Page 61 of Almost Ravaged

“Noah, this is Sawyer Davvies. She’s my graduate assistant this year, meaning she’ll be your point of contact for the capstone project we discussed.”

I extend a hand. “Ms. Davvies.”

“You can call me Sawyer.” She smiles and gives me a firm shake. I like that. “This place is great.” Her lips curve up as she assesses the empty parking lot, then the barn and farmhouse. “It’s all open to the public?”

I nod, slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans, mirroring Mercer’s stance out of habit. “For the most part. The orchard, apiary, barn, and storefront are open seven days a week, June through November. We’ll cut the cornfield into a maze next week, and the rest of the property is available for exploring, too.”

“Except for the house,” Mercer interjects.

I frown at him.That’s implied, asshole. Thankfully Sawyer doesn’t seem fazed.

“You’ll want to walk around and get the lay of the land,” he explains. “You need to be an expert on this place so you can create content and guide the class. Noah can give you a tour—”

Mercer abruptly cuts himself off and pulls his phone from his pocket. With a grimace, he says, “Sorry. I have to take this.” He’s still scowling as he wanders to the other side of the porch, leaving the two of us to awkwardly stare at each other.

She nibbles on her bottom lip and tucks a loose strand of hair behind one ear, regarding me.

She’s pretty.

Really pretty.

Why do I feel so jittery? Must be the coffee refill in the bakery.

I jam my hands deeper into the pockets of my Wranglers as my pulse thuds loudly. So loudly, in fact, that I worry she can hear it.

“So,” I hedge when the silence gets to be too much. “You and Mercer are working together this semester.”

Sawyer’s brows shoot into her hairline. “I’ll be his graduate assistant for the entire school year,” she corrects.

Shit. That’s right. Merce’s concern that she won’t last all year is not something she should be privy to. Leave it to me to put my foot in my mouth.

“The year. Right.” I crouch and pick up my thermos.

As I stand and meet her eye, her expression is filled with determination, her lips pressed together in a tight line, like she’s holding back.

After a heartbeat, she scoffs and shakes her head.

“Figures. Graduate assistantships typically span two years.” She ducks, picking at a loose thread near a buttonhole on her sweater. “Thanks for the heads-up that he’s not counting on this lasting for even one.”

Shit.

My gut twists sharply.

She got all that from the couple of words I fumbled out? God, I’m fucking this up.

She saw Merce and me together at Mae’s, and she’s smart, so there’s no way she doesn’t know that we’re close.

And I’m a goddamn idiot, letting information like that slip.

“Look.” I reach toward her, then think better of it and drop my hand to my side.

Her eyes track the motion, though her expression remains stony.

“I’ve known Merce—Professor Eden my whole life. He’s a good guy. Intense. But a good guy, nevertheless.”

“Nonetheless.” The moment the word leaves her, she slaps a hand over her mouth and her eyes go wide.

I search her face, confusion swirling in my head. “Come again?”