Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

By “pregnancy vitamins”, Sawyer means prenatal vitamins, and by Tuesday morning a variety of them have been delivered to the Wildflower Weddings offices. I have them in gummy form as well as pill form, ones that promise to taste like strawberries and ones that swear they’ll make a baby as smart as Einstein* (*results may vary).

Sawyer has clearly been busy, and he hasn’t limited himself to just the prenatal vitamins. I’m also the proud owner of fish oil pills, protein bars, and cookies that promise to combat morning sickness. I also have a new fancy water bottle, heating pad, and compression socks, which Marge has slipped on over her stockings.

“Now these are real nice.” She admires them as she wiggles her toes. “Much better than the kind I get at CVS. He didn’t skimp on these, honey.”

I’ve barely broken down the boxes from the previous delivery when another UPS delivery woman knocks on our door carrying a package the size of my whole body.

“How is he getting these things delivered so fast?!” is my first thought, but not Marge’s.

“Jesus, what’s in there?! A refrigerator ?” she exclaims.

“Course not,” Queenie remarks. “She wouldn’t be able to carry it over her shoulder like that if it were. Thanks, sugar. Where should I sign?”

I accept the package and thank the woman, peeking out onto the sidewalk because I’m worried there might be a parade of delivery people coming in her wake, while Marge gets a pair of scissors so she can slice through the tape. Once I pass the huge box over to her, she opens it and withdraws a large stuffed white…cloud?

“What the hell is this?” Marge asks, draping it over her shoulders like it’s a pet anaconda.

“A pregnancy pillow!” Queenie replies, eating another one of my morning sickness cookies. “Had ’em with both kids and loved them. Here, let me test it out. Oh , that’s nice. This material is heaven.”

“Let me try,” Marge insists.

“If your father had doted on me like this, Madison, I’d have had twenty kids.”

Marge nods in agreement. “I for one hope you have twins.”

“TWINS?!” I exclaim.

“Yes. I’m not picky, but I would like a little girl that looks like you and a boy that looks like Sawyer.”

Queenie and Marge spend the next fifteen minutes daydreaming about this exact scenario, never mind what I think about it. I’ve tried to ensure things at the office continue on as normal today despite the around-the-clock deliveries. While Marge and Queenie look up baby names, I confirm we’re up to date on invoices, and while Queenie and Marge are at lunch, I clear another corner of the office and haul as much stuff out to the dumpster as I can manage. The two of them are total pack rats, and if I try to get rid of anything while they’re around, they both pitch a fit. “Now see, don’t go getting rid of that stained tablecloth sample! We might need it! ”

Marge saw a 1987 issue of Bride with half its pages ripped out sitting in the trash can and scolded me for fifteen minutes. I’ve learned my lesson. Trash gets taken out under the cloak of darkness or while Marge and Queenie are socializing on their lunch break.

I make sure there’s a tight seal on the trash can—just in case—then come back through the back door of the shop to find Sawyer standing near the front entrance, looking a little confused until he sees me.

“I wasn’t sure I was in the right office,” he admits, his eyes taking in the airplanes dangling from the ceiling. “What is this place?”

“It’s a disaster is what it is.” I prop my hands on my hips. “Old travel agency turned…dump. I’ve been cleaning it out for over a week now. Can you tell?”

He winces, like he feels bad admitting, “Not really.”

I sigh with defeat. “Yeah. Same here. I suspect the piles of junk are multiplying when I’m not looking. A sort of voodoo magic Luellen cursed the building with before she retired.”

He smiles and holds up the paper bags in his hands. “Brought you a late lunch.”

Good thing Queenie and Marge aren’t here to see this. They’d turn to goop over the fact that Sawyer is trying to take such good care of me.

I smile, though it’s hard to meet his eyes fully because Sawyer’s wearing another nice button-down today. This version of him is strangely intimidating. “That’s nice of you, but I’m not too hungry. What with all the treats you left at Queenie’s for breakfast…” I point to the tray of scones and muffins near the Keurig. We haven’t even put a dent in them.

“Well…” He plops the lunch bags on the coffee table near the front couch. “Maybe just a little something then. You need to keep your strength up. I brought a burger from Cactus Cafe, and if that doesn’t interest you, I also grabbed a salad from the deli. I saw Queenie and Marge over there. Marge was showing off your new compression socks to everyone.”

