by Tessa Teevan
After asking what I want to eat, he proceeds to place the order. He grabs my hand and leads me to an open living room with brown furniture and a massive flat screen mounted on the wall. When he sits down on the couch, he pulls me down next to him. He turns on the TV and starts flipping through the channels, presumably to find something to watch while we eat. Instead of looking at the screen, I’m too busy watching him. Even his profile is gorgeous, and I almost have to pinch myself to prove that I’m really here, in his home, on his couch. I have no idea where the night’s going to go or where I want it to. I hope he’s okay with taking things slow, because I have a feeling I’m about to get way in over my head.
He turns to catch me staring at him, and I flush with embarrassment. “Like what you see?” he teases, and instead of denying it, I nod.
I lift my glass out towards him, and when he realizes what I want, he clinks his glass on mine.
“To what are we toasting?” he asks, looking at me quizzically.
I say the first thing that pops into my mind. “Us.” That may have been a little more forward than I intended, but the smile that spreads across his face is worth every nerve ending of mine that is currently on fire with both nervousness and desire.
“Us?” he asks, as if seeking clarification. I have no idea what exactly I mean by it, but it still just feels right.
“Yeah, Sawyer. To us.”
THE SOUND OF ‘US’ coming out of her mouth sends my heart in a tailspin, and I have to catch my bearings and regroup before I start throwing out crazy declarations of love. Because like I said, that would just be crazy. Still, the thought of us as more than employee and boss sounds so freakin’ good right now, but I remember the way she froze in the kitchen. I know I need to take this slow. To let her set the pace. I’m completely okay with that, at least for now.
“Sounds good to me, pretty girl,” I tell her, playing it off like it’s no big deal. She takes a sip of her wine, watching me like she’s not sure she believes me. “Whatcha wanna watch?”
She takes the remote from me and flips through the channels. Not having any more luck than I did, she finally just leaves it on HGTV, where a repeat of House Hunters is playing. She turns the volume down and then turns towards me.
“I told you all about my college days. I want to hear how Auburn was. How’d you end up in marketing instead of economics?”
I’m definitely down with moving into safer territory. Recalling my semester back at Auburn after our summer together, I bypass the whole blow-out I had with my dad when I decided to change my major. Glossing over those facts, I tell her about how I dove into my studies and graduated with a dual major. Other than my Greek activities and football games, I was either stuck in the library or locked away in my room at the frat house studying my ass off. She makes an offhand joke about me studying sorority sisters more than accounting, and I don’t set her straight. The truth of the matter is that, yeah, I hooked up with my fair share of chicks in college, especially once I realized she was out of my life. But that only lasted a few months until I realized that no amount of random play was going to fill the void she’d left. Fortunately, before she can ask any more questions, the doorbell rings and I hop up quickly to get our food.
After dishing everything out and refilling our wine glasses, we settle back into the living room and comment on the various houses that the people on House Hunters are looking at.
With a mouthful of Pad Thai, Cheyenne says, “Are you kiddin’ me?” Or at least that’s what it sounds like. When she finishes swallowing and takes a drink, she looks over at me. “These people have a budget of $350,000 and they don’t like this kitchen because it doesn’t have stainless-steel appliances? Where is the logic in that?! Hell, they can go to Lowe’s and replace all that crap for less than five grand!”
I’ve never thought about it this way, but she makes a good point. We both laugh when they freak out about carpet in the bathroom. “Now I’ve never put down tile, but I’m pretty sure I could rope Wyatt into helping me out if it meant we could get these suckers to pay us to do it.”
Taking the last bite of her food, she wipes her mouth and looks over at me. A sober look crosses her face, and I wonder what the hell I said. “How’s he doing?” she asks. “How is Wyatt? I…I always meant to stay in contact with him, but, well, I messed that up, too.”
