“I missed you. And your cock.” He groans when I say the last word. I’d learned early on when we’d started hav**g s*x that saying that turned him on. I wasn’t fond of the word, but I liked getting him going.
“You’re asking for it, Poison.”
“Bring it on, McCallister.” He growls and throws me on my back, but I put my hand to his mouth to shut him up.
“I heard a noise,” I say, straining to listen. Sawyer freezes and listens as well.
There’s a sound like a chainsaw being revved and then it stops. Just Dad snoring. Nothing to panic about.
Sawyer presses his forehead against mine and chuckles.
“Close.”
“Very close,” I say, and then we’re getting really close. Again.
“As much as I would love to stay like this with you all day, your surprise is waiting,” Sawyer says a while later. I don’t think I can move, but he gets up and finds some clothes out of my drawer and tosses them to me. Leggings, my thickest jeans, a tank top, flannel shirt, sweater and two pairs of thick socks. Then he goes to my closet and pulls out my warmest fleece-lined boots.
What the hell are we doing that I would need to bundle up that much for? I’m wildly curious. But he won’t tell me a word as I get dressed. By the time I’m done, I’m sweating again and I feel like I’m being suffocated.
“You’ll thank me, I swear.”
At least I’m warm when we get back in his truck after brushing off the several inches of snow that cover it. Luckily, it was the fluffy kind so we didn’t have to spend forever scraping off the windshield.
“We have to make one more stop before you get your present.”
“The suspense is killing me,” I say, tugging at my clothes. It’s like wearing a sauna.
“Don’t die yet, Poison. Not until your surprise.”
“If the suspense doesn’t kill me, the heat might.” I fan myself, but it’s no use. I roll down the window and suck some of the cold air into my lungs. Ah. Better.
Sawyer grumbles at me, but I don’t care. This is my present. He’ll get his later.
The quick stop we have to make is at his house, for him to bundle up as much as I am and to grab some things that he throws in the back of the truck, after making me close my eyes so I won’t know.
We drive real slow down to the Lobster Pound. I’ve been here a few times, but not in a very long time. It’s absolutely empty, so he drives through the parking lot and actually onto the dock.
“What are we doing?” I say as he parks and turns the truck off.
“Come with me,” he says and we both get out. He goes to the back of the truck and gets out two sets of waders and matching jackets. They’re made of rubber, for fishermen to protect their clothes from getting wet, with boots attached to the waders. I put mine on over my clothes. Sawyer made sure to get ones big enough to fit over my extra layers. Once I have them on, he plunks a matching hat on my head and gets dressed himself. We’re brilliant orange from head to foot, and I’ve never felt like more of a dork.
“You look adorable,” he says in response to my pout. And then he makes me pose for pictures that he takes with his phone.
“I want to remember this.”
Yeah, me too.
We walk down the dock and he helps me down a ladder and into a dinghy. This can only mean one thing. He starts up the motor and we go just a little ways out and stop right beside a lobster boat called Melyer.
“It’s for Melanie and Sawyer. This was my Dad’s boat,” he says, pulling me aboard. I’ve never been on a lobster boat before, despite growing up in this town. So many of my classmates worked on them in the summers to earn cash, but there was no way in hell I was going to do that. I would rather have sold my organs.
But this is different. Sawyer starts the boat up and takes the helm. Is it called the helm on a lobster boat? I have no idea. Apparently, I know nothing about boats.
But Sawyer does. He’s confident as he steers the boat out of the harbor and into the open ocean, increasing the speed. I stand next to him, watching him as he handles it like he was born to it.
Very sexy.
Morning fog hangs over the ocean, but the sun is starting to rise and burn it off. It’s absolutely magical. Sawyer slows the boat and then stops it. All I can see is ocean. The only sound is the waves lapping against the sides of the boat.
“Wow,” I whisper, not wanting to shatter the calm.
“This is your present. I wanted you to see what you’ve been missing while you’ve been at Columbia.” He turns and goes to sit on the side of the boat where there’s a bench to stack the traps. I go and sit beside him.
He’s right, it is cold out here, and I’m glad he made me put on the extra gear so my clothes don’t get wet. Fine way to get hypothermia.
“After . . . After everything happened with Dad, I came out here almost every day. Mostly during off times when none of the other boats were out. I needed the calm and the solitude. I never told anyone that I was doing it, and no one ever asked or bothered me about it when I would disappear. I could . . . think out here. Like you with your parking spot.” I smile at him and move closer so he can put his arm around me. The cold smell of the ocean can’t cut through his natural Sawyer smell, and he kisses my forehead.
“I thought about you out here. So many times. I know this is all happening so fast, but . . . I can’t lose you again, Ivy.” He holds my face so I can’t look away from his eyes as he says it.