I laugh and walk over to him, if only to steal a French fry out of the Cactus Cafe bag. They sprinkle the best seasoning salt on their fries. Sawyer unwraps the burger and cuts it in half, and then adds dressing to the salad. It’s homemade ranch, aka my kryptonite. I wonder if he asked Queenie for my order details. He must have.

“I told Marge she could break in the socks. I don’t think they’re something I’ll need until I’m much further along in my pregnancy, if I’m even pregnant…” I feel like I need to point this out before we get too wrapped up in this fantasy we’re playing at.

Sawyer nods, trying to conceal his frown as best as he can. Is he truly as hopeful about this as I am?

“Are we totally crazy?” I ask him with a bewildered smile. “When I told you everything yesterday, I expected you to pass out.”

“Yeah, well I’m thirty, not nineteen… I’m good if you’re good.”

“I’m good.” I nod confidently.

With that, he hands me half of the burger, taking the other half for himself, and we share lunch together on the couch. I regale him with my plans for organizing the office, and he volunteers himself for cleanup duty anytime I need it. It’s such a nice conversation among friends. I barely have a hard time maintaining eye contact when his dark gaze lingers on me. I only glance at his lips and suppress the urge to kiss him say, half a dozen times. We’re friends! Friends feel nervous around each other. Friends blush when their hands accidentally brush while reaching for a French fry. Relax, everyone! We’re friends!

I stand by what I told him yesterday. We’ve had an extremely strange start to our situationship. Me toying with him on Kendra’s behalf, him finding out through Charlotte, our drunken makeup, our brush with law enforcement, and now a potential little one on the way. The brakes have been pumped and locked. Though I’m sorely tempted, I am not going to suggest we toss these burgers aside and cap this lunch off with an afternoon delight on Luellen’s old couch. But to be honest, I deserve an award for my restraint.

Sawyer’s still with me when Queenie and Marge return. They take one look at us and their expressions turn wholesome and sweet.

“Look at them,” Marge says to Queenie.

“Too cute for words, I know.” Then Queenie smiles, snapping her fingers as if she’s just remembered something. “Actually, it’s a good thing you’re both here! Marge and I were chatting at lunch and we’ve got the perfect names picked out for, you know…the potential baby .” She mouths the last word like she’s not supposed to say it out loud.

I for one don’t want to encourage her, but Sawyer’s all too happy to play along.

“Let’s hear ’em.”

Marge and Queenie smile at each other, then Queenie responds, “If it’s a boy, Anvil.”

“ Anvil!? ” I cry.

“And if it’s a girl, Mackynzee. Spelled M-A-C-K-Y-N-Z-E-E. How cute is that?”

Sawyer coughs to cover up his laugh. “I’m speechless,” he forces out while clearing his throat.

“I know! They’re so good! Tell them where we got the names,” Marge says, giddy with excitement.

“Anvil and Mackenzie are the two main characters in our next book club read, His Tortured Delights . It’s a romance about a widowed school teacher and an underground UFC fighter who happens to be”—Queenie waggles her eyebrows like she’s trying to drum up anticipation—“ a billionaire .”

I’m already up on my feet, walking away from their nonsense.

Marge shouts after me. “Don’t you want your baby to grow up to be a billionaire?!”

The second half of the week flies. Bills, invoices, payroll, and our messy office get pushed aside—we’ve been completely consumed by Amber and Michael’s wedding this Saturday at Starlight Vineyards. There are no less than a dozen vendors working in tandem to pull it off. By Thursday morning, a drapery company has transformed the simple walls and ceilings in the tasting room with endless bolts of gorgeous blush-toned silk. New antique chandeliers have been temporarily installed above a custom dance floor with the couple’s interlocking initials. On Friday afternoon, I’m overseeing the furniture delivery.

This is my happy place, my sweet spot. I’m good at coordinating weddings, and even when little things go awry (the furniture company delivered one less table than was listed on the invoice, we don’t have the right light bulbs for the chandeliers, one of the speakers keeps tripping the circuit breaker), I take care of it. I thrive in the chaos, and when Saturday morning rolls around and I stand in front of Amber in her beautiful haute couture dress, she beams at me.

