Page 9

Chapter 9

Sawyer

“Sawyer, it’s good to see you,” her doctor rushed to say as he closed the door to the exam room. Dr. Cooper was a tall, lean, middle-aged man with an early onset of fine white hairs that he kept cut low to his scalp. He’d been Sawyer’s family doctor for almost as long as she’d lived in B.C., and she trusted him.

“Yes, well …” Sawyer pointedly checked her wristwatch for the time before clasping her hands together. She leveled her gaze at him. “We’re both busy people, George, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste both our time by beating around the bush.”

“Straight to the point as always. You’re not even going to let me ask how Bree is? Alia says they’ve been keeping in touch.” Dr. Cooper smiled, but not unkindly. He pulled up a chair and sat down, a yellow folder already in his hands.

Sawyer laced her fingers together over her knee, proud of herself when only the faintest sigh left her lips. This was the issue with knowing your doctor outside of the exam room. And our daughters meeting at the same private school. “She’s well, thank you. And Alia?”

“She’s great. She actually just flew home for the summer break last week.”

“Fantastic.” Sawyer squeezed her fingers together, needing something to distract her other than the time ticking by on the wall clock.

“I know you’re anxious to get going,” Dr. Cooper chuckled, “so tell me. What have you been doing to reduce your stress since the last time we spoke?”

Sawyer could have groaned. Not this again. “What you suggested I do. Take Sundays off, relax in a bath, and do yoga.”

Okay, so technically, her bath typically involved wine, and her yoga consisted of stretching before her daily morning run, but who had time for an involved yoga session? Running was her relaxation.

“What about changes to your diet?”

“Sure. I’m limiting the sugar.” Truth was, there wasn’t much Sawyer wasn’t limiting these days. Nausea was an ever-present dragon to be bested.

Dr. Cooper jotted notes down in Sawyer’s file. “And how much sleep would you say you’re getting each night?”

Sawyer huffed, not liking where this conversation was leading. George should know her well enough to respect that some conversations were off-limits. She checked her watch again, not having time for this. “I get enough, George. Now please, don’t we have something other than my day-to-day to cross-examine?”

Dr. Cooper studied her, wariness clouding his features. Sawyer tracked his movements, watching as he raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He seemed pretty stressed himself, but Sawyer didn’t comment on it. Silence stretched out in the small space as the doctor looked over Sawyer’s file, and as the seconds ticked by, the pulse in Sawyer’s throat began a steadily increasing thump-thump .

“Well?” she prodded, gesturing to the file with a flick of her wrist.

“Your blood test came back showing elevated levels in your cholesterol. On account of this, I’d like to begin treating it with statin meds.” Dr. Cooper glanced up from his notes to look at her. “And if it’s alright with you, I’d like to arrange for you to have a stress test done.”

“A stress test,” Sawyer repeated, trying the words out. What would that entail? “Would it be in the office here? I can’t miss more work because I have to travel across the city.”

“It would be with a specialist. I’ll refer you. And Sawyer, this is the kind of thing you’ll want to miss work for. It’s important. Work isn’t the only thing in life, you know?” The sympathy in Dr. Cooper’s eyes was too much. Sawyer couldn’t take it, and she ripped her gaze from his, but still, he continued. What was with everyone in her life overstepping? “Alia told me Bree often posts beach pictures on Instagram. Have you thought of going on vacation at some point? You could go and see her. After losing Olivier, and before that, losing—”

“That’s enough.” Sawyer jumped to her feet, shooting him a glare before she hastily shoved her arms into her raincoat. Her hands shook slightly as she snatched her purse from the floor. “Refer me wherever you need to, but I have to go now.”

“Sawyer, wait—”

“Bye for now,” Sawyer interrupted, a forced smile gracing her lips as she walked past him and left the exam room. She kept her head held high as she passed the reception desk, and it wasn’t until she’d enclosed herself inside the elevator that she let herself truly breathe again.

“Merde,” she whispered into the silence. Her back pressed against the elevator wall, and she leaned into it, letting the added support hold her up.

A good routine was a must for someone like Sawyer. It was predictable, safe. She liked knowing where she and everyone else were supposed to be and when. Predictability and structure had given her a semblance of power in a life where she had so often felt helpless. Living with Olivier, she’d learned over time what made him tick, what caused him to explode, and her rigid routine each day helped thwart most of the impending aftermath.

Unfortunately, her desperate need for control eventually became so extreme that the simplest wrench in her schedule could sometimes throw her entire day off.

“And how much sleep would you say you’re getting each night?”

What a joke. Two or three hours if she was lucky, five on Saturday nights if she took a sleeping aid before going to bed. For years, she’d been haunted by that night, and frankly, some things were better remembered in the dead silence of an empty house.

Some people.

