Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

RACE ACROSS TOWN – Wherein the hero has to catch their love interest before they get on a train or plane or walk down the aisle to someone decidedly Not Them.

S awyer awoke to the sound of knocking on her door.

Loud, insistent knocking.

“Miss Greene?”

She blinked awake blearily, staring up at the ceiling. Her neck protested at the odd angle she’d slept in. On the couch. Again. Because she’d stayed up too late trying and failing to write, not because she wanted to sleep on her couch because it smelled like Mason and she hadn’t heard from him since their fight and she was up in arms about it. Because she wasn’t. She was fine.

“Miss Greene?”

More knocking.

Sawyer jolted up, moving her laptop out of her lap and onto the coffee table before heading for the door. She avoided looking in any reflective surfaces, only bothering to wipe the crust of sleep from her eyes because her right one was half sealed shut.

Opening the door, she jumped back at the stranger awaiting her. She wasn’t sure whom she expected—certainly no one who knew her had any misconceptions about her being a “miss.”

To his credit, the teenager on her doorstep barely reacted to her very high level of disheveled, keeping his attention respectfully locked on her face after a quick assessment. “Your dress, ma’am.”

He extended a massive garment bag to her, and she took it automatically, her tongue in knots. She recognized the soft cursive logo of Celia’s boutique on the upper right corner of the bag. Fuck. Was today New Year’s Eve?

She couldn’t accept this dress, not now. Mason was done with her. Done with their list, done putting up with her shit—as she knew he inevitably would be.

“Ms. Celia also sent you this.”

She blinked up at the young boy, taking the small black bag with black-and-white-striped tissue paper.

“Have a good day, Miss Greene.”

He was three steps away before her tongue unstuck.

“I can’t accept this,” she blurted.

He turned, seeming to curl in on himself. “I just get paid to deliver things, ma’am. I don’t handle returns.”

His posture alone told her that he’d had to deal with more than his fair share of awful customers, so she simply nodded and thanked him before closing the door. She’d figure out what to do with the dress later, hanging it carefully in her front closet. The tiny gift bag hung from her finger, and she made to loop it over the hanger, when curiosity got the best of her.

As she tugged the tissue paper free, a small card fell out. Retrieving it from the floor, she slid her finger under the seal to open it, her hands shaking, though she wasn’t sure why. She had felt mildly sick the past two days.

Dear Sawyer,

This came into the store yesterday, and I couldn’t think of a more perfect match for it than your dress.

Give Mason my love,

xx Celia

Gently, she pulled the elaborate gold chains from the bag, flipping them over to study the diagram on the back. Hair jewelry. Rich people could adorn anything. Only, unlike vajazzling, she was kinda into this. She could picture the delicate gold interwoven with the updo Celia had taught her how to do in the dressing room. It was a shame she couldn’t wear it.

Her chest felt tight, much like it had the past two days. Her whole body ached like she’d jumped out of a moving vehicle and rolled for miles. She’d taken her temperature, but nothing. She didn’t have a cough or a fever, just unending nausea and lack of energy.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, and she rushed over, disappointment clogging her throat that it wasn’t Mason.

Not that she was waiting to hear from him or anything.

“Hi, Lily,” she sighed, sinking back into her couch. A waft of eau de Mason floated up from the cushions, enveloping her in its musky, spicy scent. It was truly a wonder how ingrained it was, though at this point it might be a side effect of whatever illness she had. Delusional scents or something. She’d looked it up online, but that only led her down a rabbit hole of obscure diseases that all meant she was dying.

“Wow,” Lily said brusquely. “You don’t answer my texts and then you answer my call like the Grim Reaper himself is phoning you.”

“Sorry,” Sawyer groaned, lying sideways so she could nuzzle her face into a Mason-scented pillow. Not that that was why she was doing it. “I’ve felt like shit the past two days.”

“Oh no,” Lily said sympathetically. “Are you okay? Anything I can do?”

