Sweet Southern Sorrow

by Tessa Teevan

  “Sawyer? Dinner? I know Shiloh Grove wasn’t exactly crawling with Chinese restaurants, so I have no idea what you’d want,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. We’re standing in the middle of the lobby, and she’s looking at me, waiting for my answer. I’m trying to suppress the huge grin that wants to spread of my face at the thought of sitting in her apartment, alone, getting to know her again. “Sawyer!”

  Dammit. I realize I still haven’t answered her, and she’s looking at me like I have two heads. “Sorry, I just had a thought. Get whatever you want. I’m not picky.”

  “If you say so,” she replies, and we leave the building and walk towards the parking garage where we get in separate cars. I open up the favorites tab in my GPS and plug her address in, hoping that it’ll get a lot of use in the future.

  CHEYENNE WAS RIGHT WHEN she commented on the traffic. I lost her not long after we left the office. Instead of going straight to her place, I made a detour to grab a bottle of wine. Hey, friends can share a bottle on a Friday night, right? Now that I’m knocking on her door, I’m not so sure and I hope she doesn’t read more into it. I’m second-guessing my decision when she opens up the door and I watch as her eyes widen when she takes in the sight of me. I happened to have a gym bag with fresh clothes in it in my car, and I grabbed it, not exactly wanting to wear some other guy’s clothes. Her eyes run up and down my body as she takes in the sight of me standing here in a suit with the bag slung over my shoulder and a bottle of wine in my hand. Yeah, this probably looks wrong.

  “Make a pit stop, Callahan?” she asks, and I don’t miss that she still hasn’t invited me in.

  Shrugging, I try to act as cool as possible. “I had clothes in the car and figured a nice red would go well with dinner. It’s been a long week and you’ve been working your ass off. I figured we could end the week on a high note. Just sit back and relax. No big deal, Cheyenne.”

  She raises her left eyebrow like she doesn’t believe me, but she swings the door open and gestures for me to come inside. I follow her as she leads us to an open kitchen, where she has placed a couple of plates and several cartons of food. Grabbing the wine from me, she gets out a wine key and opens it before pouring two glasses.

  I take a moment to check her out when she’s not paying attention. She’s wearing grey yoga pants that cling to her ass, and I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me. The tiny white tank top that covers her upper half is almost see-through, and yeah, she’s definitely trying to kill me because I can tell she’s not wearing a bra. When my eyes trail down her legs, I can see black ink on the top of her bare foot. I smile, seeing that tattoo, remembering how she freaked out when I first suggested one. I move in a little closer to get a peek, and my smile falls when I see what the tattoo is of.

  Clearing my throat, I struggle to tear my eyes away from her. “Is there somewhere I can change? This tie is stifling. I like to get out of them as soon as I can, and I don’t wear anything but jeans, t-shirts, and shorts for the entire weekend,” I tell her, loosening my tie, more than ready to get comfortable. Standing here in her kitchen talking about undressing feels strangely intimate, and part of me is wishing that she was the one doing it for me.

  “Oh, of course. You can go in the bathroom. First door on the right. Or if you want more space, my room’s at the end of the hall. You can change in there if you want. Feel free to grab a hanger out of my closet, too, so you don’t get your suit all wrinkled up,” she says, and I’m surprised that she’s offering for me to go into her personal space, let alone her closet.

  “Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that.” I walk down the hall and find her room, not surprised that it’s completely spotless. She’s always been meticulous and almost obsessive about having a clean room. I think it stems from all those years she spent doing the household chores instead of her mom.

  Slipping out of my shoes, I change quickly. I feel a little weird going into her closet to grab a hanger, but she did offer. I’m about to close the door when something catches my eye. Bending down, I pick up a small notebook that’s resting on the floor of the closet. I’m not sure if it fell or if it was already there. I want to open it, yet I know I shouldn’t. The best way to get myself kicked out of here is for her to catch me snooping. It could be nothing, but it could also be private, so I listen to my conscience and set it back down.

