Page 56 of Sparks Fly

When she saw me, her face lit up with a slow genuine smile. “Hey, beautiful.”

“You look fucking gorgeous.”

She handed me the helmet and pecked my lips. I wanted more, but we got on the bike and headed off. She wouldn’t tell me where we were going.

The paint-and-sip studio sat inside a converted warehouse with fairy lights strung across the ceiling and walls splattered with color from previous classes.

“I’m going to be so bad at this,” I whispered as we found our seats after hitting the bar. Wine for me. Whiskey for Sawyer.

“That’s the point,” Sawyer murmured with an amused smile.

“You just want to watch me flail.”

“I want to see how you handle not being perfect,” she said lightly.

I narrowed my eyes at her but smiled anyway.

As the class started, I let go more than I expected. I laughed when my canvas turned sideways and drank more wine than I planned while Sawyer leaned back in her chair, watching me with an amused expression that only made it worse.

“You’re gorgeous when you let go,” Sawyer said quietly at one point, and something about the way she said it made me believe her.

After the class ended, Sawyer fastened my helmet with careful movements that let her fingers brush lightly along my jaw. Our eyes met for a second before she swung onto the bike, and the ride through the city felt cooler and more intimate than the one there.

Buildings blurred past while the wind wrapped around us. Eventually, she pulled into a small courtyard strung with lights, where food trucks lined the edges and soft music drifted through the air.

“This is adorable,” I said as we climbed off the bike.

“This is what comes next,” Sawyer replied.

We ordered food and sat at a small table while talking easily. Our fingers brushed occasionally and neither of us pulled away.

“You know,” Sawyer said as she unwrapped her sandwich, “you were way more fun at that paint class than I expected.”

I laughed. “That’s because I gave up.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t usually give up.”

“I know.”

I looked at her across the table. “Was it that obvious?”

“A little.”

I shook my head. “I hate being bad at things.”

Sawyer smiled softly. “Everybody’s bad at things.”

“Not everybody builds metal sculptures for fun.”

She laughed at that. “Trust me, I’ve made some terrible ones.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

The smile lingered on her face for a moment before it softened. “Honestly, that’s part of why I like welding.”