Sawyer shrugged at the ceiling. “No. Don’t worry, I’ll rally by tomorrow.”

“Good.” She could feel Lily’s beaming smile on the other end of the line. “We’re so excited to host you and Mason tomorrow.”

Sawyer’s stomach bottomed out like she was about to have a violent bout of diarrhea. She’d been so focused on beating her writer’s block, she’d forgotten Lily had wrangled Mason into attending hangover brunch. “Oh, uh, about that. Mason and I, uh, I dunno, we’re, like, done?”

The noise Lily made could only be described as the human version of a record scratch. “Say what now?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Sawyer sighed, before launching into the whole story anyway.

Lily listened in such complete silence that Sawyer had to check more than once that the call hadn’t dropped. The longer she spoke, her words became more rambling, less a clinical retelling of what happened and more a downward spiral. She thought she’d finally found her rhythm. But when Mason threw her that curveball, she hadn’t known what to do. It was easier to stick to what she knew, what was working. It would be less painful, she’d thought, to just let that one ball drop than to try to juggle it all and risk dropping everything. But dropping Mason… she still wasn’t sure whether he was glass or plastic.

“Everything was going great, and then Horny Sawyer took over and ruined everything. I really care about him, Lils. I want him to be happy so badly it’s painful. Is that normal? I—”

Lily snorted, and it was so unexpected that Sawyer’s rambling cut off immediately.

“What?”

“Yeah, Sawyer, it’s normal. I think there’s a word for it, hold on. Hey, hon.” She raised her voice, calling across their apartment. She heard the answering grunt from Beau. “What’s the word for when you really care about someone and their happiness and also want to fuck them on a consistent basis?”

She didn’t hear Beau’s response.

“No, I can’t say that,” Lily replied. “That’ll give Sawyer heart palpitations.”

Another muffled reply from Beau.

“No, she’s not actually having heart palpitations, she’s just having feelings .”

“I hate you,” Sawyer mumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Lily said matter-of-factly. “Sawyer, you know what this is, right?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, so she said nothing, but Lily wasn’t easily deterred.

“You’re acting just like you did when Sadie left.”

“I didn’t know you then,” she protested feebly.

“No,” Lily agreed. “But you told me all about it that night we each had a bottle of wine. How you thought you had the flu for two months, but really you were heartbroken. Though I’m sure this is only a cold, because you couldn’t possibly be heartbroken now. The two of you were just friends, right?”

“Right,” Sawyer agreed, not trusting the innocent affect Lily was putting on. It was like Lily had heard all the thoughts Sawyer had left unsaid and was calling her out on it.

“So,” Lily continued. “Stop moping. You haven’t lost Mason. He just doesn’t want to sleep with you if things are purely platonic, which is fair of him. But also, yeah, I understand your need to mourn your vagina’s loss because the man is—” She let out a low whistle.

Somewhere in the background, Beau said, “ Hey .”

“Sorry, babe, I mean it in a purely clinical way,” she called back. “I told you Sawyer banged the guy from Diagnostics , right?”

As Lily and Beau went back and forth on which character Mason was—“No, Dr. Santiago. Remember, he was dating the ER nurse and then the actors started dating and everyone lost their minds?”—their conversation grew muffled, Lily presumably pressing the speaker to her chest. Sawyer stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as her fragmented thoughts aligned.

Kara. Mason. The cast party. Mason was going to have to see Kara for the first time since their breakup, since finding out she was engaged to the guy she’d started seeing while they were “on a break.” Not only would he have to see her, but he’d have to smile and congratulate her on her engagement, most likely shake the hand of her fiancé. That was why he hadn’t wanted to go alone. And now he was, because of her.

Sawyer sat up straight, staring at her reflection in the window. She was vaguely aware Lily was talking to her again, but she pulled the phone from her ear, checking the time. Five o’clock. The plan had been for her and Mason to get dinner before the party. She desperately needed to shower, so there was no way she’d make it to the restaurant in time for their six o’clock reservation, but maybe she could catch him before he left for the party.

