Page 39 of Sparks Fly

At 6:45, I was in an Uber driving across town to meet Jason for dinner, my phone lit up with a text from Sawyer. It was a photo.

She was sitting in her workshop at home with one boot propped on the edge of the workbench. A fitted ribbed tank showed off her toned arms and shoulders, grease streaking one forearm. Her shirt had ridden up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above her jeans. Her welding helmet rested beside a pile of tools, a beer near her hand. She looked completely unaware of how hot she was.

Sawyer: Just so you remember my face when your with him.

I smiled despite myself and typed back.

Me: Baby, I could never forget your face.

I hit send and then realised what I had said.

Baby.

Sawyer: Call me after?

Sawyer: I miss your voice.

God.

My pulse spiked and I felt warm. Everywhere.

I was in deep with her.

Me: I will. I miss you.

Sawyer: Good.

* * *

I arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, but Jason was already waiting outside with his blazer on, despite the heat, and his phone in his hand like someone too important to be kept waiting.

How did I ever see anything in him?

When he noticed me approaching, he slipped the phone into his pocket and gave me a quick once-over. “You look great.”

It felt wrong.

“Thanks,” I replied with a polite smile as we walked inside.

I didn’t reach for his hand, although his palm settled lightly against my back as we moved toward the host stand and I let it happen for the moment. The hostess led us to a corner booth under dim lighting while a server dropped menus and a wine list on the table.

“I say Tempranillo,” Jason said while scanning the list. “Pairs well with red meat. Please tell me you’re not doing another salad night.”

“I hadn’t decided yet,” I told him calmly.

He waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll thank me. Trust me.”

I set my menu down and folded my hands together on the table before taking a steady breath. “Jason, before we order, I need to be honest,” I said. “You’re a good guy and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, but I don’t think this is going anywhere.”

He stared at me. “Wait. What?”

“I don’t feel the connection I think I’m supposed to feel.”

“Ad’s baby—We’re perfect on paper,” he said quickly.

Hated that.

“Maybe,” I replied calmly, “but that’s not enough.”