Page 10 of Sparks Fly

We kissed cheeks, squealed each other’s names, complimented shoes with performative reverence, and settled in like we were celebrating something monumental even though none of us could quite name what.

Champagne was ordered within three minutes, because of course it was. I smiled in all the right places and played my part easily enough. Addison Hart, friend who knew the best brunch spots and how to dress for them. The version of me everyone expected to show up arrived right on schedule. But something about it felt off in a way I couldn’t quite ignore.

At that moment my brain betrayed me entirely and offered up the thought of sitting on the back of Sawyer’s bike with the wind in my face. The image landed so suddenly it nearly made me choke on my champagne, and I stared down into the bubbles rising in my glass while I tried very hard not picture her hands on the handlebars and my arms wrapped around her as she whisked me away from brunch and off somewhere much more casual.

The worst part was that the idea didn’t feel wrong at all. If anything it felt a little thrilling, which only made the realization more unsettling because I had no idea what to do with the fact that I liked the thought of it.

I shook myself out of it, and pulled myself back into the conversation where Lilly was deep in wedding mode, swiping through color palettes we had seen a million times on her phone like a general preparing for war.

“So, as you all know, we’re doing soft mauve and dusty blue for the florals,” Lilly said as she turned her phone toward us, her eyes bright with conviction. “But here is what they’re actually going to look like: elegant. Classic, but modern.”

I leaned closer with the others, studying the photos of carefully arranged flowers spilling across the screen in soft clouds of mauve and pale blue. A year ago, I would have had opinions ready and a florist recommendation saved in my contacts. Now I just nodded and said, “They’re really pretty,” because that seemed like the correct response.

Lilly beamed like I had just validated a life decision, and Eloise immediately started debating ribbon textures while Harper suggested a champagne wall near the dance floor.

The conversation spun quickly into centerpieces, seating charts, and whether live strings felt too traditional for the ceremony. I listened, chiming in when expected, but the words floated past me like they belonged to someone else’s afternoon.

Eloise clasped her hands together with excitement as she leaned toward the table. “God, I want to be engaged already,” she said.

“You will be,” Lilly replied confidently as she reached for her champagne. “Trevor’s obsessed with you.”

“We’re going to Tuscany in the fall,” Eloise added with a dreamy smile. “I know he’s planning something.”

I sipped my champagne while the bubbles hit my tongue sharp and sweet, almost cloying, and the conversation drifted around me in easy loops about weddings, men, real estate, and ring settings. It was curated happiness in curated lives.

I used to want this world so badly it made my chest ache, and I used to imagine myself exactly here. Lately, though, I wasn’t sure if I had wanted the life or just the version of myself who fit neatly inside it.

“And how’s Jason?” Harper asked as she turned toward me with a glossy smile. “He’s so handsome, you lucky bitch.”

“He’s good,” I said smoothly, the answer automatic.

Lilly leaned closer across the table, resting her elbow beside her glass. “Are you seeing him again?” she asked.

“We have dinner tonight,” I said.

The table erupted with claps and squeals while Eloise grabbed my arm and Harper laughed. “You’re perfect together,” Harper said. “Same ambition. Same values. It just makes sense.”

I smiled and nodded like I agreed. Jason made sense. He was respectable, clean-cut, polished in a way that felt almost museum-grade, the kind of man my parents would love and the kind my friends already did. Every date with him felt like an audition where I laughed in the right places, asked the right questions, and wore my most flattering dress along with my most agreeable smile.

I wasn’t miserable, but I wasn’t entirely happy either. I stirred the melting ice in my water glass while smiling again, even as a headache bloomed slowly behind my eyes.

* * *

Back home I changed into soft clothes, an old college T-shirt and cotton joggers, and curled up on the couch with a candle burning nearby.

I had my laptop open to get some work done and get a head start on the week ahead. But instead, my phone was already in my hand before I really thought about it. Instagram opened. Sawyer’s photo on my feed almost immediately. A selfie on her bike this morning.

God she was so hot.

I stared longer than I meant to. Her caption read:

@sawyer.wilson.welds: Sundays are for riding after a fun welding job.

I opened my DM’s and typed.

Me: That bike is going to ruin my productivity.

I tried to focus on work again, but my phone buzzed.