I know she and Wyatt were close. When I found that she was gone, Wyatt seemed to take it better than I had anticipated. He simply told me that life gets in the way sometimes, and if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. In fact, I think his exact words were, “Boy, let her fly. She’ll come to the roost one of these days if it’s meant to be.” At the time I thought he was going into early onset dementia, but looking back, I realize he was much more observant that I gave him credit for. I thought he was making some sort of chicken coop joke, but I think he knew more about Cheyenne’s swallow obsession.
“He’s doing well. Gettin’ older, and he’s taken on more farm hands, but the old geezer’s still out in the fields every day as far as I know.”
She inhales deeply and then lets out a slow, shaky breath. With vulnerable eyes, she looks at me, and suddenly she looks like the eighteen-year-old girl who’s never been touched. “I really screwed things up, didn’t I?” she whispers quietly.
She’s made comments about how she did things the wrong way, how she wishes she wouldn’t have been such a coward, but this is the first time I’ve really heard the emotion, the regret in her voice. It’s almost as if she’s resigned herself to a lifetime of ridicule because of it, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. As much as I’d love to dive into a conversation about what happened, I know she’s not emotionally ready. I’m okay with that. I might sound like a total pushover pussy, but it’s the truth. Yeah, I know I should make Cheyenne work for it, yet I can’t help but continue to be drawn to her, and I’m not going to play high school games just because she burned me in the past.
I slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. “Hey, what’d I tell you earlier? No talk of the past.”
I’m greeted with a warm smile, and she snuggles in against my chest. Instead of reading too much into things, I feel content with her wrapped up against me as we watch TV. It’s so normal, so right, and I find myself hoping that she won’t leave this time. I have no idea how long we spend lounging on my couch and I don’t care. Enjoying the closeness, I zone out while watching random people trying to find their dream house. After a couple of episodes, I see her yawn, her eyes glossy with sleepy tears.
“Ready for bed, pretty girl?” I ask, meaning it in the most innocent way possible.
“I can go home, Sawyer. It’s not that far.”
I shake my head, letting her know that it’s not going to happen. “There’s no way I’m letting a pretty girl like you walk home alone at night in Atlanta, even if it is just a few minutes away.” I’m reminded of her eighteenth birthday, when she didn’t want to be alone, and the memory makes me smile. “Just camp out here. To sleep. I promise I’ll be a complete gentleman.”
As I stand up from the couch, I hold my hand out to her. She hesitates, but then she calms my racing heart when she places her hand in mine. “I’d like that,” she says, allowing me to lead her down the hall to my bedroom.
I drop our hands in order to find the lamp next to my bed, and when the light illuminates the room, I see Cheyenne still standing in the doorway, taking in the sight of my king-sized bed. I realize she’s going to be uncomfortable sleeping in her jeans, so I go to my dresser and grab a pair of sweatpants for her. I motion for her to come in. She slowly walks towards me and takes the pants from me.
“They might be a little too big, but at least it’ll be more comfortable than your jeans. Want a t-shirt?” I ask, trying to remain as cool as possible. I don’t want to be presumptuous.
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she looks away as she toys with the strings on the pants. Finally, she turns to me, a small smile on her face.
“Is it weird that I feel more nervous right now than I did when I was an eighteen-year-old virgin inviting some strange guy I’d just met to stay with me? Because I do and it feels kind of silly, all things considered.”
I sit on the bed and pull her in between my legs, my hands gripping her waist. “It’s not silly. Unless my getting sweaty palms and a racing heart every single morning when you walk into my office is silly. Then yeah, it is.” Looking into her eyes, I smile at the thought. “But maybe it’s good for you to be more nervous than that girl. I’m not the same stupid kid I was back then. I won’t give up what I want so easily this time around.”
She inhales deeply before letting out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know what’s going to happen after tonight. All I do know is that you won’t have to. I meant what I said. No more running.”
With that, she slips out of my hold and into the master bathroom. I quickly change into basketball shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, even though I normally sleep just in my boxers. She says that she’s not running, and I trust her, but I don’t want to do anything to make her change her mind.
