I lasted until lunchtime. We’d puttered away the morning much like we’d spent the day before, but when Sawyer got up to make sandwiches, and his step lacked its usual bounce, it was time to poke until he talked.
We sat, and Sawyer didn’t say a word. Just meticulously ate bite after bite, one of his sandwich, then one chip. Over and over again. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, and when he reached for another chip, I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
His gaze shot to mine, and I smiled, caressing his wrist with my thumb.
“Hey baby, want to tell me what’s going on?”
Sawyer opened his mouth to deny it—it was written all over his face—but then he deflated and shook his head. “No,” he mumbled, then hunched in on himself.
Okay. Things were even more serious than I thought. I pushed away