“You’re an angel . I can’t believe you’ve managed to pull this off!”

You and me both, sister.

She doesn’t know about all the little hiccups. The fact that last night I drove two-plus hours trying to find the right warm-hued chandelier bulbs or that when her maid of honor missed her flight, Queenie and I were on the phone with every major airline trying to help her rebook as quickly as possible.

“Queenie handled most everything. The rest just fell into place,” I assure her with a confident smile. “Now let’s go through a few last-minute details so you know what to expect once we get started.”

The wedding night is not without incidents, but Queenie and I are able to smooth things over so well that Amber and Michael are none the wiser. I’ve watched the couple twirl their way through their first dance, I’ve listened to poignant toasts, and Queenie and I have sneaked a few bites of wedding cake in the catering kitchen.

Seeing my mom in action tonight has reassured me that while she might be failing miserably at the day-to-day management of Wildflower Weddings, her passion and love is evident in her work. She’s meant to be with brides on their wedding days. Which is all fine and well until the IRS comes banging on her door or we’re evicted from our office for not paying rent. I’m aware that things could go from bad to worse at any minute, and it’s hard to not dwell on our mounting problems, especially considering I’m the only one who’s worried about trying to fix them. If Queenie and Marge had it their way, we’d bury our heads in the sand and continue on as if everything were hunky-dory.

Annoyed by the situation, I sneak another slice of cake and try to focus on the happy nuptials taking place around me. Toward the end of the night, I’m standing in the shadows, scanning the room for anything amiss. There’s no line at the bar and the music isn’t too loud. The DJ hasn’t tried to get creative and deviate from the approved playlist and Amber is still on the right side of tipsy, singing loudly with her friends near the stage while Michael and his groomsmen dance close by.

Queenie comes over and bumps my shoulder. “There’s someone outside waiting for you.”

I frown. “Who?” I’m already taking a step toward the door. “Is the cleaning crew here already?”

Queenie’s smile turns sly and secretive. “No, hun. It’s someone better.”

Realization dawns with a zing of excitement. Still, I can’t get carried away. “Don’t you need me in here?”

“It’s all good. I can handle things for a bit.”

She’s right; our job is pretty much done. We’re thirty minutes out from Amber and Michael hopping onto a party bus with their close friends to continue the festivities at their home. Thank goodness that’s not within our jurisdiction. I’ve confirmed the bus is already parked out front with a full gas tank. Once the bride and groom wind through the grapevines and leave Starlight Vineyards, we’re officially off the hook.

I suppress a giddy smile as I tug my earpiece off and slip it into the small fanny pack I’ve kept around my waist all evening. It’s my emergency kit for Amber and the bridal party, and it’s filled with all the essentials: bandages, bobby pins, a miniature deodorant, a sewing kit, powder, and lip gloss. On my way out, I unclip the fanny pack and set it on a small cocktail table near the side entrance of the vineyard’s tasting room.

I’m expecting Sawyer and yet I’m still struck by the sight of him waiting for me. He’s in the dark shadows on the side of the building, tucked away from where the party bus is parked, waiting for our bride and groom. He clearly didn’t linger at the vineyard after work. He’s freshly showered, his hair still damp and wavy. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt. His face looks tan, his cheeks a little pink. I imagine him working a long day outside then hauling his butt back here now just to see me.

He stands with his hands in his pockets, a tentative smile in place as he watches me approach. He’s been so thoughtful this week, ensuring I’m well fed, expressing proper concern about any dietary restrictions (“There wasn’t deli meat on that salad I brought you on Tuesday, was there?”), and helping me take care of myself. Every meal, treat, and piece of pregnancy gear has been shared with Queenie and Marge, of course. They’re in hog heaven.

I smooth my hands down the front of my simple pale blue dress. There’s nothing much to it outside of a knee-length hemline, a fitted waist, and demure cap sleeves; it’s the perfect outfit for someone who’s supposed to blend into the scenery at a wedding. I have the same style in four different colors.

“Come to kick me off the vineyard once and for all?” I ask with a mischievous smile.

There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You sure? Because I can call your grandfather. I’m sure he’d vouch for me.”

