Page 41 of The Naughty Elf

18

GINGER

It’s five o’clock in the damn morning, and I’m already dressed, bundled up for the cold, and piling up the last of our things for the overnight trip to the falls. My nerves got me up at four, and I gave up trying to get more sleep.

Sawyer is punctual, pulling up in front of my house at five on the dot. His big frame fills his door as he climbs out. The back is packed with supplies from my dad, and I try not to ogle him through the window.

But the way his butt fills out those jeans and how his shoulders stretch against that flannel has me feeling warm.

I open the door before he can knock and can’t keep from staring at him. The dreams that plagued me all night were of him, naked, above me, and they haven’t let go of me. Sawyer is the kind of man that doesn’t mind my silent stares. He simply watches me in return.

When I finally shake myself out of my stupor, I wave him inside.

The moment I close the door, I let myself soak in how near he is, and I can’t help but steal a taste of him, pushing up on mytoes. He bends to slant his mouth over mine with a need that overpowers my good sense.

His kiss is minty from his toothpaste, but I can’t savor it. Breaking apart, we’re both breathing heavily. Livewires ready to spark on contact.

And fuck, the way he looks down at me has my insides turning to goo.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to diffuse the roiling tension.

“Morning.” Sawyer’s voice is husky and low, a rumble that shakes tremors through me. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “This is dangerous.”

I let loose a giggle that has me covering my mouth because—of course, it is. It might be part of why I like it. A little part that has me feeling more my age than I have in a while.

“You mean being alone with the world’s youngest chaperone? Absolutely.”

I pat his cheek when he smiles at me. It’s the barest tilt of his mouth, but it’s the way his eyes light up that has my heart skipping beats. I brush my thumb over his jaw and the stubble there.

“I should check one her. We can just stuff her in the back with her pillow and blankets and let her fall back asleep. She always does that.”

Sawyer nods, kisses my forehead again, and steps away. He often speaks volumes without saying a word. It makes me want to learn about every silent conversation we can have.

I slip away and into Gracie’s room. She’s working on getting ready, her frenetic energy filling the small space.

“I’m almost ready, Mom,” she says, rummaging in her closet for something.

“That’s what you always say,” I chide gently, My daughter seems to be allergic to being on time and being organized. I, on the other hand, am never late.

When we get back into the living room, Sawyer looks like he wants to say something, but I speak before he can.

“Grab our things. They’re by the door.”

He doesn’t hesitate, and I’m glad he doesn’t seem offended.

As Sawyer loads our things in the bed of his truck, Gracie gets in the backseat. Unrolling her sleeping bag, I tuck it around her, and grab her pillow to prop up her head. The other sleeping bags and blankets I stuff on the floor and in front of her.

Mom and Dad used to do that for me when we went camping. I hated being buckled in and unable to actually fall back asleep.

I check the house one more time for anything I might have forgotten on my checklist—yes, I made a checklist.

But Sawyer grabbed everything. I pull my cold brew coffee from the fridge, already creamed and sugared with my own special blend of flavors and meet him back at the truck. He’s watching Gracie through the window like she might hurt herself if he doesn’t.

I like it. He’s so sweet. Gentle. Gentler than I bet most people can imagine.

My dad’s a big marshmallow, and I’m his only child. As tough as he made me, he was always so careful with me.

I can feel Sawyer’s attention shift to me as I lock the door and round the back to get in beside him. Shaking the jar at him, I say, “I’ve got coffee.”

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