Page 14 of The Inevitable Us

“Aren’t you supposed to be checking the gate? It’s stuck again,” Sawyer tells Rodrigo with a furrowed brow.

“Man, not till after I get some of this. Someone always wipes out Rosalie’s cooking before I get a plate.”

Sawyer gives him a narrowed-eye look.

“Let him eat, Sawyer,” I laugh. “The pasta isn’t going to be as good reheated.”

Mom often brings meals to the security team if we cook a large dinner; otherwise they just eat out or bring food to heat up in the tiny, efficient kitchen. I look past Rodrigo to where Sawyer sits, watching the monitors.

Walking into the space meant to be a small apartment, I place the pan on the small dinette table. “Who wants a plate? Rodrigo? You want a salad?”

Rodrigo ambles over to the table. “Yes, please, lots of sauce.”

Rodrigo is a relatively new employee, meaning he’s only been here about a year or two. Normally Dad’s employees are hired and stay with us for very long periods, and we only hire if we need more staff or if someone has to leave due to their circumstances. Dad doesn’t allow him to drive us or go into the house while we’re there without explicit permission, which is typical for the newer bodyguards.

Handing Rodrigo his food, I hold out an empty plate, gesturing to Sawyer.

“Do you want a plate? I stuffed the shells myself,” I ask meekly towards him.

After a slight nod, I walk over to him with the food, offering it to him with one hand. His eyes finally meet mine when he accepts the plate, and my stupid heart flutters at the intimate connection.

I watch the two of them eat while I cover the pans with foil again and place them in the small refrigerator. “Tell the next shift I made pasta please?” I say, speaking to neither in particular.

Sawyer keeps his eyes on his plate. He hasn’t added the extra shredded cheese I placed on the side to sprinkle on if they want it. “This is good, Rosalie. Almost as good as my Nona’s. Have you decided yet if you’re going to school in Knoxville?”

Disappointment crawled up my spine. “Not yet,” I’m able to eke out behind the hurt.

Without looking up from his plate, he brings another bite of the pasta to his mouth. “You should go, Rosalie. You’re very skilled in the kitchen.”

Something about the way he’s saying it feels as if it’s not a suggestion. “And if you want to explore other avenues, you can take a few classes at the university connected with the culinary institute to get a feel for both. Best of both worlds,” he finishes.

I feel pale, and my mouth goes slack as I blink up at him. I open and close my mouth, trying to figure out how to respond. He wants me to leave.

It isn’t a question; it’s a fact. Lost for words, I brush past Rodrigo and make my way to the door, slamming it behind myself. Running down the stairs, I slam the door behind me. I don’t cry until I’m in the safety of my bedroom, where no cameras are allowed.

I’ve always felt a pull towards Sawyer, even as a small child. Despite his chilly exterior, I’ve always thought he felt the same connection with me. He doesn’t show it as openly as I do, but I see it in tiny smiles when he thinks no one’s looking. When we’re in crowds with Dad, he always gravitates towards me over the other family members, keeping overzealous fans and photographers away.

One of my earliest memories is of sneaking to see him in the garage apartment. Barely able to reach, I’d unlock the kitchen door and head towards the garage to go up the stairs that led to Sawyer. Just as I’d make it to the staircase in the garage, Sawyer would appear, gently chiding me for slipping out.

He’d always pick me up and carry me back inside, telling me to be a good girl in a gentle voice before handing me back to my annoyed mother.

She would put me in a time-out, but the punishment was worth the fruit of my crime...a brief moment with Sawyer. I did this again and again until Brody put a number lock on the kitchen door. I didn’t know my numbers yet, and couldn’t figure out the pattern Mom pressed to enter the garage, cutting off my brief visits with Sawyer.

He wants me to leave.It feels like a betrayal, a rejection of the connection we have, that I know we have. That Ithoughtwe have. I could have sworn he kissed me in the woods that night. It was a tender, gentle kiss on my forehead, but the essence felt lingering, wanting, a lover’s kiss. Was it all my imagination? I can’t believe this; I won’t believe this.

Chapter nine

Rosalie

Ispendthenextweek stewing.

Sawyer’s off the next two days since I see Creekman’s, then Brody’s work vehicles are parked on the side of the garage. On Wednesday, Sawyer came back for his twelve-hour shift, and he was here the next day as well. On my next scheduled workday, I half expect to see Sawyer waiting for me outside the café. Instead, it’s my Dad waiting with the engine running.

Dad’s changed a lot since he retired from touring. He’s more laid back and spends more time joking around with our small staff. He’s also grown out a small, graying beard that Mom hates.

“I think your Mom wants you to help make your pot roast,” Dad says in greeting. “Your Uncle Carson and Aunt Brynn are coming over for supper.”

Great. Fabulous. Uncle Carson is Dad’s best friend. He runs all of the restaurants Dad and Mom own, including Serendipity. Which means my boss is coming to supper after working all day.

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