Page 12 of Sparks Fly

Jason had picked a place he knew I loved. It was sleek and polished and fancy. Soft lighting reflected off marble surfaces, and the air carried the scent of champagne and butter. He stood as I walked over, kissing my cheek before complimenting my dress.

I smiled as he pulled out my chair for me to sit. I did and thanked him politely as he sat back down across from me.

Then he started talking. He talked about markets, IPOs, and a promotion he was about to get. Before I could even say anything, he moved on to golf trips, protein shakes, suits, and himself. He moved from one topic to another with effortless enthusiasm while I nodded when appropriate, sipped my wine, and let my thoughts drift somewhere else entirely.

Instead of listening, I imagined what it would be like if I were at dinner with Sawyer rather than Jason. I wondered where she would take me. Maybe some hole-in-the-wall place with amazing food, or one of those little diners on the coast she rides her bike to, a place where she already knew everyone behind the counter, and what was good on the menu.

“Addison?”

I blinked and realized Jason had stopped talking. He was watching me expectantly from across the table, his wine glass halfway to his mouth.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, offering a polite smile. “What were you saying?”

He launched right back into whatever story he had been telling, something about a deal at work and a guy named Mark from the Boston office, and I nodded again while my mind drifted right back to her.

Our plates came and went. My food tasted fine, probably excellent, but I could not remember a single bite. The check finally came and he paused long enough to look at me.

“What’s your week look like?” Jason asked as he reached for the bill.

“Busy,” I said. “Listings. Showings.”

“Wednesday dinner?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I replied, and he took it as a yes.

Outside my place, he kissed me, and I let him even though I felt nothing. His lips were warm and practiced, the kind of kiss that could look good from across a room but left no real impression.

He adjusted his jacket slightly before asking, “Should I come up?”

“I have an early start,” I said gently.

He smiled tightly and nodded. “Maybe next weekend. I could take you somewhere nice.”

“I’ll let you know,” I said.

We said goodbye, and I climbed the stairs to my condo before shutting the door behind me. The apartment was silent when I leaned back against the wall and exhaled. I kicked off my heels, dropped my purse on the table, and reached for my phone.

One new message waited. My stomach flipped before I even opened it.

Sawyer: Here’s my number. So we don’t have to play cat and mouse on Instagram anymore.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

I smiled as I saved the contact, realizing I might not know exactly what this was yet, but I was already more than intrigued.

* * *

5

Sawyer

The torch flared bright enough to turn the world white for a split second before settling into a steady, electric glow.

Welding had a rhythm if you let yourself fall into it. Pressure in the hand, focus on the seam, breath steady behind the visor. Everything else faded out once the torch lit. The world narrowed to the glow of molten metal and the slow, careful movement of my hands.

When the seam finally cooled, I lifted my visor and wiped the back of my wrist across my forehead before stepping away from the bench.

The shop was still mostly dark, the big overhead lights not even on yet, just the thin wash of early morning slipping through the high windows along the back wall.