His frown deepens as his gaze returns to his risotto. He’s been sensing something’s off with my cover story for a while now, and I wonder how long it’ll take before he figures out what I’ve been hiding from him.
“So, nagging question,” Sawyer starts, waiting for my nod to proceed. “Seriously, what is the story with the ketchup and mayo?”
I break into a rueful smile because that wasn’t what I was expecting—for him to be so caught up on such a small quirk. It takes me a second to decide it’s a question I’m willing to answer. He’s read my file; he knows most of the story anyway, so there’s no point in hiding something as small as this.
“My mom used to do the same thing.” I lift a single dangling tagliatelle to my mouth, closing my lips over the tines and pulling the fork away before puckering my lips, sucking in the long flat pasta slowly. Sawyer watches closely, the vein in his neck throbbing faster and faster with every inch of pasta that disappears between my lips.
He’s the epitome of calm, sitting there all rigid with a blank expression, but I’m getting good at recognizing his tells.
Once I chew and swallow, I flash him that grin that never fails to set a flare of heat in his dark blue eyes.
“For the record, that wasn’t supposed to be seductive,” I say with more self-content than I should be feeling.
“Not a deliberate diversion tactic, then?” Sawyer’s smile doesn’t quite reach his gaze. “So you won’t have to talk about your mom?”
“No.” My smile falters. “I was contemplating if I should also tell you that the ketchup and mayo thing makes me feel closer to her. If it isn’t going a bit deep for a fake friendship.”
Sawyer’s eyes soften. “How old were you when she passed?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice toning down to a velvety caress.
“I was barely three when she died,” I answer though I know he already knows that—it’s all in my file.
I twist the stem of my wine glass between my fingers, thinking how unfair it is that Sawyer got unlimited access to my life when I only know what he’s willing to disclose. Maybe I should have read more than just the relevant correspondence on his phone that day in the diner.That’s not the kind of person you are, I remind myself before lifting my glass for a sip of chilly Chenin Blanc.
“How much of her do you remember?”
“Not much.”
“The bracelets?” he guesses, and I look up at him with surprise. That wouldn’t be in my files, which means he noticed it all on his own. The thought sends my heart into a flutter.
“Um, yeah.” I feel heat climb up to my cheeks, my pulse beating wildly as Sawyer keeps gazing at me with that soft, caring expression. “It’s one of the few vivid memories I have, the sound they make.”
Sawyer seems to be lost in thought for a moment before his eyes seek mine again. “I bet she’d be really proud of you, Maddie.”
“Thank you for saying that.” I cover his large hand with mine without putting too much thought into it. The roughness of his skin is in such contrast to mine that I can’t help but smooth my fingers over the back of his hand, awareness tickling at my nerve endings.
“You like how that feels, Madeline?” Sawyer’s voice is still velvety but different, teasing and daring, tempting, and I nod before I realize what I’m doing.
My hand jerks back, and I pick up my wine, taking a healthy sip before returning my eyes to Sawyer, his amused glare and roguish grin only proving to further heat up my cheeks.
I suck in a calming breath, deciding that I’ve shared enough for the evening, and it’s his turn. “Tell me about your family.”
“Not much to tell.” He shrugs, his face turning expressionless like it tends to every time his childhood comes up. “You asked if I was a cute chubby baby everyone wanted to cuddle? I have no idea. The last childhood photo of me was from seven months old, right before my grandparents died. You can guess how much cuddling went on in a house where no one even bothered to take my picture as a kid.”
I think about what to say, but it doesn’t take me more than a heartbeat to realize there isn’t anything Icansay that’ll be enough to erase that pained look from Sawyer’s eyes.
“What are you doing?” Sawyer looks me up and down with a frown when I stand and come over to his side of the table. “Maddie?”
“Shh, just let it happen.” I bend down and wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing tight as vibrations from Sawyer’s laughter rumble through my body.
“Nice, Techy.” He places his hand on my arm, still circling his neck, and squeezes.
“I’m an excellent cuddler.”
“Well,” he starts, his hand sliding from my arm to my waist, “it isn't really cuddling if you’re the only one doing the hugging.”
I let out a startled giggle when Sawyer pulls me into his lap, one hand still circling my waist while the other meets it from the front, his head resting at the crook of my neck when I rest my chin on his shoulder.
There’s something almost pure in our hug, no hidden intentions behind it. Just Sawyer’s apparent need to immerse himself completely in an embrace he can't seem to get enough of, a warm contact I suspect he’s been craving his entire life.