  I move over to her desk, which is covered with sketches. Leaning in to get a closer look, I’m surprised when I see that they’re all drawings of swallows. I guess I really shouldn’t be, as it was always her thing, and suddenly I feel like an ass for throwing it in her face that day. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sheets of paper. There are probably twelve or so drawings here, and every single one is practically the same. In each drawing, there’s only one swallow, never two or more.

  Just as I’m about to pick one of the drawings up, I hear a throat clear behind me. “Umm, Sawyer? What are you doing?” I hear Cheyenne ask, and I turn around, seeing her watching me from the doorway.

  “Uhh, sorry. I was just checking out your drawings. I didn’t know you still did it,” I admit, figuring that I might as well be honest since she caught me.

  She shrugs and gestures for me to follow her. “I stopped for a while. I didn’t get to do a whole lot of bird watching during college. I guess something about being back in Georgia inspired me to start back up again. Come on. I’ve got dinner all dished out,” she says, walking out of the room.

  I’m trying to process her admission, and I wonder if I have anything to do with why she’s drawing swallows again. Even further, I wonder if I’m the reason she’s drawing lone swallows. Is there some part of her that still cares about me? That remembers how good we were together? If so, I need to do whatever I can to tap into that part of her, but I have to do it delicately or else she’s going to just run away.

  Snapping out of it, I follow her down the hall and find her in the living room, where she’s set everything up.

  “I figured we could eat in here and watch T.V.,” she says, turning on the television and flipping through the channels to find something to watch. I’d honestly prefer to talk, but if she needs it on for background noise, I’m okay with that.

  She settles on a rerun of some action flick as we dig into our dinners. I figure I’ll start out easy, so I ask her about school. Her eyes light up as she tells me about her four years at Berkeley, and I don’t miss that she never mentions her mom or coming back to visit. While I’ve gotten a little closer with my dad since I graduated college, I still haven’t really warmed up to Sylvia and I never felt comfortable asking about Cheyenne, so I never knew how or where she was. Hell, for all I know, Sylvia might not have known either.

  “What about you?” she asks as she licks her fork clean. “How was the rest of your time at Auburn?”

  “Pretty uneventful. When I got back that fall, I decided to switch my major. I had to bust my ass to catch up so I could graduate on time. I spent the next couple of summers going back to the farm and helping Wyatt out. I still go back whenever I get a chance.”

  She looks at me in surprise. “You still go back to Shiloh Grove?”

  Setting my plate down on the coffee table, I turn so that I’m facing her. “Of course I still go back. Wyatt taught me a lot that summer about responsibility and becoming a man. I owe him for everything. Plus, I like hearing the stories about my mom that he tells. I feel like I’ve gotten to know her more, too. And it doesn’t hurt that all that hard work still helps shape my bad-ass muscles,” I say, grinning at her, and she smiles back at me warmly.

  “I guess that makes sense. Sometimes I wish my dad hadn’t been an only child. I don’t have anyone to talk to about him, and it gets lonely, you know?”

  “Lonely? Yeah, pretty girl, I know exactly what you mean,” I whisper, sliding closer to her on the couch so that only about half a foot separates us.

  “Sawyer,” she whispers, sounding sexy and slightly nervous.

  “So you got a tattoo
, Cheyenne?” I ask, wanting her to confirm what it is. She nods, and I sit back. “Let me see it.”

  I watch as she swallows hard, but she does as I ask. Bringing her foot up onto the couch, she sets it down in front of me. I slide her pant leg up so her foot is fully exposed, and I inhale sharply when I see that she really does have a swallow tattoo on the top of her foot. I look up at her, and see that she’s watching me nervously, biting her lower lip. She pulls her foot away from me and slides it under her, not letting me get a closer look.

  “When did you get this?” I have to know, to find out if it means anything to her like it does to me.

  “My first week of school,” she admits, and I’m caught off guard. That would’ve only been a week or so after she left me. What does that mean?

