Page 94 of Sleepover

Chapter 46

Elle

The door swings slowly open.

Sawyer stands in the doorway, nearly filling it. I always forget how big he is. Every time, it’s the best kind of surprise, one I feel first in my body.

Please tell me it’s not too late. Please tell me I can explain, ask for clarification, lay everything on the table, unravel the mess I’ve made.

I’m not sure who, exactly, I’m pleading to, but I hope They’re listening.

Sawyer eyes me cautiously, but he doesn’t look like he’s about to slam the door in my face.

“If it isn’t the devil,” a voice says dryly from behind him.

I wince. I’m sure I’m not Sawyer’s brother’s favorite person.

“Shut up, Brooks,” Sawyer says. “You were just leaving, weren’t you?”

Brooks raises an eyebrow. “I was. But now I might stick around and spectate…”

I can’t say I don’t deserve it, but I desperately want Brooks to get the hell out of here and give me a shot at explaining myself.

“I could come back another time,” I offer, but Sawyer and Brooks, at exactly the same time, say, “No.”

Brooks claps his brother on the back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

I wonder if that’s code for, Stick to your guns, bro.

Sawyer and I watch him walk down the path to his truck, then we turn back toward each other. He won’t quite meet my eye, which—well, I can’t exactly blame him.

“I—got you something.” I don’t have a brilliant plan, just an apology gift and a lot of hope.

“What’s that?”

“Maybe you should come see?”

He looks suspicious, but I lead him out the door and around the side of my house, and he follows.

I stop in front of a pile of wood, carefully stacked on pallets next to my foundation, then turn to face him. I want to see his expression when he realizes what it is.

“Holy crap,” he says. “What is that?”

“It’s the bar—what’s left of the old bar—at Maeve’s. Do you remember they were renovating Maeve’s the night we were there?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see a flash of memory in them. I feel it as heat. He remembers, all right.

Hope rises.

“It’s all they had left. There were wall joists and floorboards originally, and a bunch of other stuff, but I didn’t get there in time. But they still had the lumber from the bar because someone said they wanted it and then never came to pick it up. So they let me take it.”

His expression is alert.

“It’s a gift for you. An apology gift. Because I was such an idiot the night I saw your Lucy journal. I just talked and talked and I never bothered to listen.” My voice cracks, betraying all the emotion I’m holding back. “I hope you can forgive me, and at the very least we can still be friends.”

His eyes search my face. “Friends,” he says evenly. “Is that what you want?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. He kneels and examines the reclaimed wood. “Shit, Elle, some of this is bird’s-eye maple.”

“Is it?”

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