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“You’re quiet again,” Mandy says softly, breaking the silence.
“Just thinking,” I reply, my fingers still tracing patterns on her skin.
“About him?”
“Yeah.”
“Zoe,” she sighs, turning to face me, her eyes searching mine. “You have to follow your heart, you know.”
“I know,” I whisper, feeling the weight of her words. “I just... I need to figure it out.”
“Whatever happens, I’ll be here,” she assures me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks, Mandy,” I say, offering her a small smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you’ll never have to find out,” she grins, pulling me closer.
We share a laugh, the tension easing slightly.
But even as we settle into a comfortable silence once more, I can’t shake the longing in my chest.
Because while I love Mandy dearly, I know deep down that my heart belongs to a man. To Spark.
And until I figure out what that means, I’ll always feel this ache, this emptiness that no amount of good sex or friendship can fill.
CHAPTER FIVE
Spark
I swing my leg off my bike and pocket the keys. “Let’s make this quick, Doc.”
The sun’s dipping low, casting long shadows across the parking lot as we head toward the coffee shop.
My stomach growls a reminder that caffeine is not dinner, but it’ll have to do for now.
Doc stretches his back with a groan. “Yeah, yeah.”
His red beard catches the last light of day, giving him an almost fiery halo. “Just need something strong to keep me going.”
We push open the door, the scent of freshly ground beans hitting us like a welcoming punch.
The place is quiet, just a few patrons scattered around, nursing their drinks or tapping away on laptops.
We blend in easily enough, part of the background noise.
“Two black coffees,” I tell the barista, flashing her a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
She nods and starts working on our order, her movements mechanical.
People like us don’t usually get much more than a polite smile here—too many tattoos and leather jackets tend to set folks on edge.
“Go grab us a table,” I tell Doc, jerking my chin toward an empty booth near the window.
He grunts in agreement and wanders off, leaving me to lean against the counter, watching the barista’s efficient dance around the espresso machine.
“Name?” she asks, glancing up at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Spark,” I reply automatically, out of habit more than anything else.
