Page 29 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

TWENTY-ONE

SHEPHERD

Suggesting I could read our romance book out loud to Wren was a terrible idea.

Giving voice to all this attraction and barely-contained longing is torture, even if it’s fictional.

She sits at the opposite end of my couch, her feet tucked up beneath her, listening as I read the couple’s flirty banter, heated arguments, and endless poetic descriptions of cowboys.

It would be awkward if she weren’t smiling so hard. She’s not taking it very seriously. Probably because I just read the phrase glistening sea-blue orbs regarding the heroine’s eyes.

She stretches, shifting the smallest centimeter closer along the couch. At this rate, it will take her all night to get to my side, but I’m prepared to wait.

Frustration roared through me when she admitted why things stalled out between us. I should have known I’d have fallout from confronting a wealthy narcissist like Richard Allred. I just had no idea he’d retaliate with her . Of all the options at his disposal, he found my weakest spot.

Although, I probably revealed my intentions loud and clear when I got in his face after overhearing what he said about her.

Even all this time later, his plans for her make my blood boil.

He was confident enough to go into vivid detail at Stumpjumper where anyone could hear him—I have no doubt he intended to follow through. Use and discard was the gist of it.

I should have punched him when I had the chance.

“Do you have a blanket?” Wren says as I turn a page.

“In the basket at your end of the couch.”

She twists to look. “You have a blanket basket? Are you a real adult or something?”

“Or something.”

She stands to collect the blanket. When she sits back down, she’s erased most of the space between us. I fight a smirk and read on. Shifting the open paperback to the arm of the couch so I can turn pages one-handed, I rest my other hand between us, palm up.

I keep reading, waiting for movement in my peripheral vision.

I swear, she stares at my hand like she’s examining it for booby traps.

I’m not sure what nefarious motives she thinks I have in the offer, but she seems to sift through them all.

Finally, she slips her palm against mine, the echoes of her small touch radiating up my arm.

If she were to look, she would see the smuggest, most satisfied smile on my face. But she goes on watching my hand like it’s a marvel. We kissed until we were both breathless and out of our minds, but this simple touch is a foreign country for us. One I very much want to take up dual residency in.

I pause at the end of the second chapter, unsure how long I’ve been reading, but willing to keep going until my voice is hoarse if it keeps her here on my couch.

“She really can’t stand that cowboy,” Wren says.

“And yet, he’s obviously smitten with her.”

“That doesn’t happen in real life.” She flips my hand so hers is beneath it and uses her other to trace slow patterns over my skin. If I died and this is heaven, nobody zap my heart back to life. “Is this what you thought would happen when you joined a romance book group?”

“Yes, but I had my eye on Fran.”

She whistles a low note. “High hopes.”

I already told her about Rosetta’s repeated invitations, but making a friend happy wasn’t the only reason. “I joined because I thought it might help with my anxiety. Get some exposure therapy in a contained situation.”

“Is it helping?”

“They do put me on the spot a lot.” I squeeze her hand beneath mine.

She shifts to face me better. She’s exquisite like this, relaxed on my couch. “What else do you need more exposure to?”

Don’t even ask, kitten.

“Reading aloud to a beautiful woman would help.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s still got a grin going. “Look at me, doing my part. I could help you prepare for that town hall presentation if you want.”

Dread creeps in behind the comfort of the evening, playing peekaboo from the shadows.

I was trying not to think about that, despite Lila’s chipper texts for us to coordinate for the slideshow.

A date’s been set for next month, a glaring red square on my calendar.

My quick escape the other day seems to have barely registered with her. Or she’s pointedly ignoring it.

“I don’t think it would be the same one-on-one. My triggers have more to do with crowds and being the center of attention among strangers.”

I was prepared to be uneasy during book group, but the ladies quickly revealed themselves to be over-eager grandmas and dispelled my nerves.

A room full of a hundred Sunshine residents there to decide whether the town can afford to spend money on my trail plans won’t give off nearly the same harmless vibes.

Wren dips her head, scrunching her eyebrows together to stare me down. “You underestimate how intimidating I can be.”