“... You could go and see her. After losing Olivier, and before that losing—“

“God, pull it together,” Sawyer brokenly whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as the hot shower water pelted over her face. A sob escaped from the crushing weight in her heart. She pressed her hand over the spot, trying to lessen the agony threatening to capsize her.

She turned away from the water, leaning her forehead against the slick tiled wall as she cried. Fucking days like today. Sawyer loathed them with a passion, hated how off-balance and hormonal they made her. It was times like now when she struggled the most to keep the past where it belonged.

Her other hand rested against her stomach as if wishing for her pregnancy would suddenly bring back what she’d lost. Turbulent images of her life fifteen years ago mocked her, cutting her so deeply it was like it was happening all over again. Sawyer moaned, sinking to the shower floor. She pulled her knees against her chest and cried her heart out.

Snot and tears mixed with the water raining down on her, but she didn’t notice. She was a prisoner of a different time, lost, just like all her could-have-beens.

“Chef, you wanna check this before it goes out?”

Sawyer blinked, slowly peering down at the blanquette de veau and tarte pine aux pommes in front of her. Heading to table eight and thirteen. Right. She cleared her throat, reaching for her towel to tidy up the caramel sauce. “Good.” She nodded to Amber, one of her part-time servers, and flicked her wrist to send the young woman out front.

Sawyer was off her game tonight. Not enough to be noticeable, she hoped, but the lack of her usual precision to detail was nagging at her. Fatigue had her shoulders drooping and her brain cells sizzling like a steak left on the grill too long. Between her episode that morning and her inability to think of little else than Dr. Cooper’s planned stress test, she was ready to throw in the towel. Sawyer pulled at her collar, the heat in the kitchen too much tonight.

She snatched the incoming chit from the machine, always a few seconds late this shift, and hollered, “Four orders of fèves au lard all day with mustard pickles OTS!”

“Heard that, Chef!” Barb returned.

“How’s the bouillabaisse coming for twenty-six?”

“Less than a minute, Chef. I’ve got about five more servings, and then we’ll have to stretch it,” Leon said behind the seafood line.

“Stretch it out now. No sense waiting.”

“Copy that, Chef.”

Tristan, a new hire for the floor, appeared by Sawyer’s side. “Chef, a customer is asking about what’s included in these coupons. It’s the first time I’ve seen them, but it looks like your signature on the bottom.”

Sawyer examined the two vouchers, paying special attention to the grease smudge on one corner. McCoy’s face instantly came to mind, and she bet if she sniffed the slips in Tristan’s hand, they’d carry a hint of her cologne.

She wrinkled her nose. Why would she think of that ?

McCoy hadn’t given Sawyer an answer yet regarding the McLaren, and Sawyer was curious to see who would accompany her to an upscale French fusion restaurant like Desmarais. Honestly, she had expected McCoy to give the vouchers away. She didn’t strike Sawyer as the fine dining type.

“Barb, cover the line!” she called to her sous-chef, removing her apron. To Tristan, she took the vouchers from him and said, “Which table?”

“Um, thirty-four, Chef.”

“Thank you. I can take their order, Tristan. Check back when their meal is ready to go out. In the meantime, go change your shirt. You’ve spilled sauce down the front. Any one of those customers out there could be a food critic.”

Tristan examined his black dress shirt like he was seeing the stain for the first time before his gaze darted up to Sawyer’s again. “U-understood, Chef,” he stammered and scurried from the kitchen.

Sawyer paused just inside the front house and took a breath. She always had to screw her head on a little tighter and focus when she greeted customers. Heads often turned, as if people in the dining area had never seen a chef approach a table before. And, well, interpersonal skills weren’t Sawyer’s strong suit. She held her chin up proudly and forced her feet to move, but in reality, her knees quaked, and her entire posture felt unbalanced.

McCoy had a deuce seater corner table, not too far from the bar, so Sawyer was able to use that to her advantage. Instead of flouncing right out in the middle of the restaurant where everyone could see her, she got within earshot first.

“You look happy, Abs. Settled.”

McCoy’s smooth voice rushed over Sawyer, doing wonders to excite and annoy her at the same time. She didn’t know why, but there was something about McCoy that made Sawyer’s pulse work harder when she was around.

“I am. Life is falling into place, Coy. Tess’s …”

Sawyer drowned out the other woman’s voice, focusing only on the nickname she had for McCoy. So, the mechanic didn’t go by her full name all the time? Interesting . Sawyer wondered who had the privilege of calling her Coy. Friends, or was it a pet name reserved for lovers?

What is wrong with you? Get your head in the game! Two stars, remember? Sawyer took a deep breath, exhaling as she stepped past the plant and came into view.

“Cheers to that, babe,” McCoy was saying, and Sawyer watched as she raised her wine glass to toast the other woman. “Abs”, as McCoy called her, was a gorgeous woman with stunning glacier-blue eyes and caramel-highlighted light brown hair. She looked closer to Bree’s age than McCoy’s and light years younger than Sawyer felt on the best of days. She didn’t know why but seeing her smiling and giggling with McCoy made Sawyer’s stomach clench.

