Page 26 of Sparks Fly

When Sawyer texted that she would pick me up, I found myself standing in front of my closet longer than I wanted to admit after my shower.

I wasn’t exactly the ride-on-the-back-of-a-motorcycle type. At least, I hadn’t thought I was until very recently.

My closet stared back at me with rows of pencil skirts, crisp blouses, and dresses meant for open houses and expensive brunches. They were clothes that worked, clothes that presented well, and made people take me seriously before I even opened my mouth.

Tonight wasn’t about presenting.

I reached for tight black jeans that hugged me the way I liked and paired them with a soft charcoal-gray shirt, tucking it in just enough. I didn’t interrogate the choice or try to explain it to myself. It felt right, and that was enough.

I stepped outside, the air carrying that faint early-fall crispness that made everything feel a little sharper.

Sawyer was waiting out front. When she saw me, her smile broke slow and crooked, and my chest did something stupid in response.

“Hey,” Sawyer said as she took a step closer, her voice warm.

“Hey,” I replied while trying to steady my breathing because somehow I was already a little breathless.

She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug that was warm and solid, I noticed the way she smelled as my cheek brushed her shoulder. It was clean soap with a faint trace of metal with something underneath it that was just her, the kind of scent that stayed with you if you brushed too close.

When she pulled back, she tilted her head toward her bike. “You ever been on a motorcycle?” she asked.

“Once or twice,” I said while trying to sound normal. “It’s been a while.”

Sawyer handed me the helmet without making it a thing. “I’ll take it easy,” she promised, and her tone was steady in a way that made me believe her.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and felt the firmness of her stomach beneath my hands.

Of course he has abs.

I wasn’t supposed to notice that. Except maybe I was? Maybe I always had noticed things like that and just taught myself not to linger.

The ride itself was short and easy with the city sliding past us while the evening air was warm against my skin. I held on a little tighter than necessary and didn’t make myself apologize for it.

We pulled into a small lot beside a cluster of food trucks and a bar with picnic tables strung with lights. People lingered there laughing and leaning into conversations, the kind of place where nights stretched longer than planned. Sawyer nodded toward one of the trucks as she parked the bike.

“I know it doesn’t look fancy,” Sawyer said as she tipped her chin toward the menu board, “but you said tacos were your favorite, and these are the best tacos I’ve ever had.”

I smiled at her and realized I felt lighter than I had all week. “I don’t need fancy,” I told her honestly. “My life is full of fancy, and it’s the last thing I wanted tonight.”

Something in Sawyer’s expression softened, like she liked hearing that. “Good,” she said simply.

We ordered tacos to go and bypassed the crowded tables. I held the warm paper bag on the ride back and caught myself smiling without meaning to, the kind of smile that refused to fade once it showed up.

* * *

When we got off the bike, Sawyer led me to a door beside a small bookshop called Queer Expectations.

“That’s my landlords’ shop,” she said. “Hollis and Soren. Well, they’re more like family, though. They make sure I eat and don’t work myself to death.”

I smiled. “They sound sweet.”

“They are. Hollis bakes, too. She gave me a boysenberry pie today.” Sawyer glanced at me with a smile. “For us.”

“She made it for us?” I asked. “They know about me?”

“Yeah.” Sawyer shrugged like it was no big deal.

We climbed the stairs to her apartment above the shop. Sawyer unlocked the door and let us in.