He shakes his head, losing a battle with his smile as he holds out his hands like he’s trying to ease the mounting tension. “I have no doubt about that. Let’s not test the theory.”

“Well if you’re after some wedding cake, I can sneak you out a piece from the kitchen.” I point behind me. “There’s plenty left.”

“No,” he replies simply, his gaze turning serious. “I came here because I’ve decided something and I wanted to tell you right away. Tonight.”

I smile cheekily. “Oh really? Something else I shouldn’t be eating besides sushi and deli meat? Don’t worry, I had Dairy Queen for lunch. Fried onion rings dipped in ranch.”

He takes my teasing in stride, though to be honest, I’ve loved the way Sawyer has checked up on me these last few days. It’s not every day a girl gets doted on to this extent.

“It’s not about your onion rings, though I do take issue with you dipping them in ranch and not ketchup.”

I hold up my hand, swift and stern. “You will not sway me on the topic of ranch. It goes with everything, on everything. I would marry it if I could.”

He grins and we take another step toward each other, giving in to the invisible string between us, that tug . A little closer and then his hand reaches out to grip my hip, firmly taking ahold of me. We haven’t touched like this since the night in his truck.

His thumb rubs the material of my dress like he’s been dying to feel it. I wonder if it’s as soft as he imagined it would be.

“Well?” I prod. “What is it?”

I study his expression. His concentration seems to be split. He wavers back and forth between wanting to study my eyes and then my lips. A girl knows when she’s about to be kissed, and my heart slams against my ribs.

He blinks, coming out of a daze as he begins. “I don’t want to hang back and wait.” His hold tightens on my hip. “Regardless of what happens in the next few days, I want us to be together.”

His eyes lock with mine and my lips part as I take in what he’s telling me. It doesn’t seem possible. I’m adding it up wrong in my head, interpreting things the way I want to hear them.

Sawyer reads the confusion in my tense brows and he smiles, jostling me gently. “I want to be with you, regardless of what the pregnancy test says.”

Still, it’s unbelievable. “ Be with me?”

“Date you. Kiss you. The whole shebang.” His grin makes me laugh.

“You sure about that?” I can’t help myself; I lift my hand and draw light circles on his chest as I continue, “I’m fresh off an engagement, figuring my life out, living with Queenie. I’d rather not drag you into this mess.”

He tugs me closer. “ Mess? ”

Now I know he’s teasing me, and though I want to smile right along with him, one of us has to think about this logically. “You deserve someone really special.” Charlotte’s word from the other day haunts me. “Someone with a little more to offer you,” I go on. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to make an honest woman out of me.”

His hands come up to cradle my face. “Madison McCall, are you kidding me?”

I blush so hard I have to look down at the grass so I can hide how much he makes me feel. In life when something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Sawyer can’t still want me after all the chaos I’ve caused—the chaos I have yet to cause! I’m not the shiny Madison from a few years ago.

Inside, I hear the band announce the final song, and a slow sweet melody filters out to us. Sawyer sighs and draws me even closer until our bodies are flush.

“Dance with me?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head and laugh. “Oh c’mon, that’s so cheesy.”

“ Cheesy? ” He grabs ahold of me and spins me around. “What’s cheesy about dipping you?”

He bends me back so low my hair almost skims the grass. A laugh bursts out of me as he whirls me back up and gathers me close. We’re not really moving to the beat, just pressed together, our eyes locked, awareness pulsing between us.

“You aren’t shooting me down, are you?” He’s affected absolutely criminal puppy dog eyes.

I release an unsteady breath. “I’m not saying yes or anything, but if we’re going to try to move forward romantically , you can trust me, you know. All that stuff with Kendra was so stupid…”

I expect him to bristle at the turn of topic, but his expression shifts to one of determination. “I might have deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t,” I insist emphatically. “I initially agreed to go out with you because Kendra prodded me to do it, but I didn’t fake my attraction or the fact that I was dying to go on a second and third date.”

“Well if it helps, Kendra wasn’t so off base about me. In high school, I could be a cocky shithead, and truthfully she was never who I was interested in. I don’t blame her for wanting to get back at me for using her. Back then, I was just trying to get your attention.”

A laugh of disbelief slips out of me. Oh now, this is too good.