She approached their table, standing tall with her hands folded behind her back, and cleared her throat. “Good evening.”

McCoy’s mouth dropped open when she noticed her. “Sawyer!” She was handsomely dressed in a black buttoned short-sleeved dress shirt with red suspenders. If there was one thing Sawyer could say about the younger woman, it was that she certainly had an eye-catching, eccentric style. Her body art covered one whole arm, and on the other, it looked like just an upper half sleeve. Sawyer’s gaze lowered, observing McCoy’s black cargo shorts and the large tattoo covering most of her muscular calf. Decorative socks were pulled up as far as they could go. Handmade bracelets adorned both wrists. Quite a different look from her usual work attire.

Sawyer glanced back and forth between McCoy and her mysterious friend, finally narrowing her eyes on the mechanic. “You had a question for me?”

McCoy visibly gulped, like she was trying to draw in all the air in the room. “Ah, um … uh-huh,” she stammered, staring up at Sawyer with a pair of widened, pretty green eyes. Her chiseled jaw was slack as if merely looking at Sawyer made speech impossible. An intriguing dusting of blush stained her cheeks. The striking red bowtie fastened around her neck obscured any rosy skin underneath, but Sawyer imagined it was as arousing as the display before her now. She could admit this—she very much enjoyed a frazzled McCoy. There was nothing like putting cockiness in its place.

“Coy and I were wondering what you recommend at Desmarais,” Abs smoothly cut in, making Sawyer bristle. Abs shot McCoy an amused smirk before giving Sawyer a wide smile and tilting the menu closer. Pointing to the one dish most customers inexperienced with a French menu ordered, she said, “I was thinking of trying ratatouille since it was always a childhood curiosity of mine, but what do you recommend, Chef Lavoie?”

Oof, she was a smooth talker; Sawyer could tell already. It was hard to hate a woman who came off so friendly. Not to mention, she memorized Sawyer’s last name just to use it later in conversation.

Sawyer relaxed a little, admitting, “ Ratatouille is excellent. Rich and flavorful, but I suppose it depends on what you’re in the mood for.“ Her gaze returned to the second woman at the table, watching the moment McCoy realized she had an audience. Perverse enjoyment filtered through Sawyer when McCoy almost knocked her wine glass over. She sniggered, turning back to her enchanting guest. Scanning the menu momentarily, Sawyer pointed out a few of the more popular options.

“Desmarais’s bouillabaisse soup is our most popular right now, as most of our fish come fresh from the market each day. Or if you’re craving stew, then Barb makes the best blanquette de veau this side of the Pacific.“ She paused, adding, “If simple and wholesome is on the menu tonight, my version of the Québécois tourtière should hit the spot.”

“Tor-tortei what?” McCoy sputtered, perking up in her chair like Sawyer had offered her the keys to her house. It was hard to concentrate on anything except the exhilarating way McCoy was watching her. She looked willing to do anything, even get on her knees for Sawyer right in the middle of the restaurant.

Where did that come from? she thought, clearing her throat. Sawyer repeated in a thick voice, “ Tourtière . It’s a meat pie. Savory, double-crusted—”

“Sold,” McCoy cut in, a silly grin on her face now. Somehow, she managed to be both annoying and endearing.

“I’ll have Barb’s specialty,” Abs added, smiling up at Sawyer. “Thanks for coming out here. Coy hasn’t stopped talking about the project she’ll be helping you with.”

This was news to Sawyer. McCoy hadn’t bothered to contact her after their meeting the day before. She hated being the last to know things and couldn’t stop the scowl from appearing as she eyed the handsome butch. “Is that right? So, you’ve decided you can follow the stipulations I’ve laid out?”

McCoy visibly swallowed, and Sawyer silently acknowledged the thrill she got from the submissive action. That was good. If they were going to be spending time together, there could only be one boss. It sure as hell wouldn’t be a young player with a look at me bow tie around her neck.

“Erm, well, I mean. I’ve been told I flirt with my nana, sooo …” A gust of air left McCoy, and she blushed for the second time in five minutes. That had to be a record. “I might not know the difference. But I promise not to hit on you. Intentionally, I mean. Unless you want me to.” She clamped a hand over her mouth, glaring at her friend’s fit of laughter from across the table.

Sawyer scoffed at the ridiculous reply. Even nervous, McCoy couldn’t seem to help the crap that came out of her mouth. “To be clear, McCoy, I never want you to hit on me. If you’re going to be working for me, that’s all that’ll be happening between us. Comprendre ?” With McCoy’s nod of agreement, Sawyer glanced between them once more. “Good then. Enjoy your meal.”

As she walked away from their table, she heard the roar of Abs’ laughter as she reprimanded her friend. “You told her you hit on your nana?”

Sawyer smirked. She’d thoroughly enjoyed that part as well.