Page 26 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

EIGHTEEN

SHEPHERD

It’s impossible to concentrate on the movie with Wren laid out next to me.

I’m not sure anything could pull my attention away from the vision on the other half of the couch.

She’s tucked under her blanket, the only parts of her visible her feet in my lap and her heart-shaped face.

Her blond hair trails over the sofa arm in a waterfall I want to run my fingers through.

Sometime around the second dancing scene, her eyes drift closed.

It’s a testament to how tired she is from her early hours in the bakery.

And maybe the extra-plush sofa. She’s never been this soft and peaceful around me before.

My mind fills with images of us in similar scenarios on my couch at home.

Minus the eager audience. Despite specifically arranging this movie night so Wren and I would have maximum privacy, the ladies can’t stop turning around to check whether we’re making use of it.

Some are subtle and look our direction as part of an elaborate stretch.

Fran, though, sets her chin on her couch’s back rest, watching us with a grin that’s disconcerting in the darkness.

Wren, sadly, misses the scene that makes the other women swoon.

After learning how much they like rolled shirtsleeves and leaning in doorways, I shouldn’t be surprised the key scene in a historical romance is a two-second flex of a man’s hand.

Whatever it takes, I guess. I’m still filing that info away for later.

Eventually, the end credits roll, and soft lighting comes on.

The other ladies stand and talk among themselves but send volley after volley of smug looks in my direction.

Wren wakes slowly, stretching her arms over her head like a cat, her legs straightening across my lap. Her eyes open, gaze landing on me.

Her sleepy smile hits my heart so hard it hurts. Affectionate and easy, as if nothing could be more natural. And now I’m imagining us in other similar scenarios. Heat blooms from my chest and up my spine. I’m a greedy man—I want the first smile when she wakes every day.

“Movie night was a great idea,” Fran says too loudly. “Just what some of us needed, hmm?”

Wren’s eyes widen, fully awake now. She pulls her legs from my lap, sitting bolt upright as if an alarm’s going off. One probably is, somewhere in her mind.

I rake a hand through my hair, wishing these women had an ounce of delicacy.

“That was unintentional.” Wren doesn’t give much bite to her words, but she’s not looking at me, either. She’s too consumed with folding and smoothing her blanket to glance my way.

“I offered.” I pictured something with my arms around her, but I have no regrets about the way the evening played out.

Except maybe all the eager women who chronicled every moment. I won’t be surprised if one of them took photos. If they post them to our group chat, we’ll be having words.

We follow them out of the movie room, Wren combing her fingers through her hair. She’s never looked better to me, but as fast as she’s walking, I don’t think she’s ready to hear me say it .

In the kitchen, Ada boxes up desserts and hands them out. “Everyone gets a variety of what’s left.”

“I just wish I had a slice of pie to bring home to Gary,” Barb says.

Wren frowns but doesn’t respond to the lament. I can understand why she’d want to draw a line somewhere. The number of casual acquaintances who have asked me to “take a look” at their bike is astronomical.

“Well,” Isabel says, shooting a pointed look at me, “tonight was quite a success.”

“Even more so than expected,” Rosetta adds.

“So sorry you missed so much of the movie, Wren.” Fran doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But you already know how enemies to lovers goes, don’t you?”

Wren snatches her plastic container from Ada. “Yes, well, I’d better get going so I don’t fall asleep and crash my car in the ditch on the way home.”

Do not even think it.

Her gaze locks on mine like she heard me. Something apologetic flashes there, warming my already overheated heart. She doesn’t want me to worry.

As if remembering the other sets of eyes in the house ready to analyze her expression, she turns her back to me.

“Maybe Shepherd should drive you home tonight,” Ada tells her. “You can get your car tomorrow when you’re rested.”

“I’m just kidding. Fully awake.” Wren points at her face. “Bright-eyed, even.”

“At least let him walk you to your car.”

Wren takes a step backward, apparently fleeing Ada. Instead, she collides with my chest. I steady her with a hand at her hip until she regains her footing. Six sets of eyes gobble up the interaction .

Wren’s shrill laugh is entirely fake. “I’m good.”

“I’m serious.” Ada’s using her stern voice I remember from second grade. “My son has seen bears out here, and I hate to think what else could be lurking in the dark. You’re not going out there alone.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

Not the enthusiastic consent I’d like to hear from her, but understandable given our audience. After a few quick goodbyes, we exit the house, the crisp air a shock to the system after the warmth of our evening on the couch.

We cross the home’s extensive gravel parking lot like we’re stuck in first gear. If something is out here, we’re not doing a good job of trying to avoid it.

Wren side-eyes me. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Depends on what’s out here.”

“Do you really think there are bears?”

“We see black bears sometimes at the lodge.” Rarely, but I’m still not letting her leave my sight in a place this secluded. Anything could be out here, including the worst threat of all—other people.

“Have you seen them at your cabin?”

I grin in the darkness. “What answer is more likely to get you to visit again?"

She scoffs. “As if I want to tangle with a big, hairy beast.”

“Are you talking about me or the bear?”

Her mouth falls open and she stumbles in the gravel. I take her elbow with my free hand, helping her right herself.

“Even I have motion-activated lights at my house,” she mutters.

“If there’s a lot of wildlife out here, they might never turn off.”

She looks around, but it’s too dark to see anything. The home’s porch light provides a dim glow, but it doesn’t reach the trees surrounding the clearing. It’s pitch-black out there, and if you’re not used to it, more than a little unnerving.

We get to her car, the last in the row of eight vehicles. We really should have carpooled. What a waste. She’s parked next to my truck, so I toss my leftovers in the passenger side while she does the same at hers. We meet between the cars, pausing as if intentionally delaying our goodbye.

I certainly am.