“I don’t underestimate anything about you.”

Her mouth takes on an unimpressed slant. Not sure why she wouldn’t believe it. She’s a capable and impressive woman, no matter how much she likes to deflect attention from it.

“Is that why you stopped working at your family’s lodge?” she asks. “Because of the crowds?”

“That’s part of it. I was more comfortable when it was smaller, but I never really fit in there as an employee. We all knew Charlie’s plans to turn it luxury weren’t for me. My grandpa encouraged me to open my own shop.”

“The grandpa from the picture?”

I nod, gliding my thumb over the smooth skin on her hand. “He wanted me to follow my passion.”

More to the point, he never wanted me to feel trapped into following his. He was adamant I find what I love and stick with it—and I don’t think he just meant work.

“And that’s bikes?”

I exhale a soft laugh. “You sound so shocked.”

She straightens, smoothing out her expression. She has no idea how much I love it when she doesn’t hide what she’s feeling—even confusion about why I like my job.

“I’m not trying to. I really want to know.”

“My passion was doing my own thing, and bikes were a means to that end. I enjoy bikes, both riding and repairing them. Like you said: I like to get my hands dirty.”

“Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Impossible.” I’ll never forget it, or the fire that danced in her eyes when she stood right there in front of my bookshelves.

“Working with customers in your shop doesn’t bother you?” she asks, redirecting.

“We don’t usually have more than a few people in the shop at a time. It’s low stress. And it doesn’t hurt that I’m an expert in the field.”

She tilts her head, scrutinizing my face. “You know, I never noticed how humble you are.”

A chuckle rumbles through me. “If it helps, I never felt that way at the lodge. I was always off balance and out of place. But with Get in Gear, I don’t question myself.

And there’s pride in helping other people enjoy something I love, whether that’s a single ride along the river or starting a lifetime with the sport. ”

“Which brings us back to your presentation.”

She’s good. But I already knew that.

“You’re adorably tenacious.”

“I’ve been told. I’ll help you, though. I’ll be your practice audience. You can give your speech, and I’ll boo and throw tomatoes at your head.”

“I wasn’t planning on an angry mob.”

“See? You need me.”

“I never thought I didn’t.”

Wren’s gaze drifts over my face to my mouth. Seconds tick by. “Maybe you should read another chapter.”

She sounds so breathy, I don’t want to go back to the book. But I’m not above doing anything she asks.

By the time the fictional couple walk away angry from their argument in chapter three, Wren’s trying to hide a yawn. It’s late, and I know she was in the bakery early this morning. Her car was already in the alley when I rolled in after nine.

“Sorry,” she says from behind her hand. “It was a pie prep day for me again. Six o’clock is a stupid time to get to work.”

“That’s why I don’t open until ten.”

She collapses against the back of the couch, her shoulder not quite touching mine. “Don’t rub it in. You don’t have to build the bikes.”

“Yes, I do. The bikes come partially disassembled. ”

“They do?” She stares up at me, her head resting on the cushion. “With instructions like an Ikea dresser?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmm. Only partially disassembled, though.”

“Sometimes I get requests for custom builds that I make entirely from scratch.”

She sags another inch closer to me. “That’s more like it.”

“Maybe we could get a bike for you sometime.”

“Oh, no.” She slides her hand from mine and escapes off the couch. “Don’t start trying to get me to do things .”

I stand and follow her across the room. “Wanting to ‘do things.’ How horrible.”

“I already have a bike, for your information. It’s an unrideable rust pile in my garage, and that’s the way I like it.”

“You know best.”

“I do. And—” She points at me like I’ve got a target on my chest. “That’s why I’m going to help you with your presentation.”

“Okay.” Might as well start giving in now. I plan to do a lot of it with her. “As soon as I have everything prepared, I will let you pelt me with rotten tomatoes.”

She nods, pleased with herself. “Thanks for catching me up on the book. I wouldn’t have known how annoying cowboys are otherwise.”

“Thanks for ignoring my stumbles.” Why the word “verisimilitude” is in that book, I can’t guess.

