Page 46 of Sawyer

“You are?”

“Yeah. It’s good to have you back in Skagway, Ivy. I missed you whenever you left. I told you that.”

His expression is intense, his gaze steadfast, and suddenly it’s too much. I can’t keep looking at him, or I’m afraid I’ll lean forward and kiss him.

I look down at the cover of the book on my lap and find myself remembering my favorite line:Amputees suffer pains, cramps, itches in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.

But to my dismay, it’s not Clark’s face I see in my mind as my heart murmurs these words to me. I twist my engagementring around on my finger. It feels too heavy, like a tiny iron cuff, shackling me to a life that I’m less and less certain that I want.

Melody Jane’s assistant, Wendy, approaches the podium at the front of the room and welcomes all of us to the first discussion ofLove in the Time of Cholera.

“Let me take you out for a drink afterward,” whispers Sawyer, his lips close to my ear.

If I love Clark, I should say no.

If I care for Clark and want the life I’ve envisioned with him, I should say no.

Regardless of how much my aunt and uncle need me to stay, if I intend to honor my engagement, I should leave for Juneau tomorrow and never step foot in Skagway again.

Instead, I turn to Sawyer Stewart, scanning his handsome face tenderly, and whisper:

“Okay.”

Flashback 3

Ivy

Fourteen Months Ago

I lie half across his body, resting my ear on his chest, right over his heart.

Over the last few seconds its race has slowed.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

Gently, lazily, he pulls his fingers through my hair,crown to tip, crown to tip. It’s comforting. It’s hypnotic.

My eyes flutter closed, concentrating on his heartbeat. It’s steadier and steadier now. Strong and certain. Like him. Like the way he looks at me when he slides inside of my body.

His other hand, palm down and still, rests on my lower back.

We are tangled and naked, sweaty limbs and the sweet smell of sex.

An oscillating fan on my bureau dusts our skin every few seconds, making goose bumps rise on my backside.

I press my lips to his warm skin and open my eyes again.

The early-evening sun, still high and bright in the sky, slants into my bedroom, and the white lace curtains flutter with a breeze from the harbor.

The first of three ship horns booms through the town.

Back to your ship, tourists. Time to go.

In four days, it’ll be time for me to go, too.

My heart stammers, and I force the thought from my mind.

Stop it. Don’t think about it.

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