Page 82 of One Small Spark
Barb: I also have a headache
Nora: I started making caramels and can’t leave them or they’ll burn
Rosetta: I have an emergency meeting at the library
Fran: I had pasta for lunch. I can’t eat it again for dinner
Isabel: You two enjoy your night!
Isabel: Talk books! Have fun!
They lured us in with Italian food, and we stumbled straight into their trap.
“The caramel one is pretty serious,” Wren says, trying not to laugh.
“They’re as subtle as a sledgehammer.”
She forces a frown. “Two headaches, though? Is this amateur hour?”
“They have no faith in me asking you out on my own.”
“They’re right to be worried. That ‘you have plans’ line was not your best work.” Her mouth tips into my favorite smirk.
We’re in a crowded vestibule or I would show her my best work. Since we have no privacy, I lean down to whisper in her ear, grazing my mouth over her soft skin, my hand on the small of her back, pulling her in. The warm scent of cinnamon envelops her. “Do you want to stay and have dinner with me?”
Her shiver elicits a low hum of satisfaction from my chest.
“Might as well,” she says, eyes bright. “Otherwise, you got all dressed up for nothing.”
I tell the hostess about our change in plans. Luckily, the long wait is only for larger parties, and she leads us through the busy restaurant to a two-top in the back. Wren and I sit down, the lively Italian music drowning out the conversations around us.
“I wish I could be as bold as they are,” Wren says over her open menu.
“You think you’re not bold?” She’s the boldest, brightest woman I’ve ever known.
“Oh, I am. I just think I could be worse. Those ladies are really inspiring me to up my menace game.”
“I won’t stand a chance.” I never did.
We place our orders, and the waitress walks away, leaving us to our relative privacy.
“How does August like his bell?” I ask.
Wren lights up as if he’s at the table with us. “He loves it. Rings it whether anyone’s around or not.”
“Told you.”
“But at least I don’t have to worry about him running into people now.” She lifts a shoulder. “Not as much, anyway.”
“How is your apartment hunting?”
Her joy fades out. “I’m mostly avoiding it. I want a place of my own. I should have one by now, right? But I’m either finding sketchy places that will let me live there, or really nice places that don’t want me.”
“What are the grounds for that?” I have no basis for comparison since I’ve always lived somewhere on my family’s property. But it doesn’t seem right that a place would ban someone like Wren.
“I’ve been rejected by a few of the nicer apartment complexes because I don’t have any rental history. Sort of the ‘Entry level job, five years’ experience required’ dilemma. Without that, they want an extra fee which I’m too bitter to pay, and I can’t bear to ask my mom to cosign on an apartment. I’m almost thirty, for goodness sake.”
“And the sketchy places?”
