Page 27 of Sparks Fly

Her apartment wasn’t what I expected. Not because I had imagined chaos, but because everything felt intentional. It was small, tidy, and warm, with industrial lights hanging above the kitchen island and artwork lining the walls.

Not curated. Just lived in.

Sawyer dropped her keys into a bowl by the door and glanced back at me. “It’s not much,” she said, like she was bracing for judgment. “But it’s home.”

I stepped further inside and smiled because I meant it. “It’s perfect,” I told her.

Sawyer nodded toward the table. “If you want to sit at the table, we can,” she offered before shrugging slightly. “But honestly, I usually eat on the couch.”

“Couch sounds perfect,” I said, surprising myself with how easy it was to mean it.

Sawyer went to the fridge and pulled out two beers before glancing back at me. “Beer now, whiskey later?” she asked.

“Sounds wonderful,” I replied, and my voice came out softer than usual.

“Lime?” Sawyer asked while grabbing a knife.

“Always,” I said with a small smile.

She twisted open two Coronas, added lime wedges, and carried them over. I curled my legs beneath me on the couch without thinking and, for once, didn’t feel the need to apologize for taking up space.

We sat close enough that I could feel her warmth between us. The food was everything she had promised. Spicy, messy, and perfect.

“Oh my God.” I nearly moaned after my first bite. “This is amazing.”

“I told you.” She smiled. “I eat it at least once a week.” She took another bite before adding, “My mom’s side is Korean, and my dad’s is Mexican. His parents lived in Puerto Escondido, so I used to spend a few weeks there every summer. Right on the beach. It was perfect.”

“Used to?” I asked.

She nodded. “They’re both gone now. My abuela died when I was eighteen, and my abuelo passed in my late twenties.”

“I’m sorry.” I rested my hand on her knee.

“Thanks.” She gave me a small shrug.

Silence settled between us, so I reached for something lighter.

“So,” I said, wiping my fingers on a napkin, “what’s your favorite TV show?”

“Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” Sawyer answered instantly, like she had been waiting for someone to ask. “I’ve watched the whole series at least five times.”

I grinned. “I’ve never seen it.” Sawyer made an exaggerated gasp and leaned forward slightly. “You haven’t?”

“It was a little before my time,” I teased while watching her reaction.

She pointed her beer at me like it was a threat. “Unacceptable. We’re fixing that,” she said, and the certainty in her voice made my stomach flip.

Then she leaned back slightly and studied me. “What about you?” she asked. “Favorite show.”

I hesitated before laughing softly because she had caught me. “What I tell people, or what’s true?”

“Both,” Sawyer said, sounding genuinely curious.

“I tell people something polished,” I said, hearing the practiced version of myself even as I spoke. “Like The Crown or Big Little Lies.”

Sawyer nodded once and waited.

“And the truth?” she asked again.