Page 45 of One Small Spark
“You’re such a secret softie.” Wren’s both teasing and approving at once. I’m immediately hooked on the affection in her voice.
“I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“It’s sure not common knowledge.” She moves her attention to my left arm, drawing it closer to her across my body. She traces the river from my inner elbow down to where it foams on rocks above my wrist. “You’re kind of a brooder. You don’t really blend with a crowd. But here you are, walking around with your heart literally on your sleeve.”
Not the way I would have described it, but I see her point.
She leans in closer. “What’s this?”
Her thumb grazes over a tattoo I got a year ago on my inner left biceps. I probably should have kept the hoodie on, but maybe I wanted this risk. I’ve played it safe with her for too long.
“What does it look like?” I ask softly.
She stares at the small bird nestled among the trees on my arm. “It looks like a?—”
Her pause drags out, inflating between us like a balloon pressing us apart. She meets my gaze, her question repeated in her eyes. But whatever she finds in mine must not be enough to reassure her. She sits back in her chair, dropping her hands from my arm.
“I don’t know,” she says with affected indifference. “I guess it’s a generic, chubby little bird.”
It’s true, chubby little birds are popular among botanical tattoo enthusiasts. I’ve seen a few around town. But surely Wren recognizes her namesake. She just doesn’t want to admit it. Or doesn’t want to risk being wrong.
Understandable. I’ve walked that line enough myself tonight as it is.
“Does that one mean something?” she asks carefully. “The…bird?”
I nod. “I’ll tell you when you tell me what type of bird it is.”
A risk for a risk.
A line forms between her eyebrows, and her mouth takes on an unimpressed slant. “I didn’t realize there would be a test at the end.”
There’s the Wren who calls to me.
“It’s all open book.”
We finish dinner, and she helps me clear the dishes away even though I tell her she doesn’t need to. She wipes down the table, too, despite my frowns. Pretty sure she cleans the countertop just to make sure I stay in my grumpy mood. Afterward, we face off in the kitchen.
“Thanks for dinner,” she says. “It was surprisingly nice.”
“I’m going to ignore the ‘surprisingly.’”
Her smile tugs at something deep in my chest. “I had a good time.”
“Me, too.”
This feels like an end-of-evening goodnight kiss moment. The kind of moment where we make up for our awkwardness over dinner by kissing until I’ve got her pressed up against the door.
She must sense it, too. Instead of moving closer, she takes a step backward. “I should probably go.”
I can’t be disappointed when we’ve made this much progress tonight. Still. I want that goodnight kiss.
“Be careful on your drive back to town. There’s a lot of deer out this time of night.” Probably shouldn’t have put the idea of her swerving to avoid a deer into my head. I’ve had a few closecalls, but never an actual accident. There’s a first time for everything, though, and her car is tiny. “Text me when you get home.”
“I’m sure I can get to my house just fine.”
“I’m sure you can, too, but I’d like the confirmation.”
“It’s not that far.” She turns to look out the window, but it’s already dark out. “The weather’s not even bad.”
