Page 71 of Sparks Fly

I looked down at my phone again just as the screen lit up.

Addison: Longest Monday ever. Please tell me your day was better.

A smile pulled at my mouth before I could stop it.

Hollis leaned over to look. “There she is.”

I turned the screen away. “Mind your business.”

She laughed and stood. “Invite her next month.”

I looked around the room again, then down at Addison’s message.

“I will.” I told her. And I meant it.

* * *

23

Addison

Tuesday, I took the afternoon off to meet the girls for bridal errands.

The boutique sat on a quiet street lined with flower boxes and carefully chosen signage, everything designed to feel charming without trying too hard. Inside, the air smelled like fresh blooms and money. Lace curtains filtered the light, and every display was arranged as if chaos had never existed there.

“Addison!” Marissa called, waving me over. “We’re talking Charleston logistics.”

Of course they were.

I joined them at the long display table, where tumblers, sashes, and novelty accessories were spread out like offerings. Everyone talked at once while I nodded, made notes, suggested quantities, and approved fonts.

“These are cute,” Jenna said, holding up a glittery tumbler.

“They are.” I wrote it down. “Let’s grab enough for everyone.”

We moved through the afternoon like that. Store to store. Decision to decision.

I stayed present, even when my mind kept drifting to Sawyer. To the way she listened without waiting for her turn to speak. To the way she touched me without urgency or expectation. To the feeling of being wanted without being assessed.

While we waited in line at a café, I pulled out my phone and typed a message.

Me: I miss you.

I stared at the words, my thumb hovering over send.

“Who is that?” Marissa teased, leaning toward my screen.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my bag. “Just work.”

The lie came easily. That bothered me.

Dinner came later. Pasta, wine, and conversation that flowed because it always had. I laughed, joined in at the right moments, I still felt slightly removed, like I was watching myself play a role I knew too well, but also I was having a good time.

When I finally got home, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto the couch. My feet ached, my shoulders were tight, and my apartment felt almost unnaturally quiet after spending hours surrounded by voices.

I poured a glass of wine and reached for my phone.

Me: How was your day?