I’m about to throw my clothes in the hamper when I see a card sticking out of the back of my jeans. Reaching down, I remove it and see that it’s the card Cori gave me. Interested, I sit down at the desk in the corner of my room and log in to my laptop, curious as to why Cori told me to give the website a look.
As I scroll through various posts giving relationship advice, I’m not seeing anything that pops out at me. I really don’t need any advice on ‘how to land your man,’ or ‘the way to bring out his inner Christian Grey.’ Okay, that last one might be worth a look later, but I’m definitely not doing that when Cheyenne is around.
I’m about to give up when something catches my eye. The title is about a woman who sleeps with her first love’s picture, and my heart starts to race when I look at the date stamp. It’s dated right around the time Cheyenne started working for me—right around the time she took the photo. I glance around to make sure she’s still in the bathroom before clicking on it. As I scan the post, I realize that I was right, and I’m pretty sure this is what Cori wanted me to see. Now I know what happened to the picture, and yeah, my brain might be cheering a little from knowing that Cheyenne was affected by all of this from the very beginning.
I read through the comments, both wanting to laugh and respond to the posts for her. I can’t believe anyone would think it’s creepy. I’m definitely voting for the cute option in the poll. I’m about to start writing down names to send thank-you cards to all the commenters who swear she must still be in love with me when I hear a small gasp behind me. Shit.
I spin around in my chair to find Cheyenne staring at the computer screen over my shoulder. A hand’s covering her mouth as she look at the post in horror. Her eyes wander to the desk, where Cori’s business card is lying, and her eyes blaze with anger. I almost feel the need to grab my phone and call Cori to warn her about her best friend’s rage, but instead, I try to diffuse the situation as much as possible. I grab her hands and pull her towards me.
“I never knew how much I was missin’ out on, pretty girl. Why didn’t you tell me I could’ve learned how to properly woo a girl on a relationship blog? It would’ve made things a heck of a lot easier,” I tell her, trying to tease her so she doesn’t take this too seriously or retreat back in her head.
She pulls her hand away from mine and buries her face in her palms, shaking her head. I try to get her to look at me, but to no avail. “Oh, god, I’m gonna kill her!” she says, and although it’s muffled, it almost sounds like she’s going to cry.
“Cheyenne, look at me. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.”
She takes a deep breath and finally releases her face from her hands. Her shoulders fall as she looks at the computer again. “You probably think I’m creepy now, too, and all those responses about my turning into a crazy cat lady are going to come true now. This is humiliating! It was bad enough that she even wrote the piece, but to lead you to it? I don’t know what she was thinking. Well, there you have it, Sawyer Callahan. You know the truth now. I stole that photo and slept with it for a week. All through college I kept a photo album with pictures of us from that summer under my bed and not a single night went by that I didn’t look through it before I could fall asleep. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing you. I know it’s weird, and I tried multiple times not to do it, but I never could give it up.”
She’s holding my gaze the entire time she talks, and all I want to do right now is throw her on my bed and show her how I’ve been imagining her at night all this time. Instead, I close the laptop and lead her to the bed, where we both sit down. She covers her face again, but this time when I grab her hands, she allows me to pull them away.
“Don’t hide from me, Cheyenne. I don’t think it’s weird or creepy. Come on. You’re talking to the guy who kept your picture at work even after all these years.” I pause when she sniffs, and I have to lift her chin so she’s looking at me. “Here’s the thing. I’m probably a lot creepier than you. Every night after you left, you were the star in my dreams. I swear, I could see you. All I had to do was close my eyes and the sight of your smile, your tan skin, your freckled face would appear out of nowhere. And then I could feel you. The way your fingertips would graze my skin when I was on top of you, inside you. I could smell you. The tantalizing scent of your favorite cucumber melon lotion that you could never go a day without. And the most tortuous of all? I could taste you, Cheyenne. And every time, it was a new experience, so vivid it was like you were there, but when I tried to reach out to hold you, you slipped out of my grasp. But your scent, your taste, your image? It lingered for months, years, even. Hell, it still does. And now that you’re here, I just want to be close to you. To be wrapped up in you all night, so that tomorrow, when I wake up, I won’t be disappointed that it was just another dream.”
