Page 104 of One Small Spark
I shake my head. He can’t make me say everything.
This man has the audacity to smile. “I got it because verbally sparring with you made me feel more alive than anything else ever has. Because the window you gave me into your heart was enough to make me crave more. Because every time you walked into my shop to argue, my soul said, ‘That’s her. She’s ours.’”
I should tell him I feel the same. That even when I thought I hated him, I needed to see him. That the days he didn’t come into the bakery left me hollow, like I’d missed out on something important. That I looked forward to our banter with an almost religious devotion.
I should tell him that these last several weeks have been the best of my life. I want to talk to him every day and see him every night. I want to share myself with him, even when it’s terrifying to give someone that much of me. And I love how much he shares back as if he’s not afraid of anything. I want to tell him there will never be enough Shepherd Callahan in my life.
Staring into his deep brown eyes I used to think I couldn’tstand the sight of, my heart swells up with love for this man. It presses on my ribcage and shifts my organs, demanding more space. It strains and grows until it should burst, but it just adapts and takes over. My heart is filled with Shepherd, and all I want is more.
But. It’s terrifying enough to experience—I can’t add saying the words out loud, too. Not yet. Instead, I fake a scowl, pretending my eyes aren’t still streaming silent tears.
“Ugh. I’ll never be able to go back to men who don’t read romance novels.”
He levels me a serious look that sends fireflies dancing around in my chest.
“No. You won’t.”
TWENTY-NINE
SHEPHERD
Of all theways Wren and I could spend the hours while our bread dough rises, she wants to hear my bike trails presentation. I might have chosen an activity with a lot less talking, but it’s exactly like I said—she does her own thing unapologetically.
I get out my laptop so I can show her the slideshow Lila and I worked up while I talk. It’s mostly pictures of the fire roads and graphs and stats about other similar projects, but it will give her an idea of the result I’m going for. Wren sits next to me at the dining table, her bright eyes betraying nothing of the big emotions she processed earlier.
I had no idea she’d given Rose a second thought, let alone that she’d felt inferior to her in some way. Rose and I were never serious—she asked me out one day at Perk Me Up, and in an effort at being open to trying something new, I’d agreed. We had just enough time together to discover we were incompatible before I realized my feisty new business neighbor had already worked her way deep beneath my skin.
I wish Rose nothing but the best, but I don’t regret my decisions for a second.
Except maybe the one where I agreed to let Wren help me prepare for the town hall meeting.
Putting the final touches on the presentation hasn’t eased my anxiety. If anything, it’s cranked it up another notch. Having the speech ready just adds to the looming dread hanging over my mental calendar, like two storm clouds colliding to create a tornado. The date creeps closer, destruction imminent.
I’ve got my notes on a tablet I can refer to during the presentation, and I call those up. My fingers shake on the touch screen, my heart already beating against my ribs like it wants to escape. In a frustrating twist of fate, Wren is perfectly calm while I have a mild crisis right before her eyes.
If my palms are sweating from the prospect of giving this talk in front of her, how am I going to handle standing in front of a hundred people? Or more—Lila’s drummed up enough interest in the meeting that there’s talk of needing overflow space. I’d hoped scheduling it the same night as Moonlight Lodge’s gala would cut down on the audience, but apparently the two interest groups don’t overlap. I told her I don’t want to hear any more details from her end. It’s going to take all my imagination to pretend the people in the room with me are somewhere else. I don’t need to know about anyone listening in from a second location.
Wren runs a hand over my knee, bringing my spiraling thoughts into focus. I exhale, debating chickening out, but her soothing method works. I launch into my speech, clicking through the slides where appropriate. I try to use the same voice of authority Lila coached me on for when I do this for real. I need to be convincing. Affable. Someone Sunshine can trust. Logically, I’m the best person to give the presentation.
But anxiety doesn’t like to listen to logic. Anxiety tells me I’m going to say the wrong words. Lose my train of thought. Throw up. And that’s before anxiety really gets cooking.
Twenty-five minutes about bike paths and community impact is a lot to put Wren through. But she listens attentively, examining each new picture that comes up as if the details matter to her. She keeps her hand on my knee, squeezing lightly when Idolose my place and fumble over words. Not a good sign when I can’t get all the way through it in my own kitchen.
But she’s comforting to have here with me, even if I wish I didn’t need the extra help.
When I finish, she applauds. “That was great, Shepherd.”
I try for a smile, but this trial run didn’t reassure me.
“Expanding those trails could really make a difference for Sunshine, huh?” she asks.
“It’s hard to quantify community quality of life indicators about something so specific, but tourism numbers in other areas are pretty straightforward. So yes, it should benefit Sunshine on several fronts.” I sound like a short-circuiting robot. I don’t want her to see how I’m flexing my hands beneath the table like one, too.
She catches it anyway. The softness in her eyes when she recognizes my discomfort is like a tiny little knife to my heart.
She takes my hand and stands. “Come here.”
I seem to have no self-control when she touches me, and I follow her without a second thought. She leads me to the couch and indicates I should sit. When I do, she tucks up against my side, tugging my arm around her shoulder.
