Page 91 of One Small Spark
She should shine as bright as she can. Let someone else cower if they can’t handle it.
“It’s not like that. Mom and Daniel aren’t dimming my sparkle or anything. This is a self-imposed exile.”
“I’m not understanding.”
She flops onto her back. Her shirt rides up again, revealing her belly button. I want to trace a fingertip over that cute divot in the worst way.
“I’ve never had to watch my mom make out with someonebefore.” She stares at the pale blue ceiling like she’s trying to block the scene from her mind.
“Aww, Krause. Are you telling me PDA makes you squeamish?”
“Hers does. She’s basically been a nun for the last twenty years, and boy, is she making up for lost time. I can’t walk into a room now without clearing my throat or banging around so they know I’m on my way. I have seen things, Shepherd. I’m traumatized.”
Traumatized. Because her mom’s been kissing her new boyfriend.
She huffs a breath, propping herself up on her elbows so she can glare at me properly. “Stop laughing.”
“The way you talked, I thought they were icing you out or trying to get you to move away. Not just being affectionate in front of you.”
“It’s not just affection. There aresoundsinvolved.”
This doesn’t stop my laughter.
“You’d be the same if it was your parents,” she says.
“It is my parents. They still make out every time they get the smallest scrap of privacy. My mom can’t resist smacking my dad’s butt when he walks in front of her.”
They try to tone it down in front of guests, but now and then, Charlie sends me a text letting me know they’ve been caught: PCRH. ForParents Caught Red-Handed.
Not my favorite texts.
Now Wren’s the one laughing. “Butt-smacking, huh? Your dad must still have it.”
“Let’s not talk about my dad’s butt right now. The point is, I hated their constant kissing and cuddling when I was younger. But as an adult, that’s the only kind of relationship I want. A best friend I can’t keep my hands off of.”
Her eyes light like she’s quickly coming around to the idea,too. It would be so easy to prowl my way over to her and pin her body down with mine. Show her just how difficult it is to keep my hands to myself when I’m with her. Her lips part as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
A door slams somewhere in the house, and we both startle.
“Holy Cheez-its.” She launches off the bed and heads for the door.
“Wren?” her mom calls through the house. “What is Shepherd Callahan’s truck doing in the driveway? You didn’t steal it, did you?”
Wren freezes. “Why didn’t I think of that? I could have been joyriding in your truck ages ago.”
“‘Holy Cheez-its?’” I repeat.
She darts a hand out to smack my chest but only manages a light caress with her knuckles. “Habit. I guess it’s too late to shove you out my window and make you jump off the roof.”
“Sounds like it.”
She exhales a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”
I follow her back down the stairs. Maureen Krause and Sheriff Daniel O’Grady stand by the front door, tracking our progress like we’re aliens beaming down to earth.
Maureen looks remarkably like Wren and Tess—long blond hair, blue eyes, similar heart-shaped face. She’s bundled up in a warm sweater and scarf. Sheriff O’Grady is more imposing, with his gray hair cut into a severe buzz and the stern gaze of a man who’s been in law enforcement all his life.
“What exactly—?” Maureen lifts a hand to point at us but drops it again.