  “You got a swallow tattoo right after you left me? Right after you left home?”

  She nods, and I notice the tears in her eyes. “Sawyer, you know that wasn’t home for me. You also know how much swallows mean to me. It just made sense. I may not have had a home, but every time I looked at the swallow, I felt home. I felt you.”

  My heart’s racing as I listen to her finally admit that she felt something for me. That when she left, she still wanted me. “Yeah, pretty girl. I remember how important they are to you. I remember all of it, and it’s haunted me for years.”

  I watch as a couple of tears spill onto her cheeks, and when I lean in to wipe them again, I hear her breath catch. Looking down into her eyes, I see the emotions she’s fighting, and I’m tired of letting her push me away.

  I start to lean in, and just as my lips brush hers, she closes her eyes. At first, she doesn’t kiss me back, and I don’t force it. My lips softly caress hers, and I wait patiently for her to give in. It’s not long before I can feel her lips pressing back against mine as she slips her arms around my neck. We kiss slowly, and I savor the taste of her lips on mine. She surprises me when she parts them and her tongue moves against my lips, breaking them apart so she can find my own. Her arms tighten around my neck as she pulls me in closer, her tongue working mine over furiously, as if she’s been starving for this, for me.

  Finally. Finally, it all makes sense. The appeal of the swallows and the legend. Because right now, kissing Cheyenne, having her in my arms again after all this time, is just like she said. It feels like coming home, and I realize that time and distance haven’t done a damn thing to change my feelings for her.

  As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I feel her lips leave mine as she pulls away from me, removing her arms from around my neck. We’re both breathing heavily, and before I let her say anything, I lean in and press my forehead against hers. “Don’t, pretty girl. Don’t get all in your head and start pushing me away. I know you remember, too. How good we were together. How good we could be again.”

  She closes her eyes, sighing, and I wish I knew what she was thinking. Or how to get her to stop thinking. “You’re my boss, Sawyer. This can’t happen.”

  “Why do you always find an excuse for us not to be together? First it was our parents. Now it’s our jobs? It’s not that big of an issue. We can figure it out when it comes to work,” I tell her, knowing I probably sound like a desperate pussy. Well, I kind of am right now, at least where Cheyenne’s concerned.

  She pulls away from me, standing up, and I watch as she starts pacing the room. “Exactly, Sawyer. There’s always something in the way. Obviously, fate or the universe doesn’t want us together. We have way too much history between us, and I’m not going to risk my brand-new career over something that probably won’t work out in the long run. Please, let’s just keep this professional.”

  Fuck this. Crossing the room, I grab ahold of her arms and press her back against the wall. Before she can stop me, I lean down and kiss the fuck out of her, and I don’t miss the way she responds. When I pull away, I’m feeling smug and satisfied as desire flashes in her eyes.

  “Fine, pretty girl. We’ll play it your way. For now. You might think I’m not worth the risk, but I know better. And one of these days, I’m going to prove it to you, too.”

  Without saying anything else, I push back from the wall and head towards the door.

  “Sawyer,” I hear as I open the door, pausing to turn and look at her, but she doesn’t continue.

  “Someone once told me swallows are together for life, and I’ve been holding on to that belief for a long damn time. Fate, the universe, whatever bullshit you want to believe in, Cheyenne. Whatever the hell it was, it brought you back to me and I’m not giving up without a fight this time.”

  March 2014

  WHAT THE HELL JUST happened? I’m still watching the door, silently hoping that Sawyer changes his mind and comes barging back in to put up that fight he just promised me. Sliding down the wall, I lean my head back against it as I try to process everything that happened since we left the office. I have no frickin’ idea what I was thinking inviting him back to my place, especially with Cori and Bryan being gone. Sure, he’s been nothing short of a gentleman since the day he gave me that picture, and if I’m honest with myself, I can admit that it’s kind of been bugging me.

