Page 4 of Sawyer

Her eyes open. “She does?”

“Oh, yeah!” I say. “She keeps a basket of suckers under the manager’s desk.”

I pray that Neena has kept up her sister’s tradition of giving out lollipops to kids “in the know.”

“Could I ask her for one?” Vicky looks up at Ivy.

“Sure, you can.”

“Tell her Sawyer Stewart sent you!” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, finally cracking a smile. “I will!”

As she scampers away, I catch Ivy sizing me up. After a second, she smiles, shaking her head as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sometimes I forget how charming you can be.”

“You’re good at underestimating me.”

My eyes flick to her ring again, and I’m glad when she shoves her hand into her jacket pocket to hide it from me. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes softening as she scans my face.

“Sawyer…”

My grandmother’s list is still in my hand, and I hold it up between us like it can protect me. “Gotta finish this shopping.”

She nods, her face tightening. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Tell Pris that we’ll be praying for her.”

“I will.” As I step forward to pass her, Ivy’s hand lands on my arm, stopping me. She squeezes lightly. I can smell her fucking perfume from this close.Honeysuckle.Fuck me.Her voice is low and soft. “Thanks for being so nice. Vicky’s sad, and Jenny’s impossible.”

As someone who lost his own mother when he was younger than Vicky, my heart sure goes out to those two little girls. It’san awful lonely world without your mother in it with you. I hope like hell they never have to know that loss.

I look down at her hand in time to see it slide away.

“S-Sorry,” she whispers. “See you around?”

I look up to catch her biting her lower lip. It makes my heart flutter like it always does, but I won’t do a damned thing about it this time. The minute she flashed that ring at me in June, I gave up on her and walked away. She was officially taken, and not by me.

“Sure, Ivy,” I say softly, pushing past her. “I’ll see you around.”

***

Ivy

Oh, my heart.

My dumber than dumb heart.

Vicky sprints back to me with a sucker in her mouth while Jenny takes quasi-suggestive selfies of herself in front of the ice cream case, and all I can think about is the fact that Sawyer Stewart is two aisles away and wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

“Girls,” I mutter, “let’s just get ice cream and go. We can order takeout for dinner instead.”

“Thank God,” says Jenny. “Your cooking sucks.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving her a look which she ignores.

“Pizza?” asks Vicky, her big green eyes a mirror of mine.

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