Page 13 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

TEN

SHEPHERD

When I was a kid, before we lived there, too, my family would often visit my grandparents at the lodge.

No matter what we originally came for, I’d eventually make my way to one of the garages to tinker on an ATV or dirt bike.

Grandpa would find me wrist-deep in something mechanical, covered in grease, happily shut away from the people coming and going on the property.

He used to tease me that I liked machines better than people.

I don’t dislike people. I just don’t understand them sometimes.

I replace the brake pads on a Specialized Rockhopper, trying to lose myself in the routine task. Shunning customer service, I’ve taken on all the repair duties today. I’ve had my hands on one bike after another, but it’s not enough to clear my head. Nothing ever is when it comes to Wren.

I’ve enjoyed the bite in our exchanges over the years, but I never felt we were out to draw blood before. Never looked down and realized I was the one bleeding. Never had the sinking sensation that maybe I’d had her wrong from the beginning .

No. Not from the beginning. When I first got to know Wren, our banter was purely teasing. Flirtatious, even. We sometimes ate lunch together at the picnic table in the alley, gradually opening up to each other on a more personal level.

I admire her drive in her family’s bakery. I appreciate how she refuses to take crap from anyone. And I adore her sharp intelligence. Six months of lunches together and conversations over pie orders, and I was lost.

I’m not a fast mover, romantically. Occasionally, I’ve accepted date invitations from women I don’t know well, but typically, I prefer to take my time getting to know someone first. I don’t like casual dating—I want to be sure we’re on the same wavelength before I ask them out.

With Wren, I’d thought we were of the same mind.

Until her banter turned into snark. She took several giant steps back and walled off our connection. Whatever was building between us stalled out.

But it was too late for me. I was already in the thick of it with her. And I’ve spent most of the last two years hoping to recapture that initial spark between us.

I guess I’m an optimist, after all.

My phone buzzes on the front counter. I glance at the message but can’t swipe to answer. Not sure what I’d say if I did.

Rosetta: I heard Wren hasn’t found a copy of this month’s book yet

Rosetta: Perhaps someone with a paperback could share?

Rosetta: Perhaps someone with high quality forearms?

At least she’s messaging me personally and not in the group thread. Reading about fictional romance isn’t enough for these women. They’re trying to manufacture it in real life, too.

Another text comes through.

Leo: How bad is it if I’ve been accidentally feeding a skunk cat food on the porch?

Leo: Accidentally

I huff a breath at my ridiculous friend. If he’s trying to win over Charlie, luring skunks onto lodge property isn’t the way.

The bell over the door chimes—a feature it took me almost a year to add, after one too many jump scares from quiet customers lurking in the shop.

I look up from the bike behind the front counter to see her .

I’d say my thoughts summoned her, but if that were true, she’d be with me every moment of the day.

Her hair is slicked back into a neat ponytail, I assume to keep it out of the way in the bakery.

She wears the purple Blackbird’s apron over a pale pink T-shirt and jeans, black Converse padding across the cement floor.

Her dark blue eyes bore into mine, a line already between her eyebrows as if she’s upset with me.

I don’t know why she would be, but what else is new?

“We got some of your mail by mistake.” She moves closer, holding up a large white envelope.

I return my focus to the bike. “Leave it on the counter.”

She slides it over but doesn’t walk away. If she’s here to gloat about her date, I’m not in the mood. She won. I surrender.

I tighten the brake cable tension and test the lever, making sure the brakes catch properly. The hum and slide of the wheel spinning and stopping isn’t enough to mask the sound of Wren’s long inhale.

“You didn’t park in my spot today,” she says. She’s been complaining when I do for ages, but today, it sounds like a question.

“I thought I’d let you have it.” It was supposed to give her one less reason to come in here to talk to me. Turns out, she wants to battle me even when she gets her way.

“You’re not letting me,” she says. “I parked in that spot long before you showed up.”

“So I’ve heard.”

I finish up with the brakes and wipe my hands on a rag, still avoiding looking at her. A note taped to the back of the counter reads, Be yourself. I left that reminder for Laurel, who can struggle with customer interactions.

Today, it feels like a personal triple-dog dare.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your date with Rex?” Not that I really want to remind her.

“Rhett,” she says absently.

“Did you decide where you’re taking him?” I ask through gritted teeth. I want to know what she’d like to do on a first date but never in this context.

Dinner out? Or prepared together? Watch a movie on the couch? Or drive to watch the sunset? Something entirely different? I know what I would choose, but what does she want?

That’s always been the question.

I wipe down the bike, the silence in the shop deafening.

“I don’t understand you,” Wren finally says. It’s more accusation than anything else.

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“You’re so…infuriating.”

“You read my mind.”

“You’re acting like what happened in the alley?—”

My gaze snaps up to hers. “You mean when you kissed me?”

She jolts back, her eyes wide. “ You kissed me !”

I force a laugh. She can regret it if she wants, but she can’t pretend she didn’t instigate every second of what happened between us. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Cracks appear in her sassy facade, showing glimmers of heat underneath. Her cheeks bloom with a touch of embarrassment, too. No need for that when I’d kiss her again in a heartbeat.

I toss the greasy rag aside. I’m tired of dancing around.

Resting both hands on the front counter, I lean a fraction toward her. “You kissed me, Krause. So hard, I saw stars. The best kiss of my life.”

Her blue eyes darken, dropping their focus to my mouth. “The best?”

“Hands down.” I always knew it would be, when we got there. The rest… “I can’t say I’m flattered you agreed to go out with another guy a few hours later.”

She throws her hands on her hips, stepping closer to the counter between us, the spark back in her eyes. “What was I supposed to do when you were acting like my social life’s so pathetic I’ve only got elderly ladies for company?”

A growl of frustration rushes out of me. “I was asking you out. You were supposed to go out with me .”

She stares, her mouth working, but no sound comes out. How could she have no idea? I didn’t think anyone could be worse at picking up on romantic signals than I am. Unless she’s been actively rejecting them this entire time.

“You didn’t—” Wren stares like she’s seeing me for the first time. She gives her head a firm shake, then crosses her arms. “That was a terrible way to ask someone out.”

“Apparently.”

In hindsight, I agree. My impulse was to step right in like I did with the guy at the bar and tell Rhett to back off. Make it clear Wren’s spoken for. Beat my fists on my chest, hoot like a gorilla, and shout, “Mine.”

Whatever Wren thinks of me, I’m not actually that prehistoric.

And, despite that phenomenal kiss in the alley, she’s not actually mine.

“Do you really?—”

Wren cuts herself off when a man pushes through the door and heads for our selection of road bikes. She looks from him to me as if remembering where we are. The man slides his hand over seats and handles, clueless that he’s interrupted anything.

Wren and I stare at each other for another full minute. I’ve made myself pretty clear, but her confusion might as well come with a giant neon sign attached.

“I guess I should go.” Her brow furrows deeper along with her frown, as if she’s not sure she should go at all.

“See you, Krause.” I keep my voice gentle. This isn’t a dismissal. If I didn’t have a customer—and she didn’t have a date tonight—I would have so much more to say.

“Yeah. I’ll…see you.” She turns like she’s moving through molasses, heading for the door. Before she pushes through, she looks back one last time, that stunned expression still on her face.

I’ll be thinking about that look all night.

“Do you have any more of these carbon fiber gravel bikes?” the customer asks once she’s gone.

“Yeah.” Inconvenient interruption or not, I can’t be mad at the guy for coming into my store. “Let me help you with that.”

I slide past the bike I’ve been working on and glance down at the piece of mail Wren brought over. It’s labeled To Resident .