Page 82 of A Me and You Thing
“Sawyer, could you hurry up, please? The girls are hungry,” Bree says from the kitchen doorway. She sounds... stressed, and I feel bad that I’m not helping. But I know no one will let me even if I offer.
I’d rather be with the girls and learn their bedtime routine, but I’ve decided to go with the flow. Everyone wants me to rest, so I’ll be a good girl and rest. Besides, I’m bone weary and ready to admit it. The emotions of the day, all the crying, have left me mentally beat.
Once I get my energy back, though, all bets are off. I’m home and I’m ready to live my life as usual. I crave normalcy.
I wander into our master bedroom. It’s such a welcome sight, filled with so many sweet memories of me and Sawyer. It hasn’t changed a bit. Curious, I open the drawer of the small accent table, wondering if he left me a final love note.
It’s as bare as my mind once was. For some reason, I’m massively disappointed. I rein it in, knowing I have no right to be.
I again study my room, letting it wrap its arms around me and comfort me. I can’t wait to climb into my favorite pair of comfy pajamas. I throw open my closet door, and stand there stunned.
It’s empty. Completely empty. I continue to look around—drawers, cabinets, cupboards—and find that none of my belongings are here anymore. Not even my treasured box of love notes.
I suppose I should’ve expected that. Sawyer thought I was dead. Of course, he didn’t keep my things.
Of course. Then why do I feel so devastated? I guess it makes me realize just how final he thought we were. The white picket fence now seems like a shrine of sorts, making me hurt for him.
I wander around the room, feeling lost. Then Sawyer appears in the doorway, holding a tray of food. I face him, unable to hide my anxiety.
“Do I have a grave?”
“Yes. I’ll have it taken down.”
Reality is hitting me hard and fast, like a gut punch. My loved ones have all said their goodbyes to me. And I’m suddenly back. This is a major adjustment. Huge.
“I don’t have any clothes.” What’s different? I didn’t have any atTíaandTío’seither. Maybe I don’t need much. “I haven’t seen you in two years. I don’t need clothes.” I laugh lightly at my flirty comment, but he doesn’t. I feel as though I said something inappropriate to my own husband. “Sawyer?”
“Sorry, Quinn. I feel like I’ve imagined you here and I’m struggling to let myself feel happy.”
Subdued, I say, “I understand.”
“You can wear one of my shirts.” He sets the tray down on the bed and grabs a t-shirt from his closet. “Here, I’ll give you privacy to change.” He moves to leave.
What? “Privacy to change? Sawyer, I’m still your wife.”
He stops in his tracks, his back to me. I see tension in the hunch of his shoulders. He closes our bedroom door, locks it, and faces me with a penetrating gaze. “Yes, you are still my wife.”
“You can stay in the room while I change. We’re not strangers to each other.”
“No, we’re definitely not. Sorry I made that awkward.”
It’s not awkward now. The room is suddenly filled with a palpable electric current.
He walks toward me very slowly, his eyes glittering. I know that look on his face. It’s achingly familiar. It’s desire. I love that I can still inspire it within him. When he’s so close I can feel his breath on my face, he simply lets his eyes travel up and down my body. Then he reaches up and holds the locket he gave me before I left.
“You still have it,” he whispers.
I nod.
“It survived the bus crash?”
“It did. When my memories returned, I searched the house for it. I found it hidden in the back ofTío’scloset.”
He releases a scoff, clearly irritated.
“Let’s not think about that right now,” I plead.
Distracted, he seems to recover quickly. He lets his fingers run over the lapels of my blouse, his knuckles grazing the skin of my neck. His breath is shaky as he leisurely unbuttons each button, taking his time about it. Then he slips it off my shoulders and tosses it on a nearby chair. His chest rises and falls deliberately as he watches his hands slide down my arms. Then he looks back up at me, and I see his smitten Fletcher Christian gaze. I love when he looks at me like that.
