Page 74 of Sparks Fly

Me: Where was my invite?

Sawyer: You’re always invited baby. I’ll text next time.

Cassidy glanced over from her computer. “Good news?”

“Something like that.”

By five fifteen, my last client was gone and the office had fallen quiet. I opened the cottage listing one more time before clicking book.

When the confirmation appeared, I sent Sawyer a message.

Me: Booked. Friday to Sunday. Just us.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Sawyer: I can’t wait.

Neither could I. And for the first time in a long while, that felt like the truth.

* * *

24

Sawyer

Wednesday morning dragged in that slow, sticky way some days did, where time moved like molasses and every sound in the shop felt too loud. The air was already warm from the torches, and even the music I usually blasted felt off.

By mid-morning, I had burned my wrist on a careless weld and snapped at Benji over a tape measure neither of us could find.

It wasn’t about the tape measure.

I hadn’t seen Addison since Sunday morning, before bridal plans and work swallowed her whole. She was wrapped up in her polished world again, and I was stuck on the outside trying not to want more than she could give me yet.

Our texts had come in short bursts between obligations. A heart emoji here. A thinking about you there. We had managed a quick FaceTime the night before, but it was interrupted twice. First by her assistant, then by a group text that apparently needed immediate approval on custom napkins.

I wiped my forearm across my forehead, pulled off my gloves, and took my phone from my back pocket.

Me: Any chance I can steal you for dinner tonight?

Me: Or even lunch? I miss your face.

Before I could overthink it, I sent another.

Me: I hate admitting that. Makes me feel soft. There goes all my street cred.

Her reply came before I could add something sarcastic to balance it out.

Addison: Lunch is impossible, but I might be able to come over tonight. I’ll call you when I get a break.

Addison: And I miss you too.

Addison: Not, going to lose your street cred for saying that. It’s hot.

A smile spread across my face before I could stop it, and the knot in my chest loosened as I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

“Okay,” Benji called from across the shop, lifting his face shield. “You better be texting my sister. If you’re making those goo-goo eyes at anyone else, I’m throwing down.”

I laughed and pulled my gloves back on. “It’s your sister. Relax.”