He grinned lopsidedly. “You could, you know…try a wider range of nice guys. In case this one doesn’t work. Sawyer’s not the only nonloser around.”
“True.” She smiled at him. As usual he’d found a way to make her feel better. “You’re absolutely right, Edgar, thank you so much. I’m being ridiculously pessimistic. This is my first attempt at a new life, and I can’t expect to hit it right, boom, immediately. Though, I’ll tell you, I have not, by any means, no way, given up on Sawyer. I still bet we can get something good going.”
She scooted to the right again, leaned forward and kissed Edgar’s cheek, making him blush fiercely, which she got a kick out of. He was such a great friend, always seemed to know when she was upset, really listened when she talked to him, anticipated her needs, sometimes before she knew she needed anything. Like the coffee this morning. If he wasn’t already involved with Emma, Melanie would try to set him up with one of her friends. Jenny maybe, who was dating that weird sculptor who was horrible to her. Melanie would think she should match herself up with Edgar if she felt anything but friendly toward him. Sad to say, once again, when faced with a great guy, Melanie had absolutely no interest.
If she couldn’t get herself to fall at least a little bit in love with an incredible man like Sawyer, she was very much afraid she was doomed.
4
SAWYER OPENED his eyes warily…and breathed a sigh of relief. His ceiling fan rotated silently above his bed. This was good. He was home, exactly where he was supposed to be. Even better, he remembered getting here, high-tailing it away from Betsy Ross Place when sweet Melanie and her complete-opposite sister shut themselves away to male-bash, and driving across town to Whitefish Bay on Milwaukee’s northeast side, where he fell into bed. Now, his mind was sharp, he felt decently well rested, and he was alone in bed, though he definitely wouldn’t have minded waking up next to the Sleeping Beauty version of Alana again.
Having seen her in action awake, however, he had a feeling his stay at Melanie’s would go more smoothly if big sister relocated to Florida sooner rather than later. Judging by Melanie’s shocked reaction, Alana’s visit was a surprise detour. Maybe he’d delay moving in until she was gone.
He’d think about it.
A big yawn, a stretch, and Sawyer let his body relax again, blissfully. He sure as hell did not miss having to get up at 6:00 a.m., rush to work out, shower, shave, put on a suit and fight traffic to be downtown at the office by eight. Nor did he miss the long hours, the pressure, the office politics or the bad coffee. At the same time, the driving sense of purpose had been invigorating. In his world now, it was summertime and the living was always easy. An adjustment, more than he’d expected. Sometimes it felt too easy. Certainly his three brothers and his father were disgusted with his choice to quit his job and take some slow-down time to reevaluate his life. The Kern family never slowed down. Much more honorable to drive oneself into an early grave than give up chasing the almighty dollar. The irony was that the family, descended from the world’s third-largest brewing company, Dalton Brewing, had plenty of money already.
Until this year, he’d bought into the family ethic in actions if not in his heart, given up his passion for cabinetry and gone to law school, gotten a Good Job in the Right Firm, same as his engineer, investment banker and doctor brothers, ignoring how he loathed every minute. Heart-attack symptoms last winter landed him in the hospital with a diagnosis of acute stress. Instead of jumping back on the horse, Sawyer promised himself he’d take six months off guilt-free to repair his exhausted body and brain before he committed to the next phase of his life, whatever that would entail. Not going back to practicing law.
He sighed. In the meantime, being the black sheep of the family had kept him busy enough, volunteering for Habitat for Humanity and indulging in woodworking again—both on his own in his basement shop and teaching classes through the rec department—visiting museums, reading, making time for concerts, nights out with friends, travel…indulging all the interests he hadn’t had time for when his whole world consisted of an office during the day and this bed at night.
He rolled to sitting, glad when his stomach stayed steady and his head stayed clear, though it still throbbed. His cell rang on the clunky bedside table he made in junior high school, which he was replacing with one he’d half finished.
His brother. “Hey, Finn.”
“Good, you survived the night.”
“Apparently.” He cut off a yawn. “What the hell did I drink, and is Phil in jail yet?”
“Police are involved. Yeah, Phil is strongly suspected.”
“Nice.”
“Listen, Dad called me this morning.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes. Mom and Dad had moved to Arizona last year, which meant Dad had to exercise his manipulative control-freak tendencies long-distance, usually by calling Sawyer’s brothers instead of him. “How are they doing?”
“Head of the Dalton Foundation is leaving. Frank Bolliver.”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s how they’re doing?”
“Dad thinks since you’re out of a job, you might want to consider taking this one.”
The old resentment leaped up, fresh and shiny new every time. “I’ll give that tons of thought.”
Finn chuckled. “Just the messenger.”
“Last week it was Tom telling me Dad’s golf buddy needed a partner in his firm. He doesn’t let up, huh.”
“In his own misguided way he’s trying to help. He thinks you’re lost at the moment.”
“What do you think?”
“Not my job to comment, man, but if you ask me, you’re spiraling downward big-time.”
“That’s what I thought.” Sawyer stood, went to the window, peered out through the single pane at kids riding sleek narrow scooters down the block. “You ever wish you’d done something with your music?”
“Come on, bud. There’s a time when you have to lose the rock-star dreams and grow up.”
“Right.” He laughed to himself for the idiotic impulse of sharing himself with his own brother. That wasn’t how the Kerns operated. “I’ll work on that.”
“Whoops, gotta answer this e-mail. Some of us still work for a living. I’ll let you know what I hear about Phil.”
“Yeah, have fun with that.” Sawyer tossed the phone on his bed in disgust. Sometimes he wondered how he was born into this family.
He trudged toward the bathroom to scrub off anything left of his hangover and to brush his teeth. Three steps into the hardwood hallway, he tripped over a colorful plastic toy and had to jam his hand on the wall to keep from falling. In the distance one of his nephews screeched in fury, another burst into loud tears, accompanied by yips from the dog Skittles, and yells of, “Shut up, Bobby, Uncle Sawyer’s still asleep.”
And there you had it. Episodes like this were why, during a painting session at Habitat for Humanity, when Melanie started talking about inviting “Fast Freddie” to be her roommate because she wanted to support his struggles to stay clean, Sawyer had told an immediate white lie and said he heard Freddie hooked up with an old girlfriend, but that Sawyer desperately needed a place to stay.
Maybe Freddie really had given up his meth addiction, but Sawyer wouldn’t bet on it. He didn’t like the idea of Melanie alone with a guy who could be wired out of his mind and reason at any time. Not counting last night, Sawyer’s mind and reason kept pretty close company. He’d be better for a naive idealist like Melanie. In fact, when he met her, he’d toyed with the idea that he could be very good for her, until his attraction faded naturally into brotherly affection. She was too childlike, emotions riding too close to the surface. Her sister…well, Sawyer would like to date her, but only if she stayed