She wasn’t sure if he’d want her to go with him, after everything, but she was going to try . She wasn’t going to hide out and pout because he’d set his own boundaries, same as her. She didn’t have time to be anyone’s girlfriend. He didn’t know how to be casual. Despite it all, before they’d given in to their libidos, they’d been good at being friends. Sawyer didn’t take that lightly. She didn’t have many people in her life she could count on. What they had was special—and worth fighting for. Even if there was a small part of her—a small part that was growing steadily less small—that wanted more, she was going to be there for her friend.

“Sawyer? Did you hear me? We’ve got plenty of champagne and charcuterie and would love for you to come over.”

She inhaled sharply. “Sorry—wait, that’s right. It’s your anniversary. What are you doing calling me? Go celebrate!”

“Oh, we have. We celebrated this morning when we woke up. And again after breakfast. Probably gonna celebrate some more—”

“Okay,” Sawyer cut her off. “I got it.”

Lily let out one of her trademark cackles. “My point is, come over. Spend the night and we’ll have hangover brunch tomorrow morning once we’re all functional enough to cook without burning down the place.”

Sawyer shook her head. “Maybe. But first, I got a party to crash.”

Lily gasped. “You’re gonna crash his party?”

“Er, no, it just sounded cool. I’m gonna try to talk to Mason—before the party, try to smooth things over and save our friendship. And maybe go to the party with him, if he wants me to. If not, I’m going to be very overdressed for a night of Netflix and cheese.”

Lily squealed. “This is just like the end of a rom-com.”

Closing her eyes for patience, Sawyer took a deep breath. “This is not that. Just a friend going to support a friend, okay?”

“Sure,” Lily said dubiously. “But it’s also okay if you want to be more than friends. Y’know, just floating the thought.”

“I don’t have time for a relationship right now,” Sawyer reminded her.

Lily snorted. “Clearly, you do. You’re basically already in one.”

Sawyer’s mouth clamped shut, unsure how to respond. Sinking back into the pillows, she sighed. “Even if I had time for a relationship right now—which I don’t—it doesn’t matter. He’s moving to LA soon, remember?”

Lily made a noise of intrigue. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she laughed breathlessly. I thought I was talking to Sawyer Greene, Little Miss Short-Term Low-Commitment Only. The sex must be fantastic if he’s got you daydreaming about a future.”

“I’m not—”

“Be happy, Sawyer,” Lily interrupted, firmly but not without softness. “He makes you happy, I know he does. Date him, don’t date him, whatever, but for the love of God just let yourself be happy, babe.”

“And when it blows up in my face?” she countered.

Lily groaned. “What if it doesn’t?” When Sawyer didn’t reply, Lily plowed on, voice softer. “I know you’re worried about it all imploding like last time. But answer me this: How much have you written in the past month?”

Sawyer rattled off her latest word count without having to think, the number tied to her mental well-being in a way that she was well aware was unhealthy.

“And how much have you written since your lovers’ quarrel with Mason?”

“Barely anything,” Sawyer admitted on a heavy exhale.

“I rest my case,” Lily said triumphantly. “He’s good for you. I haven’t seen you live this much in a long time, babe. So go get ’em.”

Sawyer’s lips puckered in frustration, Lily calling her on her shit the way only Lily could. “Okay, well, I gotta get ready. I’llseeyoutomorrowbye!”

Sawyer washed her hair and shaved her legs faster than she ever had in her life, alternating between yelling at her blow-dryer to “do better!” and murmuring sweet encouragements as it feebly blew barely warm air. She applied foundation all over her face, creating a blank canvas that always made her look like Leatherface until she painted and contoured her features back on.

She was racing against the clock, turning her phone over and refusing to look at it after her hand started shaking so badly she had to redo her dark red lipstick twice.