She’s looking at me with wide eyes, and I realize I just got a lot more in depth than I intended. I know I need to reel myself in. I watch as tears form in her eyes, so I’m quick to lighten the mood.
“I have a feeling Cori could write her own blog post about me, and I’d fall into the creepy category, too. But that’s okay. Two creeps in a pod?” I wince at my lame joke, but apparently it works because she launches herself at me, not settling until she’s straddling my lap. She leans in and presses a sweet kiss to my lips before pulling back from me.
“Now I don’t know whether to thank Cori or strangle her,” she says, laughing. “I’ll be your creep if you’ll be mine. Just promise me you won’t ever let me turn into a crazy cat lady.”
“Cheyenne, I’ll be your creep for life if that’s what you want. And I solemnly vow to never allow you to have more than three cats at one time.”
She wrinkles her nose, giving me a weird look. “Why three?” she asks.
“Umm, well, one of the comments on the blog said something about having more than three cats is a cry for help and your friends should be worried if you go above that number.”
“That’s it. I’m never getting a cat. Ever,” she says, grinning at me.
“Fine with me. I never plan on getting one either,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her, drawing her in close. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She returns my hug and then climbs out of my lap. I notice that she doesn’t have socks on, and I get the perfect view on her tattoo as she moves across the bed before settling in on the headboard. I twist so that I’m facing her, my eyes unable to leave her foot. Without thinking, I scoot across the bed and sit with my legs crossed. I grab her foot and pull it into my lap so I can study the tattoo up close. It’s a simple design, a small black swallow, wings spread wide. I look up at Cheyenne and see her watching me.
“How long have you had this?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. For some reason, I want to hear it again. I move to the head of the bed, where I turn the lamp off as I wait for her to answer me. When I lie down on my pillow, Cheyenne
cuddles up beside me and I wrap my arm around her, drawing her into my chest. She slips her hand under my t-shirt, tracing small circles on my skin.
“I’ve had it for over five and a half years. Like I told you last week, Cori dragged me to a tattoo parlor on my third day at Berkeley and I knew what I wanted the moment I stepped in the door. What about you? Do you have any tattoos?” she asks, slightly changing the subject, but it’s too late. My heart warms at her admission, remembering that her reservations on her eighteenth birthday were because she needed something meaningful.
“Yeah, I have a couple. Remind me to show you sometime,” I tell her, wrapping my arm tighter around her. We both lie in silence, but the sound of our thoughts is echoing throughout the room. I want to know what she’s thinking. I’m wondering if it’s as hard for her to lie in this bed without touching each other intimately like I want to do right now.
“Oh, hey, Sawyer?” she says, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, pretty girl?”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.” With that, she turns onto her side and grabs my arm to pull me in behind her.
I’m spooning her and have to stifle a groan when her ass presses up against my groin. I tell my buddy down south to take a chill pill so he doesn’t freak her out, but I know he’s missed her just as much as the rest of me has. Placing my hand on Cheyenne’s stomach, I settle in behind her as her words replay in my mind. My pretty girl, my little swallow, finally found her wings, and came flying back to me. She’s home, right where she belongs.
THE NEXT MORNING WHEN I wake up, I stretch out, refreshed from the best night of sleep I’ve had in a long time. A smile crosses my face when I turn to the reason for my happiness, but my heart drops when I see that her side of the bed is empty and the sheets are all made up.
Lying back on my pillow, I stare up at the ceiling, replaying the events of last night. She said that she wasn’t going to run again, and I trust that. I have to trust that. Instead of mentally freaking out, I get up out of bed. When I head into the bathroom, I see her jeans still lying on the floor and I know immediately that she’s still here. A huge grin spreads over my face at the thought that finally, after so long, Cheyenne’s here, in my home, in my heart. For the first time in what feels like forever, genuine happiness flows through me. I know we didn’t discuss what was going to happen between us, but after last night, I know I at least have some sort of a chance at getting her back.
