After Boston, I’d tried to stay away from Sawyer, tried not to be as needy and dependent on him as I usually am. He’s seeing Fitz, and despite how much that bothers me, Sawyer has the right to date whoever he wants.

It’s hard, though. I don’t sleep well in the big bed by myself. I’ve been more tired than normal, more distracted. Every change I make to my AI model seems to generate worse results than the last. I hate it. Everything’s awful. I want to go back to the way things were before Fitz came waltzing uninvited into our lives.

I miss Sawyer. I miss him a lot.

I yank the tail off the last shrimp and hold up the bowl. “I’m done.”

“Awesome! Good job!” Sawyer flashes me a smile. It’s sure and confident.

I bask in it. It chases away my insecurities and replaces them with Sawyer’s unwavering belief in me. He used to smile at me like that all the time and now I realize how much I’ve taken it for granted.

Sawyer takes the bowl of shrimp and sets it on the counter by the stove. “What’s next in the recipe?”

I wipe my hands clean and pick up the instructions. “Add orzo, squash, and spices. Salt and pepper to taste.”

Sawyer rips open the packaging on each of the ingredients, naming them out loud as he dumps them into the pot. “Orzo, squash, spices. Salt and pepper. Got it. Next?”

“Sauté for two to three minutes, until the orzo is toasted.”

“Two to three minutes, cool.” He holds up the wooden spoon and offers it to me. “Want to stir?”

“Me?” My voice squeaks.

Sawyer chuckles, low and warm, rumbling and soothing. “Yes, you. Who else would I be asking?”

“I’ve never stirred anything before.”

“It’s easy. I’ll be right here.” Sawyer extends his hand toward me.

I take the spoon, closing my hand over his. He doesn’t pull away, leaving us both holding the spoon at the same time. Our eyes meet and something happens.

I don’t know how to describe it. Neither of us speaks, neither of us moves, but it feels like an invisible energy is drawing us together. It reaches from the center of my chest to the center of his, then winds around both of us, wrapping us in a cocoon.

Swayer’s eyes are a captivating mix of blue and green, shifting between the colors like a rotating kaleidoscope. I inch closer. He smells of soap, citrusy and fresh, the way he usually does after he’s showered at the gym. He’s so warm, radiating heat like a cozy blanket I want to cuddle up in.

He hugged me earlier, after the onion incident. It’s been a while since we’ve hugged like that—at least two weeks. I never want to go that long without a Sawyer-hug again. Just standing there, leaning on him, all the tiredness from my sleepless nights simply melted away. A few minutes in his arms and I feel more like myself again.

How is that possible? How does he do that? I don’t know, but he’s the only one who can.

I shuffle forward and my toes bump into his. An inch of air separates us and suddenly I loathe that inch of air with every fiber of my being. I want to be in his arms again. I want to burrow myself into him and smother myself with him. I want to live surrounded by Sawyer and never ever have to leave.

I tilt my head back to gaze up at him. There’s a small bump on his nose where he broke it playing rugby in high school. He was upset when it happened, but I kind of like it. It makes him look more rugged, tough, capable. He’s got some scruff along his jaw and on his chin, the blond hairs only visible when he lets them grow out a bit. They catch in my hair sometimes, when we hug and he hasn’t shaved in a few days. The curve of his lips is so elegant, subtle yet complex. I want to trace the contours of them, to feel the way they arch and dip so perfectly.

Suddenly, Sawyer blinks and steps away from me. He pushes the spoon toward me and pulls his hand out from mine. He clears his throat and nods toward the pot. “Go ahead.”

No. Wait. I wasn’t done yet. I haven’t had enough. I want more.