Page 69 of One Small Spark
Hope is undeterred. She holds on like she knows I’m considering an escape. “But sometimes, being soft and vulnerable gets your heart cared for, too.”
“So sappy.” I refuse to admit how much I want that. “You’re the worst.”
She grins at me, reveling in my faux outrage. “I know. What are you going to do?”
I shrug. “Freak out, I guess.”
And maybe drive into the woods.
TWENTY
WREN
This is probably a bad idea.Probably definitely a really bad idea. Just because things turned out okay for Hope, I’m going to take her advice about romance?
No. I cannot be thinking the wordromancewhen I’m standing on Callahan’s porch again like a woman obsessed. I could have called. Added a text to our goodnight messages from last night. Something normal like, “Hey, are you home? I thought I’d drop by because it turns out I’m feeling ways about you and I can’t process them alone and also I think I kind of miss you for some reason?”
Would have been easier than trying to say it.
I ring the bell, refusing to think about the crazy look in my eyes the attached camera must be recording right now. It’s so quiet out here. Last time, he opened the door before I could even knock, but tonight, I count the minutes that go by while I wait.
He could be asleep already. His truck is here, but that doesn’t mean he’s around. He said his family lives close, maybe he’s over there. He could be somewhere in the forest chopping wood in one of his ubiquitous flannels for all I know.
Probably best if I don’t picture myself stumbling across that idyllic scene.
I’ve just turned to leave when the door opens behind me. I spin back around, only to squeak out the most pathetic sound of my entire existence.
Callahan’s in his doorway, wet and naked with only a towel around his waist. I don’t stare. That would be so rude. But I do note the water droplets that slowly track down his nicely formed chest, over his flat stomach, to finally get absorbed by the fluffy white terrycloth at his middle.
His tattoos do, in fact, stop at his shoulders. They curl around his deltoids like clouds capping off each nature scene. My gaze zeroes in on the little bird on his inner arm. He doesn’t have tattoos on his chest, but the light dusting of dark hair there is revelation enough.
I should probably not know what his belly button looks like. That’s too much, right? But there it is, kind of flat and weirdly appealing.
It would be absurd to say I’ve never seen a man shirtless. I’m no stranger to lakes and rivers in the summertime. I have eyes. But the way I’m goggling at him, you’d think I lived in a convent and just discovered abs. The thing is, I’ve never seenthisman shirtless. He’s tall and lean, lightly muscled, and so very, very…
Swallowing hard, I drag my gaze up to meet his. Please let that detailed ogling have been instantaneous instead of several minutes long. “I thought you’d be dressed.”
He runs the hand not clutching his towel through his wet hair, making it curl at the ends. “I can’t be decent all the time.”
Strangely, he doesn’t seem embarrassed. I, on the other hand, am slowly melting into a puddle on his front porch.
“You said I could come by.”
“I’m not turning you away. Come in.” He opens the door wider, moving to let me pass.
I walk through, searching for anything to focus on other than that stark white towel. Anything.
“Are you naked under there?”
I should just cut my losses now. Run out the front door and try this again another time. Or never. If he’s going to open the door in the nude, it’d be best to stay away from his cabin entirely, right?
Right?
“Do you want a peek?” He shoots me a devilish grin, his hands moving to open the towel.
I spin to put my back to him. “No! I don’t want to see that.”
My eyes have other ideas. I look over my shoulder anyway.