“What are you doing after this?” Terrible small talk, but I don’t want her to drive away yet.

She laughs. “You mean besides going back to sleep?”

“Besides that.”

“I’m probably going to read in bed and ignore my mom and her boyfriend.”

“You don’t like him?” She mentioned him the other day, too.

“I’m starting to feel like an outsider in my own house.”

She rests her back against her car door, her face barely illuminated. “I like him. He’s a nice guy. It’s just that I always feel like I’m in the way. It’s weird enough being twenty-nine and living with my mom, but now I’m basically living with my mom and her new man.”

She lifts a hand between us as if to cut off my nonexistent commentary. “I’m going to move out ASAP. I’ve been looking. It’s just…awkward right now. Instead of relaxing at home, I’m intruding on them.”

I know a thing or two about too much family togetherness. “I’m usually home after seven-thirty. If you need a place to hang out.”

I have no idea what I’m offering and would hate to try to quantify if she asked. All I know is, she’s welcome. To anything. Anytime.

“Wouldn’t that ruin your lone wolf persona? ”

Her teasing works through me like whiskey, loosening me up and priming me to make poor decisions. Or maybe just long-awaited ones.

I take a step closer to her. “I’m not a lone wolf.”

She sways forward, her gaze never leaving mine. “You sure seem like one. I don’t want to intrude on your personal space.” She scrunches her nose. “Again.”

I crowd closer, the scent of cut grass drifting up from her, fresh and intoxicating. Never thought the smell of grass did it for me. Probably, it’s that everything about Wren does it for me.

“Maybe I want you in my personal space.”

Her lips part as she processes that confession. I’d give her a whole bucketful of them if I didn’t think it would send her running. She stares at me so long, her denial must be coming. My gorgeous flight risk.

She surprises me by resting her hands on my chest. Gingerly, as if I have broken ribs she’s afraid of touching too much, but it counts. Does it ever. Her soft, tentative touches are an inferno across my skin.

“If I did come by,” she says slowly, “it would only be to catalog all your books. For research purposes.”

I rest one hand on the side of her car, caging her in. “I’d be honored to be your research subject.”

Her mouth tips up. I want to trace the lines of those lips with my thumb. Lean in and put an abrupt end to this conversation. Now that I know what she tastes like, it takes everything in my power to resist.

“And obviously, I would eat your food.”

“I’ll cook for you any time.”

I move my free hand to her waist, marveling I’m allowed to touch her after longing to for endless months. Her fingers splay across my chest, running over the buttons on my shirt pockets. All the while, we stare at each other in the darkness like we’re tucked away in bed beneath a comforter.

We breathe in time, sharing space. My heart races beneath her fingers. The pulse in her throat jumps.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?”

I love the edge of urgency in her whisper.

I slide my hand from her waist to the middle of her back, the other carding into her hair.

A sigh escapes her, and I’m tempted to capture it with my mouth.

We’re so close, it would only take the smallest tilt of my head to reach her.

Or her sliding onto her tiptoes. Maybe I’m a masochist, but I love the anticipation.

I’ve waited for her this long. I don’t mind drawing it out.

“You want me to kiss you?” My question is loose and languid. I’m in no rush, but I need her to admit it. To stop this one step forward, two steps back dance and meet me in the middle.

She hesitates as if looking for loopholes in a trick question.

“Just…one more time.” Her voice cracks as I lean in. I glide my cheek against the shell of her ear, and she shivers beneath my hands. “Just to get this out of our systems.”

“It will never be out of my system.” I run my nose along her neck, down to her collar bone, breathing in the fading smell of grass. I love the way she rotates through perfumes, every scent a new secret to discover. “You’re in my system for good.”

“We still don’t like each other…right?” She’s breathy and restless, but it’s the uncertainty that stops my dazed exploration.

I pull back until I can look her in the eyes. It’s dark, but we see each other well enough. “What kind of bird do I have tattooed on my arm?”

She blinks hard, her fingers tensing on my chest. “What?”

I repeat the question, inching her closer to me with my hands, willing her to say the words and admit what she already knows .

“I—” Her eyes dance between each of mine, searching for something. She swallows, and even this soft light is enough to show me that she’s steeling herself. Closing herself off to the truth. “I don’t know. I’m not a bird watcher.”

This beautiful, stubborn, infuriating woman.

I tighten my hold on her hair to tip her face up, and she sucks in a breath. This close to her, I almost give in. But I relax my hand, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. I linger, breathing her in, her fingers gripping my shirt so tight I’m surprised she doesn’t rip the fabric.

She wants a kiss, desperately, but can’t bring herself to confront how either of us actually feels. That’s okay. I can be patient. I’ve had practice.

I draw back, easing my hold on her. “Goodnight, Krause.”

Confusion bleeds into frustration, and her gaze shutters. She releases my shirt, her hands slowly falling to her sides.

“Text me when you get home.”

She glares, huffing a humorless laugh. “What happens if I don’t?”

I shrug. “I’ll drive by your house and make sure you’re home safe.”

“My mom’s boyfriend is the sheriff, you know. He could arrest you for stalking.”

“Then you’d better send me that text.”

That earns an eye roll, but I don’t think she’s as annoyed as she’s letting on. She pulls herself from my arms, though, and I step back, watching her climb into her car. She slams the door like she wishes I was closer to it, practically peeling out on the gravel drive a moment later.

I round my truck to the driver’s side, glancing over the row of cars in front of the house. The entire book group was preparing to leave when we walked out, and Wren and I were out here for at least fifteen minutes. Surprising that none of the women opted to leave during our protracted goodbye.

Most likely, the absolute silence out here means they’ve been watching us from inside the house so they wouldn’t interrupt.

Sighing, I climb into my truck and echo Wren’s sentiment. “Menaces.”