“ Sure. You entertained Kendra for a few weeks in high school so I’d notice you. Ha ha ha. ”

“I’m serious.”

I nod sarcastically and tack on a wink. “Got it.”

He almost looks offended. “You don’t believe me?”

Do I believe Sawyer Garnett harbored any sort of crush on me back then? Absolutely not, but it’s fun to give in to the delusion for now.

I lean up and kiss him on the cheek, but then before I can pull away, he turns and kisses me properly, sweet and exploring. I feel it like a butterfly taking flight inside me.

“Come home with me?”

I smile against his lips. “I have to finish up. I’m technically on the clock.”

There’s a sudden commotion around the corner and I know Amber and Michael are likely about to make their exit. I’ve stayed out here longer than I should have. Hopefully my absence hasn’t been noticed.

I kiss Sawyer once more quickly then try to hurry away, but he catches my hand and reels me back in.

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises, and then before I can protest, he gently pushes me back in the direction I was trying to go. I turn the corner with a dopey smile on my face, which Queenie notices right away.

“Take it you found Sawyer?” She taps her bottom lip. “Your lipstick’s a bit smeared right here.”

Embarrassed, I swipe it away. “Better?”

“Loads. Now let’s send off this bride and groom in style and call it a night.” She winces as she looks down at her feet. “These dogs are barkin’.”

True to his word, Sawyer waits for me so he can take me home with him after the wedding’s wrapped up. I should have realized he lives a block away from David and Lindsey. One big happy cul-de-sac. Sawyer’s house is a new build, one-story ranch-style with pale blue shutters and potted flowers near the front door. There’s an entryway rug and furniture that coordinates. Standing in the foyer, I look at him with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“Did an ex-girlfriend help you with all this?”

There is no way he knew to coordinate those gingham drapes with those throw pillows.

He laughs. “When I bought the house, my mom and Lolly took my credit card and went to town. I couldn’t tell you where any of this came from. Crate and Pottery? West Elm Barn?”

“Close. You almost named a real store. Well tell them thanks the next time you see them. I like what they did with the place.”

He motions toward the central hallway. “Can I get you water before we continue our tour?”

“Wow. Sure. I’ll take a water. Going to ask me if I’d prefer ‘ still or sparkling ’?”

He unfurls a cheeky grin. “I’ve got both.”

I look impressed. “A full-fledged adult.”

“Not bad, huh?”

“We’ll see if your sheets are clean. That’ll be the true test.”

His eyebrows hike up. “Oh you think this tour’s going to culminate with a look at my bedroom?”

I blanch—annoyed at myself for assuming we were here for the sole purpose of getting it on—but then the look on his face turns to one of pure glee. He’s reveling in this moment, me with nothing to say for myself. Of course I want to see Sawyer’s bedroom! I want to see Sawyer’s naked body stat !

“No offense, but I didn’t come to your house late at night to ogle your Pottery Barn sectional.”

He chuckles, leans in, and gives me a peck. “But what about that recliner? Nice, right?”

When I make like I’m going to walk right back through the front door—sayonara forever— Sawyer takes my hand firmly in his grasp and tugs me deeper into the house. He gets me that water he promised and offers me a snack, which I decline because I’m still full from my first and second piece of stolen wedding cake.

The tour continues and I’m allowed a decent look around the kitchen and a full perusal of the mudroom off the driveway, but then while I’m running my hand over the cute blue and white wallpaper in his half-bath, I catch Sawyer studying me intently, an obvious longing in his eyes before he smiles, nodding to another room. From that moment on (whether I’m just imagining it or not), it seems like Sawyer starts to speed things along. I’m barely spared a glimpse at the office and then he taps on a closed door down the hall. “That’s a bedroom, but I have it set up as a gym for now.”

I turn back to look at him over my shoulder as he prods me along. “Don’t I get to see it?”

“My weight set? I’ll show you first thing in the morning. Let you test it out and everything. How’s that?”

“Now, now, I want the full tour. If you’re hiding a room filled with junk—”

He flings the door open, proving it’s a neat home gym, just like he promised. Then he wraps his arm around my waist and scoops me toward the primary bedroom.

