Page 33 of One Small Spark
With Wren, I’d thought we were of the same mind.
Until her banter turned into snark. She took several giant steps back and walled off our connection. Whatever was building between us stalled out.
But it was too late for me. I was already in the thick of it with her. And I’ve spent most of the last two years hoping to recapture that initial spark between us.
I guess I’m an optimist, after all.
My phone buzzes on the front counter. I glance at the message but can’t swipe to answer. Not sure what I’d say if I did.
Rosetta: I heard Wren hasn’t found a copy of this month’s book yet
Rosetta: Perhaps someone with a paperback could share?
Rosetta: Perhaps someone with high quality forearms?
At least she’s messaging me personally and not in the groupthread. Reading about fictional romance isn’t enough for these women. They’re trying to manufacture it in real life, too.
Another text comes through.
Leo: How bad is it if I’ve been accidentally feeding a skunk cat food on the porch?
Leo: Accidentally
I huff a breath at my ridiculous friend. If he’s trying to win over Charlie, luring skunks onto lodge property isn’t the way.
The bell over the door chimes—a feature it took me almost a year to add, after one too many jump scares from quiet customers lurking in the shop. I look up from the bike behind the front counter to seeher. I’d say my thoughts summoned her, but if that were true, she’d be with me every moment of the day.
Her hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail, I assume to keep it out of the way in the bakery. She wears the purple Blackbird’s apron over a pale pink T-shirt and jeans, black Converse padding across the cement floor. Her dark blue eyes bore into mine, a line already between her eyebrows as ifshe’supset with me.
I don’t know why she would be, but what else is new?
“We got some of your mail by mistake.” She moves closer, holding up a large white envelope.
I return my focus to the bike. “Leave it on the counter.”
She slides it over but doesn’t walk away. If she’s here to gloat about her date, I’m not in the mood. She won. I surrender.
I tighten the brake cable tension and test the lever, making sure the brakes catch properly. The hum and slide of the wheel spinning and stopping isn’t enough to mask the sound of Wren’s long inhale.
“You didn’t park in my spot today,” she says. She’s beencomplaining when I do for ages, but today, it sounds like a question.
“I thought I’d let you have it.” It was supposed to give her one less reason to come in here to talk to me. Turns out, she wants to battle me even when she gets her way.
“You’re notlettingme,” she says. “I parked in that spot long before you showed up.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I finish up with the brakes and wipe my hands on a rag, still avoiding looking at her. A note taped to the back of the counter reads,Be yourself.I left that reminder for Laurel, who can struggle with customer interactions.
Today, it feels like a personal triple-dog dare.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date with Rex?” Not that I really want to remind her.
“Rhett,” she says absently.
“Did you decide where you’re taking him?” I ask through gritted teeth. I want to know what she’d like to do on a first date but never in this context.
Dinner out? Or prepared together? Watch a movie on the couch? Or drive to watch the sunset? Something entirely different? I know what I would choose, but what does she want?
