The Story Of Us - Teri Wilson Page 0,9

asking too much of a cat, though. Jamie would simply have to handle things on her own.

Chapter Three

Shortly before eleven p.m., Sawyer wheeled his suitcase into the entrance of Rick’s sleek contemporary-style house in downtown Waterford. After the meeting with Dana at Ridley, he’d tossed some things into a bag and headed straight out of the city. One of the wheels on his suitcase wobbled—probably from sheer exhaustion. It was a wonder his luggage had any fight left whatsoever after all the traveling Sawyer had done over the past several years.

Just a few more days.

All he had to do was stick it out until the town council vote, make a convincing pitch, get everyone on board, and then he’d be home free. No more travel. No more temporary design gigs. No more unpacked boxes stacked in the corner of his apartment in Portland. Once he was a full-time architect at Ridley, he could finally buy a place. A unit in the high-rise on the river. Or maybe a condo near the bike path and Tilikum Crossing. On warm-weather days, he’d walk across the bridge to Ridley’s office. He might even throw away his suitcase.

But first, he had work to do, right in his hometown.

“It’s about time you came back. I was scared you’d never show your face again after coming in last in fantasy football,” Rick said, grinning as he led the way to the modern, open-concept kitchen and filled a glass of water at the sink. The faucet looked like brushed nickel, and the sink was oversized, perfect for a chef.

“Remind me next time not to draft a quarterback first.” Sawyer parked his wheeled luggage and took a look around the space.

He’d never seen Rick’s house in person before, and it wasn’t at all what he’d expected. When he thought of Waterford, he pictured charming historic cottages with white picket fences and gingerbread trim. With its sharp edges and minimalist vibe, Rick’s home was the polar opposite in every way. It suited him, though, especially the killer kitchen.

“I will do no such thing,” Rick said. He took fantasy football almost as seriously as he’d taken playing the competitive sport in his college days.

“Nice.” Sawyer nodded at the surroundings. The sectional sofa and padded ottomans in the living room managed to look both comfortable and stylishly masculine. Rick’s taste had certainly become more refined since their Little League days. “Thank you for this, man. Really.”

“It’s the least I can do as many times as you’ve let me stay with you in Portland.” Rick handed him the glass of water. “And Chicago.”

“Don’t forget Missoula.” Sawyer raised his glass.

Rick laughed. “How could I forget Missoula?”

Even with a restaurant to run, Rick made time to visit, no matter where Sawyer landed on the map. And Sawyer had been grateful for it. Having a friend around made things less quiet in a strange new place. A little less lonely, especially after the break-up with Sarah.

Although perhaps the most telling thing about their break-up six months ago had been that the aftermath hadn’t left Sawyer feeling any lonelier than usual. Instead he’d felt…

Nothing.

And there he was, feeling all sorts of things about a place where he hadn’t set foot for fifteen years. It was strange being back. He’d been so young in Waterford, so grounded—absolutely certain about who he was and where his future was headed. He couldn’t help but wonder how that younger version of himself would feel about the fact that he’d been away for so long.

He swallowed hard and pasted on a smile for his oldest friend. “Less than a week, I swear.”

“Hey, it’s all good.” Rick sank onto a large ottoman and looked up at Sawyer with an uncharacteristic hint of worry in his gaze. “Enough time for me to get your opinion on a little situation I can’t quite figure out.”

Sawyer sat down on the sofa opposite him, all ears.

“Um. Okay.” Rick took a deep breath. “There’s a woman.”

Sawyer bit back a smile. “There always is.”

Rick was legendary for being popular with the ladies. Even in elementary school, girls fought for a place beside him at the lunch table.

“I’m serious this time,” Rick said, and there was no denying the earnestness in his tone.

Sawyer nodded. “Okay, okay. What’s the situation?”

“I can’t quite”—Rick gave him a sheepish grin—“ask her out.”

“What?” Sawyer’s mouth fell open. “That is not the Rick I know.”

“Because I like her. I really, really like her. We had that kerpow moment when we first met. You know what