Chapter 30

• The Lawson house felt bigger when it was empty — every old board creakin’ under soft bare feet, every screen door sighin’ when the breeze cut through the kitchen windows. The TV in the living room hummed out some old country rerun nobody was watchin’. The only real sound was her soft laugh driftin’ off the cold tile floor when she padded back in from the laundry room, barefoot, still half-damp from a shower that smelled like vanilla and wildflower soap.
• Sadie didn’t bother with shorts. Didn’t bother with pants at all, really. Just tugged on one of her old shirts — thin, soft cotton, sleeves pushed to her elbows, hem swingin’ dangerous high every time she shifted on her tiptoes to swipe her finger through the bowl of frosting she’d whipped up for the next morning’s test batch.
• Beau was tryin’ real hard not to look at her. Tryin’ harder not to look at the soft slice of thigh flashin’ when she twisted to reach the sugar tin behind her. But the harder he tried, the worse it got — that soft laugh, that syrupy voice rollin’ around the edge of his name every time she flicked a grin at him over her shoulder like she knew she’d already gutted him and was wonderin’ how long he’d pretend otherwise.