He stands there with an air of easy confidence and a devastating smile on his face as he offers me a “heya, little lady.”
The sound of his voice brings me back to the present and I step back, motioning him in, only able to manage a little squeak of “Hi” as he passes.
Huge mistake. Goddammit he smells good.
The heady scents of soap, leather, pine and something distinctly Sawyer envelops me as he brushes past, and it’s all I can do to stifle a moan. No one should smell that good. He bends to take off his boots, and fine, sue me, I can’t help but ogle his perfect ass. It’s sticking out right in front of me, how could I not? While I try to resist slapping the firm denim clad rear before me, Sawyer takes a quick look around the room as he straightens.
“Damn it smells good in here. Whatcha got planned for us tonight Tess?” he asks.
“Oh, must be the pizza sauce. Been simmering away for a while now,” I offer.
He stops and balks, “you’re making it from scratch?”
“Of course. It’s Sunday. Pizza day. My great-grandmother started the tradition and never missed a day in the 60 some years my grandparents were married. Pizza night is sacred,” I say matter-of-factly as I sneak past him, heading back into the kitchen to resume kneading the dough. Sawyer stands in the opening between the living room and kitchen observing as I work, making the occasional face at Evan and tossing him another teether cracker. When I have the dough resting and finish cleaning my hands, I turn back to him and offer what I hope is a reassuring, easy smile, but with the riot of butterflies and nerves waging war in my belly, I really have no control over what my face is doing.
“Okay, we have an hour until baking time. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Whatever you have is fine,” he says, finally stepping further into the kitchen. I nod and go to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle for each of us and toss him one. He snatches it out of the air and raises it in a toast before taking a long drink. Evan, who has been happily munching away this whole time smacks his hands against the tray of his highchair with a sudden outburst, clearly ready to receive some more attention.
“Heya E-Buddy, don’t worry man, haven’t forgotten about you. Just watching your momma do her best Betty Crocker impression. She’s pretty intimidating, you know that?” Sawyer says, pulling out a chair from the table and turning it to sit in front of Evan. “But hey, I got something for ya little man,” he smiles and sets a box I hadn’t noticed before on the tray in front of Evan.
Evan immediately grabs for the box and tries to shove the entire thing in his mouth, undeterred that it’s twice the size of his head. With a chuckle, Sawyer takes the box and opens it, pulling out a small brightly painted wooden model plane. He holds it out to show Evan as he explains it in an excited tone.
“It’s a P-51 Mustang, little dude. They were fighters in World War II. The good guys flew them and a little fighter pilot like you needs a sweet little fighter to get the bad guys.”
I stare at the scene in front of me for a moment, unable to process what I am seeing.
Dear fuck. I need to make sure I’m not standing in a puddle. I am absolutely certain my ovaries just exploded. Exploded like two little nuclear bombs. How can Mr. Rock-Me-Like-A-Hurricane also be great with kids? It’s against the laws of nature or something.
Leaning back against the counter, I watch as Sawyer continues to explain the plane to Evan, who is babbling along like he is deep in conversation with him, following the movements of his new toy as Sawyer buzzes it around his head and swoops it in front of him. Finally, Sawyer sets it down on the tray and Evan instantly has it in his little hands and is shoving it in his face.
With a laugh, Sawyer tries to pull the plane out of Evan’s mouth and explains “Let’s not deep throat the wing dude. Wouldn’t want you to get a splinter or something.” once he has it free of Evan’s grasp, he looks up at me sheepishly, “Maybe a wooden toy wasn’t the brightest idea for a baby. My bad. I don’t remember the last time I was around little ones, I kind of forgot they shove everything they can get their little paws on into their mouth.”
“Yeah, anything and everything,” I laugh in response. “We can put it up on one of his shelves for now or something. It’s perfect. Thank you, Sawyer, seriously. You absolutely did not have to do that,” I smile at him as I walk over to take the plane from him.
“Hey, nothing to it. I saw it in a shop on my trip last week and thought of E-Buddy and that damn mobile. Couldn’t resist,” he shrugs like it really is no big deal.
I feel the burning sting of tears behind my eyes and before I let them fall, I excuse myself with a mumbled “I’ll be right back,” to run the little plane upstairs to the nursery. I stop and take a deep breath, trying to rein in my frayed emotions.
Where did this man come from? Seriously, who would have guessed that a big scary biker could be so amazing with kids and so damn thoughtful? It just… isn’t fair. He is supposed to be the big intimidating bad guy across the street, untouchable for good reason. He isn’t supposed to be making me question my life, dammit!
After sucking in a steadying breath, I head back down the stairs. As I round the last step, I find the kitchen is empty and panic immediately grips my heart. I’m frozen in fear for a moment until I hear Evan’s little giggle coming from the living room and relief floods me.
You are safe here. You both are. He can’t get you, can’t find you. You are safe here… for now.
I shake the dark thoughts from my mind before I walk into the living room, not wanting to ruin tonight by getting lost down that black hole. Sawyer is sitting on the couch with his feet resting on the ottoman, Evan standing up on his outstretched legs and holding his hands. The two are having an animated discussion interspersed with Sawyer pulling silly faces at Evan, making him let out his perfect belly laugh. The sight causes the tiniest of cracks in the wall of ice around my heart.
“Oh hey,” Sawyer says while pulling face to renewed peals of laughter, “he started throwing the remains of whatever that food was, so I figured he wanted to get out and play.”
Nope, don’t you dare go there. You know where this leads, and it is no where you want to be. You won’t be here long, and it can’t last. The last thing you want is some reason to make leaving even harder. Beyond that, you don’t need a man, you don’t want a man. You know what happened last time and that cannot happen again. That is never happening again. Not even the chance of it. You don’t need anyone but Evan.
“Yeah, he does that sometimes,” I reply lamely, trying to get my thoughts in order to be at least a decent host to this seemingly kind man.
I continue to clamp down on those errant bubbly feelings and shore up the cracking walls around my heart. He is my neighbor and I am only repaying him for helping around the house. That’s it. Who cares if he is good with Evan? Who cares if he brought the sweetest gift in the history of ever for my son out of the blue after only meeting him once? Who cares if he looks like every woman’s wet dream? And absolutely who cares if he smells all clean, and rough and hot? Who cares? Shit… I’m pretty sure I do.
An hour and a half later, we are sitting on a blanket spread out in the living room, eating our pizza “picnic style” in front of the TV with Evan spread out between us drinking his bottle with his feet. We are leaning back against the couch having a heated debate over what movie to watch. A debate I am determined to win.