“I don’t know how it could work, but I want to try. I want to fight. I was a coward last time, but I’m not anymore. If losing my dad has taught me anything, it’s that you have to hold onto who you care about while you have them, because they could be gone in an instant. I’m not asking for the world. I’m just asking for a second chance.” His words aren’t rehearsed, but I can tell that he’s thought about them hundreds of times before. So have I. His eyes plead with me to give him an answer.
“I’ve thought about you too. I think about you, all the time. Everything reminds me of you. I always thought about asking Mom for news, or looking you up online. When I left, the only thing I was really devastated to leave behind was you.” I put my hand up and hold his face. It’s wet from the sea spray, and I bet if kissed him right now, he’d taste of the ocean.
“This is the best present I’ve gotten, Sawyer. I love it and . . . I love you. I never stopped. Never for a single second. I carried it with me when I left and I brought it back. I tried to get rid of you, but I couldn’t. You’re too much a part of me.” I’ve never said any of this out loud. Not even when we were together. I didn’t have to say it, we both just knew.
“And you’re a part of me and I love you.”
Our dual declaration makes us both smile and Sawyer picks me up and kisses me.
He tastes like the ocean.
Chapter 10
I don’t start panicking about how our relationship is going to work like I thought I would. Instead, I bask in the fact that Sawyer’s hand is in mine and when I go back to my house, he’s coming with me and we will keep holding hands.
“Is there any mistletoe in your house?” he asks as we park back in my driveway. When we left the house I was sweating, but now I’m freezing. And starving. And I REALLY need coffee. I grumbled at Sawyer about that not being part of his plan, but he said he was so nervous he forgot that part.
I forgave him.
“Uh no. But there should be. Not that we need it to kiss. I’m sure Mom is going to cry when we tell her. Like, actual tears. And my mother doesn’t cry in front of people.”
We hold hands and enter the house. Oops.
“Well, look who decided to make an appearance,” Mom says, glaring, but when she sees our joined hands, the cup of coffee she’d been holding crashes to the floor.
“What the hell?” Dad says, staring at the cup. Mom just runs over and envelops Sawyer and me in the huggiest of hugs.
“This is the best present ever!” And then my mother does something that I didn’t think was possible. She squeals. Like a little fangirl at a vampire movie premiere. She squeals and claps her hands and then she wipes her eyes. Dad is looking at her as if she has lost her damn mind, which I’m pretty sure she has.
“Can’t you see it? Sawyer and Ivy are together. It’s a Christmas miracle.” She squeals again and goes to get the broom. Dad just shakes his head.
“Congrats you two. Knew it would work out in the end. You’ve certainly made your mother happy.” He shakes Sawyer’s hand, gives me a rough kiss on my forehead and goes to help Mom clean up the mess.
“Merry Christmas,” I say to Sawyer, tilting my face up.
“Merry Christmas. Who needs mistletoe?”
“Not us.”
Sawyer leaves right after Mom forces a cup of coffee, eggs, bacon, pancakes and some toast onto him. He says he’s just going to get his mother and then he’ll be back.
Meanwhile, I eat and then my siblings descend with their spawn, who are all hopped up on sugar and toys and Christmas magic.
Mom lets them go straight for their stockings, and about five seconds later the floor is strewn with paper and wrappers and they’re all silent because their mouths are full of candy and so forth. Wow. Not a bad idea. I write that one down for when I potentially have children. I’ve always thought that I would, and now that Sawyer and I are . . . whatever we are, I can almost see it. Our children. They’d be much less noisy and irritating, of course.
I go take a quick shower and let my hair dry naturally so it curls for when Sawyer gets back. I know he likes it better that way. I also put all of the things for his present in my car so we can drive over to his place later. I haven’t told Mom that’s what I’m doing, but something tells me she won’t mind.
As soon as the kids are busy with their new things, the “adults” (I use that term loosely) go for their presents. I’m just unwrapping a pair of hand-knitted (by my mother) mittens when Sawyer and his mother come back.
“Where’s my present?” he says as he sits down with me in the recliner. I stick my tongue out at him as Mom opens the shampoo and things I got her.
“Patience, McCallister. Patience.”
After the presents have been exchanged, and everything has been exclaimed over and pictures have been taken, pizza is ordered and I tell Mom that Sawyer and I are going to have some more alone time.
“Oh, going to give him a present.” She says it in a way that makes me screw up my face and utter a disgusted sound. “Go, be young. Have fun.” I give her a hug and then go around and give everyone else hugs. Sawyer and I take our own cars, and I have to take it slow. The snow is still falling.
Yay for white Christmas. I’m finally in the mood and sing “Jingle Bells” at the top of my lungs all the way to Sawyer’s.
“Where’s my present?” he says the second I walk in the door.
“Right here.” I hold up the basket that contains his present. Well, it’s more than one thing.