Page 71 of One Night with Number Nineteen

God, I want her so much.

But—

“It’s getting late,” I begin.

Begin because a moment later, her lips are on mine.

It’s not soft or sweet. It’s deep and passionate and has me hard in a second.

“Thank you,” she whispers when we finally pull back. “God, Sawyer”—her bottom lip trembles and she runs her fingers along my jaw—“thank you for being you.”

I brush away an errant tear, not understanding why a stuffed penguin and some pens have brought her to tears. “Pages, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, leans into my touch. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I think things are finally right.”

Twenty

Lainey

The excitement of the evening finally catching up with him, I tuck Ollie into bed, making sure his new Ollie is tucked beside him.

I flick off the light, hurry downstairs.

And find Sawyer in the kitchen, sweeping the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask softly.

He bends and uses the dustpan to scoop up a few crumbs. “Nothing now,” he says, dumping it in the trash, putting everything back, and coming over to me.

“Do you have to go?”

Fingers on my cheek, a murmured, “No.”

We stand there for a moment.

“Your mom seems nice.”

A pause. A flicker of something across his face. “Yeah, she’s…nice.” He trails his knuckles down my throat, across my collarbones. “Ollie had a good day.”

I nod, a blip of guilt trailing through me at how happy Ollie was today.

“It’s Christmas, Pages,” he murmurs. “The excitement will fade and then he’ll think about his dad.”

“I know. I just…”

“It’s not your fault you’re still here and he isn’t.”

“I know,” I say again.

But I don’t feel it.

Sawyer knows that too. He tugs me against his chest, arms wrapping around me. But he doesn’t repeat the words. He just holds me.

Like he knows that sometimes words aren’t enough.