking phone. Talk to me . I want to yell it in his face, but when he does, I wish he hadn't.

"If you had a second chance with Asher, would you take it?"

It comes out of nowhere, so it's reasonable that I feel a little like I've been hit by a bus. "Uh—"

That's all I've got for him.

I assess his face trying to find the reason for this question. He gives nothing away and I want to straddle his lap and tell him that if I had a second chance with his husband I would take it in a heartbeat and then I would die of guilt because I want him too. And in the end, the answer is no. No, I won't accept a second chance with Asher because Asher is his and I could never hurt him like that.

Sawyer leans forward. I can smell his cologne. Maybe it's Asher's cologne and he just borrowed it today. Maybe they had sex this morning and the smell is not just cologne. Maybe it's cologne and sex. "Would you?" he asks.

"Not when he belongs to someone else," I say tightly because all the things I want to say are at the tip of my tongue but I'll never, ever utter them. But this – this answer is an honest one. Sawyer is kind and lovely and wonderful, and I don't want to lie to him, even about this.

"But the fact remains. You'd take the chance if you could."

"Yes," I breathe. "But not under the current circumstances." And because his approval of me is as important as Asher's once was, I beg and plead for him to understand. "I swear to you, Sawyer. I don't have any ulterior motives. It's true I'll always love Asher. He was my best friend. But I'm not going to come between you two."

"You won't come between us? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I almost shout out the answer. "Have I given the impression that I'm not trustworthy?" I ask, unable to keep the panic from my voice. My secret vile thoughts have nothing to do with reality, I keep telling myself. As long as they remain in that place where no one can ever know, I can fight for a friendship with this man who has accepted me into his life without hesitation.

"No. That's not it."

"Then what, Sawyer? Please tell me." I'm becoming desperate.

His eyes are trained on my lips. My stomach dips. My mouth dries up. My breath whooshes out of my body. What the fuck is going on here?

"Why don't you come over for dinner this weekend?"

"What?" That doesn't make any sense. I cast my eyes around, making sure we're still far enough away from everyone else.

"Yeah. You said you're not here to come between me and Asher. So, why not? Besides, it's your birthday on Saturday, isn't it? You shouldn't be alone on your birthday."

I have a feeling I should decline, but I can't. I want to be in their home. I want to be with them. I want to watch them and imagine the things they do when they're together.

We hardly talk the rest of the week, working mostly in silence. Aside from the cordial good morning greeting, we don't say much to each other.

I don't know what's going on. Despite not having any actual conversations, we're . . . connected in some way. At times, it's like he can't keep his eyes off me and at other times, you can't get him to look at me. Then, when he asks for the diameter tape, his fingers graze mine, lingering longer than is necessary.

Saturday can't come fast enough.

I insisted I'll take a cab, but Sawyer just hung up after telling me Asher will be picking me up.

Now, I'm in my living room biting my nails and acting like I'm being fetched for my wedding.

When Asher arrives, it only makes sense to invite him into the apartment. He hasn't seen where I live.

"Hi," I say like an idiot when I open the door.

"Hi. Happy birthday."

"Thank you." I don't feel like celebrating my birthday. It hasn't been much of a life so far. "Do you want to come in for a minute? I can show you my place." My nerves are working overtime.

Asher smiles, but his gaze is watchful. I thought I would give anything in this world to go back and change the past. To do something, anything, that guaranteed that it was me he ended up with. But it makes so much sense that he should be with Sawyer that I can no longer wish for such things.

"Sure," he says.

I step aside to let him in. "It isn't much," I say, spreading my hands out around the small combination kitchen, dining and living area. "This is about it. With one bedroom and one bathroom and a small balcony. Do you want to see?"

His eyes don't leave my face. "Yes."

I lead the way to the balcony. "This is it."

"It's nice. I like it."

Asher's approval makes me want to float away on a cloud. I always loved impressing him. "You sure?" I ask, like I used to.

"I'm sure," he answers like he used to.

The balcony is small so we have to stand close together. I smell the same cologne on him that I did on Sawyer earlier this week.

I . . . love that they smell the same.

Shaking my head, I ask, "Can I get you something to drink? And you shouldn't have had to come all this way. I could've taken a cab."

He follows me back into the apartment.

"I have soda. Is that okay?"

"Soda's fine. And I wanted to pick you up. Don't worry about it."

I grab a soda from the fridge and pour it into a glass. Asher takes a sip and then holds it out to me. I look at him, confused.

"We used to share soda all the time. It was our thing," he says.

"You remember?" My heart is a jackhammer in my chest.

Asher's eyes soften. "Of course, I remember. I remember everything, Reece." He steps closer, pushing the glass into my hand. "Drink," he says.

I drink, pushing aside all my wayward thoughts and reminding myself that this is not just Asher. This is Sawyer's husband.

Ten minutes later, we're in his car, on our way to their place.

"How's work?" he asks.

He must just be making small talk. "It's good. I really enjoy it."

I try not to look at him. If I do, I might stare, and I can't cross any boundaries.

"You like working with Sawyer?"

"Yeah, I do. I've learned a lot from him. He's a good teacher. And a good person."

You can't miss the pride in Asher's face. "Yeah, he's a great guy."

"You chose well, Asher. You really did."

"He's everything to me, Reece. But I'll never forget what we had."

A minute ago, I did everything I could not to look at him too much. Now, I can't keep my eyes off him.

"We would've still been together if your father hadn't sent my family away."

My eyeballs almost fall out of my face. Where did that come from?

He glances over at me. "I'll always love you, Reece. You were my best friend."

Somehow, I find the courage to respond truthfully. "I'll always love you too, Ash. Not just as a best friend."

Our eyes lock, and it's a good thing that he's stopped at a red light. His eyes drop to my mouth. A slew of thoughts fly into my head. I would give anything to be able to kiss him again. I would give anything to fucking kiss his husband. And I don't know what's going on right now at this red light, but Asher is looking at me like he wants to kiss me.

That's fucking cheating . Asher isn't like that. And neither am I. What the fuck am I thinking?

I force my gaze away from him. "Thank you for inviting me for dinner," I say. Anything to break this awkward moment.

"You're welcome. Sawyer suggested it. He . . . likes you."

I clear my throat. Is this the part where I say that I like him too? Because wouldn't that be the whole fucking truth.

The ride isn't that long, and in no time we're pulling up outside their house.

I am overcome by an unfamiliar excitement.