Page 60 of One Small Spark
I definitely shouldn’t be this feverish when I lock eyes with Callahan across the room of the swankiest house I’ve ever been in.
“Everybody’s in the kitchen.” Ada swings the front door shut behind me, needlessly gesturing at the crowd on the other side of the great room. Then she ducks her head closer toward me. “I was starting to wonder if you needed that ride, after all.”
“Nope. I’m here.” Last to arrive, apparently, but here. At least I’m consistent.
Ada leads me to where the rest of the group is gathered around the gleaming white kitchen island. I keep staring at Callahan, which is nothing new. My racing heartbeat and dipping stomachare,though.
“What did you bring for us, Wren?” Barb zooms over to take the big plastic food container from me.
“Cookies.” One of my favorite recipes using fancy chocolate mints instead of chocolate chips, but from the way Barb’s face falls, she was hoping for something else.
“Oh.” She takes the container like I passed her a used tissue. “No pies this time?”
“Nope.” I pop theP, ignoring a couple of other disappointed looks. I could have easily grabbed a pie or two after my shift, but I made cookies at home instead. If they only invited me to their club for my pies, I’d rather know now.
I’d still keep coming to book group, mind you. But at least I’d know where I stand.
“Are these mints?” Rosetta asks, inspecting my cookies.
“Yup.”
“You are heaven-sent. I love mint anything.”
Ada guides me around the women filling their plates, conveniently leading us closer to Callahan. “Your cookies sound delightful.”
“How did your son afford this house?” Barb asks Ada with zero finesse.
Granted, it’s a magnificent house. Huge and modern, with sleek lines and shimmering glass accents everywhere. It also looks like nobody actually lives here. Where are the water glasses forgotten on the coffee table? The throw blankets crumpled on the floor? The subtle divots on the couch cushions that say people read there for hours at a time on snowy days?
Surely, I’m not the only one who lives like that.
“He makes movie trailers.” Ada pauses for the impressedoohsandaahsto die down. “He lived in L.A. for almost twenty years, but now he does all that from his home studio. He goes back once in a while, though, and I make good use of his theater when he does.”
“You must be eager for him to finally settle down,” Nora says, nibbling on abrownie.
“I wish.” Ada exhales the long-suffering sigh of a mother with a confirmed bachelor for a son.
I finally reach Callahan. I’m probably standing too close, but I blame the crowd around the food. “What did you bring?”
He nods at the table. “Wouldn’t you rather guess?”
I glance over the assorted offerings. Cream cheese brownies, sugar cookies with sprinkles, a store-bought tiramisu. Snickerdoodles dusted with cinnamon, a peach poke cake, and molasses crinkle cookies. I feel like Indiana Jones picking from a hundred versions of the Holy Grail.
“The napkins?” I suggest.
His mouth tips up. “You got me.”
My stomach dips again like it’s on a Callahan-powered rollercoaster. I told myself I wouldn’t get all hot and bothered over him tonight. Or…morehot and bothered. My body isn’t listening.
Honestly, neither is my brain. Callahan’s seemingly unflappable calm has both annoyed me and brought out mild admiration over the years. But seeing behind the curtain to his panic attack yesterday put him in a whole new light. I can’t help wondering if that’s part of the reason he stopped working with his family at their fancy lodge. More importantly, I worry over what it will mean for the trails he’s been working so hard to get built. If he really can’t give the presentation, what will happen then?
Am I feeling sympathy for Shepherd Callahan? So weird.
But I can’t deny, talking him down from his anxiety-fueled hyperventilation session reminded me there’s a genuine human underneath all that flannel.
One who’s currently watching me like he wishes we were alone in an alley somewhere.
“Shepherd, these chocolate chip cookies are perfect.” Franhas sidled close to both of us, a half-eaten cookie in one hand. “How do you get them to keep so much height?”