She allowed herself to peep at the time once her makeup was done, her heart dropping when she saw it was a quarter past six. She hadn’t realized she’d been hoping Mason would call, asking why she was late to dinner, until the time came and went with no word from him. She wanted to sink to the floor, wrap her arms around herself, and cry. Instead, she tightened the knot around her robe, as if it could hold her together as she finished getting ready.

She hurried to grab the dress from the front hall, spinning a roll of boob tape around her finger as she went. A knock sounded at the door and she jumped in surprise, boob tape flying across the entryway. She watched it roll away under her end table, before diverting her attention back to the door, heart in her throat.

It wasn’t Mason. It was a neighbor or something. She tried to quell the frantic jump of her pulse, but it was no use. She wanted it to be Mason with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. But she knew it wasn’t going to be him. People didn’t just show up at other people’s doors as much as One Tree Hill wanted you to believe. Never mind she was planning on doing exactly that with Mason—but they had a predetermined meetup, so this was different . Definitely not a rom-com-worthy grand gesture, no matter what Lily purported.

Stretching up on her tiptoes, Sawyer peered out the peephole. A strangled noise escaped her, one hand already on the lock, the other on the doorknob, practically ripping the door off its hinges in her enthusiasm.

Mason was wearing the same black coat he’d worn on Christmas, with burgundy slacks underneath. The fact that he’d worn the suit Celia told him to because it would complement her best made her heart constrict. He’d styled his hair, and while she missed the unruly curls that flipped out around his ears, she had to admit he looked handsome. If she were wearing panties, she would have dropped them.

Mason smirked at the sight of her robe, the one he’d worn for his “modesty” while she washed his muddy lumberjack clothes. “I know I’m supposed to be staying out of the tabloids, but I really do think we need People to decide: Who wore it better?”

“You, obviously,” she said automatically.

He grinned, eyes dancing with amusement. With how they left things last time, bantering with him felt like a breath of fresh air. Maybe they were okay. Returning his smile, she leaned more heavily against the door. Fuck, she’d missed him. Never mind that it had only been two days.

“Can I, uh, come in?”

She started. Right. That was the customary thing to do, not mooning in the doorway.

Not that she was mooning.

Stepping aside, she gestured for him to come inside. Mason was here! He’d come to see her, and while she’d been planning to hunt him down so they could talk, she was suddenly incapable of making words.

When she didn’t say anything, didn’t move from where she propped herself up against the door, he hovered awkwardly in the entryway.

“Hi,” he hedged tentatively. “I just, um, wanted to stop by.”

She sank an inch lower down the door. He was only stopping by, not here to pick her up. She nodded numbly, her elation at his presence evaporating as quickly as it arrived.

His gaze ran over her briefly, his attention snagging on her arms wrapped around herself. “I’m sorry about the other day.”

The sincerity of his tone thawed out her frozen tongue. “Mason, you don’t need to—”

“I do,” he insisted. “I’m not sorry for what I said, but I am sorry for how I said it. You’ve been nothing but honest with me from the beginning about what this was. I thought I was okay with it, but when you asked me to come back to your place… I knew it meant something different for me than it did for you, and that didn’t feel right. But when I said I couldn’t do this, I didn’t mean us. I don’t want to lose you, Sawyer, and I couldn’t close out the year without talking to you.”

Sawyer made a noise that was half sob, half sigh of relief. He wanted to stay friends. That was what she wanted, too, wasn’t it? So why, now that he’d shown up at her door like fucking John Cusack, giving her the platonic grand gesture she was planning to do herself, did she feel lonelier than ever?

Mason’s eyes traveled slowly over her face. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

She rarely found it worth the time to do more than mascara and lipstick, but tonight she’d gone all out. Brows: plucked. Cheekbones: contoured. Lashes: fake as hell.

She laughed shakily. “Well, good, because it was all for you.”

