Page 108 of Sparks Fly

She pressed her lips together, nodded once, and reached for her wine.

The rest of the evening stayed safely neutral. Dessert came and went without any new topics introduced, and when I finally stepped outside into the cooler air, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath all night.

Benji walked me to my car with his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.

“She was a lot tonight,” he said.

“She’s always a lot,” I replied.

“You handled it better than I would have.”

“You handled worse,” I reminded him. “For years.”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

He paused beside my car and glanced at me. “I know what it’s like,” he said. “Pretending. Becoming the version of yourself that’s easiest for her to digest.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t need to explain.

“Just take care of yourself,” he continued. “Do it your way, at your pace. But don’t twist yourself into something you’re not just to make her comfortable.”

“I’m trying,” I said quietly.

“I know.” He squeezed my shoulder once before stepping back.

“I’m here if you need backup,” he added.

“I know,” I said again.

This time I meant it. I sat in my car for a moment before pulling out my phone and finding one new message waiting on the screen.

Sawyer: Missed your face today. Hope dinner wasn’t too awful. Want me to distract you?

I smiled before starting the engine.

* * *

By the time I got home, the condo was dark and quiet in that hollow way that always greeted me after long days.

I dropped my bag by the door, kicked off my heels, and went straight to the bathroom. The familiar routine followed automatically. Dress discarded. Earrings beside the sink. Cleanser, toner, moisturizer lined up along the counter like a small army of glass bottles.

My hands moved through the steps without much thought while my mind stayed somewhere else entirely.

Dinner had been fine. Which meant exhausting.

By the time I finished my skincare routine, I didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. I wanted relief. I wanted distraction. I wanted my girlfriend.

I pulled on Sawyer’s shirt, the one I’d never returned, and a pair of cotton underwear. The fabric hung loose on my frame and still smelled faintly like cedar and something warmer beneath it.

Her.

I climbed into bed and grabbed my phone.

Me: Finally home. It wasn’t that bad…

Sawyer: Glad it wasn’t that bad. What are you doing?

I smiled as I typed back.