“You barely made any. You have a really nice voice. I listen to a lot of audiobooks, and your narration is way up there.”

I’ll remember that.

“And to think, a few weeks ago you said the sound of my voice made you wish you could weld your ears shut.”

Her cringe makes me regret the poorly timed joke. “I do have a way with words. ”

I take a step closer, keeping her focus on me. “If it helps, I’ve always been more concerned with the way you look at me.”

She backs up until she’s against my door, her hands behind her. “How do I look at you?”

As if she doesn’t have a volcano of heat in her eyes right now.

I close the last scrap of distance between us until we’re nearly touching. “Like you can’t decide if you’d rather fight me or kiss me.”

Her laugh comes out breathy, her gaze stuck on my mouth. “It’s a really tough decision.”

“Not for me.” I rest one hand just over her head, and the other sifts into her hair. I’ve been itching to run my fingers through those wild blond strands all night.

“Fighting is less ambiguous,” she whispers. “I need super clear romantic signals.”

Running my fingertips along her scalp, I cup the back of her head. “I was awfully clear with my signals when we kissed the other day.”

Her hands find my chest, her fingers dancing over the fabric. “It’s a big leap to make, though. Enemies to lovers.”

I hover over her mouth. “I was never your enemy.”

She tilts her face up, straining to get to me without actually moving closer. “You’re a big fan of torture, aren’t you?”

“I’m a big fan of taking my time.”

I trail my fingers from her hair, down behind her ear until they graze along the slope of her neck. Her skin is so unbearably soft, I’m afraid my calloused hands will leave marks. I’ll just have to be sure I’m extra gentle.

She shivers beneath me, so warm she’s practically burning up. One of her hands drifts from my chest down to my waist, lightly flexing to tug me closer.

“Please kiss me.” The barest whisper .

I lean in until my mouth is almost on hers, my fingertips skimming over her skin. “What kind of bird do I have tattooed on my arm?”

Her blue eyes flash, her gaze darting between each of mine. Her mouth parts, and I feel her intake of breath as much as hear it. For three long seconds, I expect her to argue with me again and run off into the night.

But she relaxes in my arms. “A wren.”

I nod slowly, that sweet, soft word exactly what I needed to hear. “That’s right. Wren.”

Everything I’ve longed for is voiced in that single syllable. Her eyes widen as if she heard it, too, but then my mouth is on hers. Claiming as surely as I’m surrendering.

If our first kiss was a frenzied dare, this is an unhurried promise. There’s no rush. No fear of getting caught or coming to our senses. Our kisses soothe the ragged uncertainty I’ve been drowning in, bringing me back to the surface for air. We’re both in this together.

She makes soft little sounds, and I swallow each one down. Her hands slowly trek over my shoulder and waist, mapping my body in tentative touches. With each kiss, her exploration grows bolder, more relaxed. Her fingers slip over the nape of my neck and into my hair, lightly tugging at the strands.

I want this kiss to be controlled and gentle, but she’s making me forget why. The sounds that groan out of me are anything but soft, and she smiles against my mouth. Triumph all you want, kitten. I have no problem falling to my knees for you.

Eventually, we draw apart with tandem sighs. I press my forehead to hers, my hands smoothing over her back and down her arms. I know she needs to leave soon, but I won’t be the one to suggest it.

“Are you sure the cold tub doesn’t work?” she says.

I rumble a low laugh. “Very sure. ”

“I guess I should go before…”

She doesn’t fill in that blank, but my imagination is more than up for the task. “Probably a good idea.”

I slowly move out of her space, reluctantly releasing every point of contact.

She’s gorgeous like this, a little dazed and kiss-drunk in my house.

She’s breathtaking when she’s wild and angry, too, so it’s likely I’m a poor judge.

I have Wren-blindness and find her achingly pretty no matter the context.

“Text me when you get home,” I tell her.

She nods like my worry bordering on overprotectiveness is a given now. “Goodnight, Shepherd.”

That deserves another kiss. I dart in close to press my mouth to hers in thanks. Praise. Adoration. Everything. I want to hear her say my name at all times, in all ways.

“Goodnight, Wren.”