  After the initial holy-shit-Sawyer-Callahan-is-my-boss reeling subsided, I actually found myself enjoying working with him on a daily basis. He’s extremely intelligent, and whatever Wyatt did to him that summer apparently worked because he’s one of the hardest working executives I’ve ever met. Instead of relying on his department to do everything for him, he’s a very hands-on boss, and I can tell that his employees respect him for it. I know I do.

  He never asked me what I did with that picture, and I’m glad I had the fortitude to hide it before he got here. I’m still wondering where he got it and what it means that he’s been keeping it in his office for who knows how long. I’d tried to convince both Bryan and Cori that our working relationship was fine and that there was no way Sawyer still harbored feelings for me. Now I don’t know if I was trying to convince them or myself.

  Yeah, I acted like a fifteen-year-old girl and slept with that picture for a week straight before Cori caught me. The very next day, she was asking her followers their opinion on, and I quote, “A Lonely Young Woman Who Swears She’s Over Her First Love Yet Sleeps With His Picture: Creepy or Cute?” She even admitted that it wasn’t one of her best titles, but it was still effective. According to the poll she posted, it’s borderline creepy AND cute, and most of the comments basically called me an idiot who needed to realize she clearly isn’t over said first love. One even went so far as to call it an unhealthy, desperate cry for help and boldly predicted that I’d end up old, alone, and with at least forty-nine cats. Gotta love the Internet, right?

  I endured a week of torture as Bryan and Cori started placing stuffed kittens all over my room before I snapped and threatened Bryan with spilling his secret if he didn’t stop. Suffice it to say, the picture was placed on my dresser, never to be slept with again. Not that Sawyer ever needed to know that.

  So here I am, two months later, now reeling from being kissed senseless by Sawyer. My boss. My stepbrother. My first love. It’s overwhelming and exciting at the same time. It’s not supposed to be like this. I’m not supposed to be affected by his touch this way. I thought I’d gone long enough without it, that I should be over it, but apparently I was pretty damn wrong, because on that couch, Sawyer ignited feelings in me that I’d thought were dormant.

  And it wasn’t just from the kiss either. I didn’t mean for him to see my tattoo or to even admit the truth about why I got it, but it just kind of slipped out. The way he was looking at me, like he already knew the answer, was unnerving, and I knew I couldn’t lie to him. But it’s his own admission that I can’t stop thinking about, and I begin to wonder what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into and just how long I’m going to be able to resist him before I forget all the walls I’ve put up around my heart and finally give in.

  “DAMN, GIRL,” BRYAN SAYS as he whistles when I walk into the kitchen on Monday morning.
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  Okay, so maybe I took a little extra time getting ready this morning, but it’s only because Sawyer and I have a conference with our clients to discuss our project with them and I want to make a good impression. At least that’s what I’m telling Bryan—and myself. He’s checking me out, and he nods in approval.

  I’m wearing a charcoal pencil skirt. I admit that I’ve seen Sawyer checking out my ass whenever I wear one, and I’ve had to add to my collection. Instead of putting my hair up like I usually do, I chose to leave it down, creating gentle curls on the ends. I took longer than normal to put on my makeup, not so that it was completely noticeable, but just enough so that my eyes and cheekbones were highlighted.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Shy, you always look beautiful, but you’re smokin’ today. What gives?” Bryan asks. He and Cori got in late last night, and I chose not to fill them in on my visitor from Friday night.

  “Oh, I just have my first big client meeting today and I want to dress for success,” I tell him, shrugging it off like it’s no big deal.

  “Hopefully your client’s not an old creepy man or else your boss might end up kicking some ass when he catches him looking at your ass.”

  “My boss won’t be kicking anyone’s ass, thank you very much. I told you before, Bryan, there’s nothing going on. There never will be,” I say, and I hate hearing the words as soon as they come out of my mouth.

  “Whatever you say, Cheyenne. Whatever you say,” he responds, simply shaking his head. I hate how well he knows me, and I know that sooner or later he’s going to figure out that I do, indeed, still have feelings for Sawyer. I just hope that before that happens I can figure out what those feelings even are.