Almost forty years of me taking Sawyer McKenna's steadiness for granted, assuming he'd always be there when I needed him.
"The court hearing is in two weeks," I say when the silence stretches too long. "If we're going to do this, we'd need to get married soon. This week, probably."
"This week." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "Lisa, do you have any idea what you're asking me to do?"
"I'm asking you to help me save my nephew from a man who abandoned him before he was born and only wants him back now because there's money involved." My voice cracks slightly on the last word. "I'm asking you to help me keep the promise I made to my sister."
"That's not what you're asking, and we both know it."
His words hit like a slap. Because he's right. What I'm asking is bigger than a favor between old friends. What I'm asking requires him to lie to a court, to pretend feelings he doesn't have, to risk his career and reputation for a woman who hasn't been a real part of his life in years.
What I'm asking is selfish and desperate and completely unfair.
"You're right." I sink back down onto his couch, suddenly exhausted. "You're absolutely right. This is insane, and I'm being selfish, and I should never have come here."
I start to stand, to gather what's left of my dignity and walk out of Sawyer's life for good, but his voice stops me.
"Sit down, Lisa."
It's not a request. It's the voice he uses when he's making an arrest, when he needs someone to comply without argument. I sit.
"When's the last time you slept? Really slept, not just closed your eyes and worried about Tommy for six hours."
The question catches me off guard. "I don't know. Tuesday, maybe?"
"It's Friday."
"Is it?" I try to remember what day it is, but the past week has been a blur of phone calls with lawyers and sleepless nightspacing Emma's apartment while Tommy cried. "I've been a little distracted."
"When's the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee and whatever you could grab from a vending machine?"
"Sawyer, what does this have to do with anything?"
He moves to the kitchen, pulls out eggs, bacon, and bread from his refrigerator. Starts cooking without asking if I want anything, the same way he used to make us sandwiches during those long summer afternoons when we were kids and forgot to eat until our stomachs started growling.
"It has to do with the fact that you're asking me to make a life-changing decision while you're running on three hours of sleep and pure adrenaline." He cracks eggs into a pan. "It has to do with the fact that if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."
My heart stops. "If we're going to do this?"
He doesn't answer immediately, focused on cooking breakfast like it's the most important task in the world. But when he finally looks at me, there's something in his eyes I've never seen before. Something that makes my breath catch and my pulse quicken.
"Derek Morrison has been a piece of shit since high school," he says finally. "The idea of him getting his hands on Tommy, of that baby growing up thinking his father is a man who only wanted him for money..." His jaw tightens. "That's not happening. Not while I can do something to stop it."
"So you'll do it? You'll marry me?"
"I'll marry you." The words are simple, matter-of-fact, like he's agreeing to help me move furniture instead of committing to a fake marriage that could destroy both our lives. "But we do this my way. No more running yourself into the ground. No more surviving on just coffee. If you're going to be my wife, even a fake one, you're going to take care of yourself."
Relief surges through me, so strong I have to grip the edge of the couch to keep from collapsing. "Thank you. Sawyer, thank you so much. I don't know how I'll ever repay you for this."
"We'll figure it out." He plates the eggs and bacon, sets the food in front of me along with a cup of coffee that's strong enough to wake the dead. "Eat. Then we'll drive into town and see about getting a marriage license."
I take a bite of eggs, and they're perfect. Fluffy and seasoned just right, the way Sawyer's grandmother used to make them during those summer visits when we were kids. The taste brings back a flood of memories: lazy mornings on the McKenna family porch, the sound of Sawyer's brothers arguing in the kitchen, the feeling of being part of something bigger than myself.
"This feels like a dream," I admit around another bite. "Like I'm going to wake up any minute and realize I imagined this whole conversation."
"It's not a dream." Sawyer sits across from me with his own plate, watching me eat with the same intensity he brings to everything else. "But Lisa, once we do this, once we sign those papers and stand in front of a judge, there's no going back. We'll be married in the eyes of the law, and everyone in this town is going to have opinions about it."
"I know."