“What?” His brows drew together, and he tilted his head to the side suspiciously. “For our list? Because I don’t want to ruin midnight kisses—or whatever else we had left on the list.”

Sawyer didn’t either. She didn’t want to ruin any of it anymore. She didn’t want to pretend to hate it all. And goddamn Lily for being right, but she missed being happy, and Mason—Mason made her happier than she’d been in a really long time. If only she could just… tell him.

The words lodged in her throat, and she cleared it brusquely. “No, not the list. I was thinking about you going to that party alone and having to face Kara and her hideously big diamond, and I couldn’t let you go without backup.”

“You were coming to find me?” he asked in disbelief.

She nodded again. “I’m sorry, too. I know this started as a somewhat silly mission, but when you said you were done, I thought you meant with me and—” She inhaled sharply, her heart twisting. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get close to—I go dark for hours or days at a time, and that’s not going to magically change, but whether there’s half a city or half a country between us, I don’t want to not know you.”

A cautious smile spread across his face, and her heart threw itself against her rib cage with blinding force.

“I don’t want to not know you either,” he said tenderly. “And I hope you know your crazy schedule doesn’t bother me. When filming resumes, I’m going to be the one who’s working insane hours and disappearing for long periods of time. And then—” He stared off to the side, a look of bewilderment on his face. “And then I’m starting a business, which probably won’t be time-consuming at all.”

She grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Probably not.”

He grinned softly, opening his arms.

She pushed off the door, using him to hold her up instead, suddenly very weak in the knees over that smile . They stood like that for a while, swaying gently on the spot, her hands on his chest and his arms encircling her, his face pressed into her hair.

This was the moment. If she wanted to come clean, now was the time. She wanted so desperately to be able to give him everything, to tell him that she wanted more, too, but even saying what little she had left her feeling wrung out. Though she was no longer sure if the effort of keeping it repressed was more exhausting than opening up. She wished she could be the grand-gesture type, to get up on a platform and make a soul-baring speech, but she wasn’t, and what was the point, anyway? He was moving. They’d crossed a lot of lines, but if they crossed that line, there would be no going back. So she would take what she could, give what she could, be his friend, and spare them both the inevitable heartache. She’d rather have him halfway than not at all. If she tried to have him all the way, how long until she couldn’t give him the storybook romance he craved, and she lost him all over again? Where would that leave her—crushed, alone, stuck? It was better this way.

Inhaling the scent of his spicy cologne, she tried to make peace with her choice, Mason’s presence soothing the ache in her chest that had been there since they last spoke.

Mason eased out of their embrace, his attention on the stuffed garment bag taking up the majority of her hall closet. “There’s not a body in there, is there?” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Open it and find out,” she challenged.

He grinned, giving the bag an assessing squeeze. Apparently satisfied that it was tulle and not limbs, he eased the bag off the rack before dropping down to one knee. “Sawyer Greene,” he began, his face screwing up in concentration. “What is your middle name?” he whispered as an aside.

She groaned. “Jo.”

His whole face lit up. “Of course it is. Sawyer Jo Greene, will you go to the ball with me?”

She pressed her lips together to hold back a snort, settling on a single nod instead.

“Go ahead and say whatever filthy thing you’re trying not to say,” he said with a twist of his mouth.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not wanting to ruin the moment with a balls joke that she should have stopped finding funny a decade ago.

Mason hid his face behind the garment bag as he laughed, despite her not telling her joke.

Pushing the bag aside so she could see him, she grinned, feeling a sense of victory that she was the one who got to make him laugh like this, to make him light up, to see behind Mason West’s PR Face.

Wrapping his arm around her knees, he pulled her closer until she stood between his legs, her knees to his chest. “I think you might be my favorite person.”

“Of course I am, I’m fantastic,” she said instead of what she really meant, which was I think you might be my favorite, too . It was better this way.

So why didn’t she feel better?