I can’t suppress a giggle. “ Now who’s anxious to get to the bedroom? Don’t cheat me out of the full tour. I think you should show me the garage. And the backyard and the…”

His head falls so his mouth aligns with my ear. In a low voice, he groans. “Madison. Don’t test me.”

I smile like a deviant just as we reach his bedroom. “Oh, this is nice,” I joke. “There’s a real headboard— check . A coordinating bedding set— check . Side tables and an antique dresser— check check . And most importantly, no dirty clothes littering the ground.” I squint at him discerningly. “Be honest, did you shove them all in the closet earlier?”

Sawyer’s wearing a sly smile when he spins me around to face him. That look I caught in the bathroom earlier is back. His feelings for me are so plain to see.

“Have I passed your test?” he asks, gathering me closer until we’re hip to hip.

My hands slide up over his chest, and I take note of the hard muscles beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. “Well, I didn’t see the garage yet…”

He laughs at my uncertain tone, and then before I can continue my silly charade, he leans down to kiss me. All jokes aside, this is why I’m here. Lightning sparks between us, eviscerating the last of my ridiculous demands to see his entire house. Nothing else exists as my hands venture up around his neck, my fingers slipping into his hair. Our kiss deepens, our mouths opening in sync.

Step by step, Sawyer backs us up to his bed, but before we tumble down onto it, he unzips the back of my dress. It’s a slow, teasing movement, and it sends shivers across every one of my limbs. He peels me out of the tight fabric and then steps back, dragging his gaze from the top of my head, down over my chest—which is rising and falling with shallow breaths—along my quivering stomach, my thighs, knees, calves, wiggling toes.

Fire burns in his gaze when we lock eyes again, and I feel completely at his mercy as he takes a predatory step toward me. Then another. We kiss again, deeper, longer. I think he’ll continue undressing me, undress himself , but we linger in the shallows so long that I’m left panting by the time he finally tips me back onto his bed and peels my panties down my legs. I feel vulnerable as I lie nearly naked before him, but I don’t resist. I slip my bra straps off my shoulders and let him do the rest, peeling off the lacy fabric and setting it reverently aside, never taking his eyes off me.

There’s no discussion, no confirmation that we’re both willing. There’s no need. Our longing fills the air we breathe. It’s in the way my fingers dig into his biceps as he climbs up and over me. His mouth claims my neck, my chest, my breasts. I arch up for him and his emotions bleed into me. I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I keep them at bay as Sawyer slips down my body, kissing his way along my torso and stomach, my navel, taking his time, working me to a fever pitch before he sinks between my parted thighs, and held-back tears finally slip down my cheeks as I tilt my head back and inhale a sharp breath.

It’s already too late…I’ve fallen. Please let him fall too.

My eyes ping open with the realization that I haven’t begged in this desperate way since I was a little girl wanting a birthday party to go on forever, a carousel ride to loop endlessly, a conversation with my dad to not be the last. My emotions overwhelm me. I don’t mean to let the tears continue to fall, but they do, and Sawyer notices.

“Madison?” he asks quietly.

I tug him against me, crushing our bodies together so his weight falls heavy over me in the best, most comforting way.

“It’s good. It feels so good,” I assure him, my throat feeling too tight to get anything else out. I kiss him as proof that these tears aren’t sad, or if they are, it’s a cathartic sadness. A relief that I can still want something this much and feel it so intensely.

I don’t know if it’s appropriate to realize in this moment, but I never shared this passion with Matthew. I didn’t even know how far off I was from the real thing. I don’t say this to Sawyer. I don’t want him worried that I’m thinking of my ex-fiancé in a moment like this. There’s no way he won’t interpret it the wrong way.

So I kiss him.

I let my hands wander over his body, and eventually, the heaviness becomes lighter, the passion easier to bear. We’re just as frenzied as we were in Sawyer’s truck, only now there’s no police officer knocking on the window interrupting us as Sawyer spreads my legs and presses inside me, rocking his hips until I gasp.

The first time ends quickly. The second time we linger. The third time happens in the kitchen when we’re both desperate for a snack.

“Think we could get Queenie to send over some cookies?” Sawyer teases.

“At three AM?!”

“Fine, I’ll just eat you instead.”

“ SAWYER! ”