Page 63 of One Small Spark
It’simpossible to concentrate on the movie with Wren laid out next to me. I’m not sure anything could pull my attention away from the vision on the other half of the couch. She’s tucked under her blanket, the only parts of her visible her feet in my lap and her heart-shaped face. Her blond hair trails over the sofa arm in a waterfall I want to run my fingers through.
Sometime around the second dancing scene, her eyes drift closed. It’s a testament to how tired she is from her early hours in the bakery. And maybe the extra-plush sofa. She’s never been this soft and peaceful around me before. My mind fills with images of us in similar scenarios on my couch at home.
Minus the eager audience. Despite specifically arranging this movie night so Wren and I would have maximum privacy, the ladies can’t stop turning around to check whether we’re making use of it. Some are subtle and look our direction as part of an elaborate stretch. Fran, though, sets her chin on her couch’s back rest, watching us with a grin that’s disconcerting in the darkness.
Wren, sadly, misses the scene that makes the other women swoon. After learning how much they like rolled shirtsleevesand leaning in doorways, I shouldn’t be surprised the key scene in a historical romance is a two-second flex of a man’s hand. Whatever it takes, I guess. I’m still filing that info away for later.
Eventually, the end credits roll, and soft lighting comes on. The other ladies stand and talk among themselves but send volley after volley of smug looks in my direction. Wren wakes slowly, stretching her arms over her head like a cat, her legs straightening across my lap. Her eyes open, gaze landing on me.
Her sleepy smile hits my heart so hard it hurts. Affectionate and easy, as if nothing could be more natural. And now I’m imagining us inothersimilar scenarios. Heat blooms from my chest and up my spine. I’m a greedy man—I want the first smile when she wakes every day.
“Movie night was agreatidea,” Fran says too loudly. “Just what some of us needed, hmm?”
Wren’s eyes widen, fully awake now. She pulls her legs from my lap, sitting bolt upright as if an alarm’s going off. One probably is, somewhere in her mind.
I rake a hand through my hair, wishing these women had an ounce of delicacy.
“That was unintentional.” Wren doesn’t give much bite to her words, but she’s not looking at me, either. She’s too consumed with folding and smoothing her blanket to glance my way.
“I offered.” I pictured something with my arms around her, but I have no regrets about the way the evening played out.
Except maybe all the eager women who chronicled every moment. I won’t be surprised if one of them took photos. If they post them to our group chat, we’ll be having words.
We follow them out of the movie room, Wren combing her fingers through her hair. She’s never looked better to me, but as fast as she’s walking, I don’t think she’s ready to hear me say it.
In the kitchen, Ada boxes up desserts and hands them out. “Everyone gets a variety of what’s left.”
“I just wish I had a slice of pie to bring home to Gary,” Barb says.
Wren frowns but doesn’t respond to the lament. I can understand why she’d want to draw a line somewhere. The number of casual acquaintances who have asked me to “take a look” at their bike is astronomical.
“Well,” Isabel says, shooting a pointed look at me, “tonight was quite a success.”
“Even more so than expected,” Rosetta adds.
“So sorry you missed so much of the movie, Wren.” Fran doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But you already know how enemies to lovers goes, don’t you?”
Wren snatches her plastic container from Ada. “Yes, well, I’d better get going so I don’t fall asleep and crash my car in the ditch on the way home.”
Do not even think it.
Her gaze locks on mine like she heard me. Something apologetic flashes there, warming my already overheated heart. She doesn’t want me to worry.
As if remembering the other sets of eyes in the house ready to analyze her expression, she turns her back to me.
“Maybe Shepherd should drive you home tonight,” Ada tells her. “You can get your car tomorrow when you’re rested.”
“I’m just kidding. Fully awake.” Wren points at her face. “Bright-eyed, even.”
“At least let him walk you to your car.”
Wren takes a step backward, apparently fleeing Ada. Instead, she collides with my chest. I steady her with a hand at her hip until she regains her footing. Six sets of eyes gobble up the interaction.
Wren’s shrill laugh is entirely fake. “I’m good.”
“I’m serious.” Ada’s using her stern voice I remember from second grade. “My son has seen bears out here, and I hate to think what else could be lurking in the dark. You’re not going out there alone.”
“Oh. Um. Okay.”
