Page 77 of One Small Spark
I’ve spent the last couple of nights at home, fighting the urge to drive into the canyon like I’m going through withdrawals. In theory, I have a solid distraction. Rosetta’s prediction came true—my e-book hold for the romance group came up yesterday. I’ve read a little, but I don’t have much enthusiasm for it.
The book is fine, don’t get me wrong. I love a female character who knows what she wants and goes after it, and this one delivers. But apparently, I’m easily spoiled. I want Shepherd to read it to me.
My stomach tilts. I’m such a pathetic little ball of longing, I get all gooey inside just thinking about him. What happened to strong, independent Wren who never got mushy over a man?
She melted like chocolate after a couple of smoldering kisses, that’s what.
It wasn’t just the kisses that turned me to goo, though. He’s genuinely a good guy behind his too-cool-for-school façade. One who’s steady but driven, serious but easily lightens heavy moods. He’s kind of dreamy in all the ways.
Ugh. I’m so gross.
If I’m being weird, nobody’s noticed yet. Mom was too busy talking about how our new hires are doing while we baked this morning to question the hazy look on my face. And Tess has a full schedule of custom orders this afternoon to keep her attention. She’s at one of the front tables, meeting with a couple to come up with their perfect wedding cake. Everyone’s distracted from what’s going on in my life, and that’s just the way I like it.
A shadow darkens Blackbird’s door and pushes through. Shepherd doesn’t look any different from normal. Longish dark hair he runs his fingers through as he crosses the room. Neatly trimmed beard that highlights his jaw and mouth. A dark green flannel layered over a gray t-shirt and jeans.
And yet, my body zings like a roman candle’s gone off inside me, sparking and fizzing all over the place. When his gaze hits mine, a dopey smile pops onto my face. Unbidden, but undeniable. His is more of a smirk but just as immediate.
He slips his hands into his jeans pocket when he reaches the counter in front of me. “Krause.”
For months, that word has dropped over me like an unspecified insult, an indistinct dig that never failed to get me to retaliate. So why does it feel like flirtation today?
Oh. Oh, wait. Has italwaysbeen flirtation? I might need to sit down for a minute.
“Callahan.” That came out way breathier than normal, but okay.
“What’s fresh today?”
I roll my eyes. He’s asked me that question approximately one hundred times. I give the response I’ve doled out just as often. “It’s all fresh every day.”
He nods, his mouth twisting as he glances over the case before fixing his attention back on me. “How do you know which ones are fresh?”
It’s a ridiculous game. Made even more ridiculous by how long it took me to realize what prize he was after every time he asked.
“Mom and I did the baking this morning.” Which he must know, since my car was in our spot when he arrived. “She made the cranberry silk, pumpkin, chocolate-peanut butter, and French silk pies. I made the peach, pear, lemon meringue, and Dutch apple pies.”
He seems to ponder his options. I hold my breath the barest second.
“I’ll take a Dutch apple.”
My pride does a shameless victory dance in my chest. “Whole or a slice?”
“How about a hand pie?”
“Got it.” I slip one into a paper bag and pass it over the counter.
He peers into the bag and frowns as if that flaky, golden-brown goodness did him wrong. “It’s pretty small.”
I cross my arms and jut out a hip, ready to trust fall back into my usual snarky attitude. “That’s the same size our hand pies always are.”
He’s never complained before, but maybe now he’s finally comfortable enough to admit the truth.
“Then I should probably come in again later this week to get another one.”
I try to keep my stupid grin under control, but it’s reckless. It wants to spill across my face and make it obvious how thislittle change in our routine zips through me like a lightning bolt.
Behind him, Tess glances over at us, narrowing her eyes as if she’s making calculations. Normally, I’m a whole lot louder when Shepherd shows up. I probably look more annoyed, too. Smiles are out of the question. But thankfully, she returns her focus to the couple at the table and goes back to talking about cake flavors and decorations. The snoop.
I shift my gaze to Shepherd.
