Page 44 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

Have I really changed my mind about something so huge after six short weeks? Maybe the bigger question: has Shepherd changed my mind? Do I really feel different down in my bones, or am I trying to be the sunshine girl who believes in love to get him to stay?

My heart races, my body going tingly as if I finally flew right out of the rollercoaster. Like those nightmares where I lose gravity and jump way up high into the sky, only to start plummeting back down again.

At least in my dreams, I wake up before I hit the ground.

“I think it’s real.” I tread carefully across conversational ground littered with traps and pitfalls. “But fake versions are so common, it’s hard to tell the difference. And nobody wants to get stuck with a cheap imitation.”

That lands about as well as a rude gesture in the middle of a church service. The ladies stare at me like I just offered to pop off my head. I don’t look Shepherd’s direction. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s thinking.

“You must have related well to our heroine,” Rosetta finally says. “After so many bad relationships, she didn’t recognize the real thing when it came calling.”

“I didn’t like her.” Barb picks at the last of the pie on her plate. “She was rude and indifferent to the hero for too long. He should have cut her loose when he had the chance.”

Rosetta laughs. “Thankfully, that’s not how it played out in the book.”

“It’s how it played out in my head. He found someone sweeter, who won’t take his love for granted.”

That tingly, flying-out-of-the-rollercoaster sensation coalesces deep in my stomach like the first indications I’m about to lose my lunch.

“Isn’t it interesting how we’ll accept any number of rude or indifferent behaviors from the male love interest, but when it’s the woman, she has to be sweet and likable all the time?

” Rosetta glances around at each of us, spearing us with one raised eyebrow.

“I don’t know about you all, but I am not as saccharine as we expect a romance book heroine to be. ”

The group erupts over this, half in agreement, half defending the concept of a “likable heroine.” I barely listen. I stare at the book of national parks on Ada’s coffee table, having a wee little crisis.

“He found someone sweeter.” Thank you for so succinctly describing my new nightmare, Barb.

Shepherd doesn’t add to the noise. I side-eye him, but he’s just staring back at me. Possibly contemplating how much he really wants an unlikable heroine of his own.

“Now, ladies.” Ada raises her hands, bringing the commotion to a halt. “Maybe we should call it a day. I like my furniture, and I’m afraid some of you might start throwing things.”

Embarrassed chuckles move around the room.

Ada gives us our options for next month’s book group: a romcom pitting coworkers against each other for the same promotion, and a contemporary romance set in a small town that’s infused with a touch of magic.

We settle on the magical romance and pick up our things to head out.

I help Ada divide and box up the leftovers. It’s no accident she doles out the largest share to Shepherd. These ladies are determined to take care of him like one of their own. It’s sweet.

Ugh. I can’t escape the word.

Rosetta pulls Shepherd off to the side, talking quietly in the living room.

I edge around the kitchen island, getting closer without being too conspicuous about it.

Because yes, I am a terrible snoop. I want to hear more about how wonderful he is with the kids in the volunteer program. It sounds freaking adorable.

“Lucy’s a gem,” Rosetta’s saying. “She’s thoughtful and friendly, and just the sweetest thing. I think it’d be the right fit for what you’re looking for.”

My stomach revolts against everything I ate at brunch—is she trying to set Shepherd up with someone? Did she already give up on smashing us together through book group and found another woman for him? I might have played my indifference this morning too well.

“Thank you, Rosetta,” Shepherd says. “That sounds perfect.”

I might have played my indifference too well for longer than just today.

Perfect. He told me I was perfect. My mushy heart that’s been steadily growing to fill my whole body deflates down to the sad, sorry cherry pit it was before. Nobody wants to find a pit in their sweet cherry pie.

When he said all those soft, romantic things to me the other day, I didn’t say them back. I barely said anything at all. My throat closed up, and I couldn’t scrape the words out. How long will he be content with sharing his heart if I don’t share mine back?

Not very long, I guess.

“What kind of magic do you think this new book has in it?” Nora asks me. “I don’t want to read anything with devils in it.”

“It’s got flowers all over the cover,” I point out. “I doubt anything that cute and whimsical has dark magic in it.”

“You can’t judge a book by its cover,” Barb says like she invented the adage.

Nope. Like if you were to look at me right now, you’d never know my insides are torn up like a hurricane ripped through my ribcage, smashing my teeny, tiny heart .

Shepherd moves forward to grab his stash of leftovers, his shoulder brushing along my back as he does. I suck in a breath as if the gentle touch seared my skin. He focuses on me, that stern little line dipping between his eyebrows.

“Okay there, Krause?”

I flash the biggest smile. “Yup!”

His eyebrows tug tighter together as he frowns at me. Okay, that might have been more enthusiasm than his question warranted. Also, there’s probably no more obvious sign of distress from me than an actual smile. It’s like a giant SOS.

I let it fall right off my face. “Just getting ready to go.”

“I’ll walk out with you.”

A couple of the women ooh , but Rosetta shushes them. Right. Because we’re done with that now. She’s already got somebody lined up to replace me. I thought we were friends, Rosetta.

Out on Ada’s front porch, I gulp in cold air, letting the shock pinch my lungs. Shepherd side-eyes me as we walk down the steps. His focused attention is worse than the room full of staring women. Probably because he’s seen me at my weakest and most vulnerable and knows the signs.

Once we walk far enough away from Ada’s house that nobody could see us if they were watching, he stops on the sidewalk. “I need to talk to you.”

My stomach sinks like the messy center of an under-baked cake. That’s never good, is it?

He holds his brunch leftovers in one hand and rakes the other through his hair. “I did something you might not like. We never really talked about exactly where we stand, and I might have crossed a line?—”

I do not want to have this conversation. I would rather watch Mom and Daniel make out for an hour than endure whatever Shepherd’s about to tell me. About Lucy . Whoever she is, I hate her. I hope she gets rocks in her shoes, and her bra strap twists.

“Can we put a pin in that for another time?” I stare at a space just to the side of Shepherd’s head. It’s like eye contact but without the emotional wreckage. “I got a bad headache in there. I just want to go home and lie down.”

Now I’m using the fake headache excuse. I’m as bad as our book group ladies.

He moves closer. “Do you want me to come over and help out? I could?—”

“No!” I lurch backward. “No, you don’t need to. I just want to sleep for a while.”

Like maybe the rest of my life.

He stills, his gaze roving over me like he’s searching for evidence of my symptoms. I look away just in case he finds some. Not of the headache, but of my crazy. Hoo boy, is there a lot of that in here.

“Okay. Text me if you need anything.”

I hate how sad he sounds. But I hate the sadness raging through me more. Somehow, those meddling women at book group were both the rise and downfall of the best moments of my life.

“Will do.” I get in my car, but he just stands there, waiting. Watching.

Maybe this is all for the best. I’m obviously not fit for human interaction. I am a grade F person. And isn’t this what I deserve? I was such a jerk to him for so long, it’s fitting that as soon as I realize just how wrong I was, he has the same revelation about me.

He waves as I pull away from the curb. I wave back, fake smile stuck in place. My little cherry pit heart writhes in my chest like its tethered to him, and any distance between us makes it cry out in agony .

That’s another reason to hate Jane Eyre. The perfect imagery I can’t get out of my head no matter how disgusted I am by the book’s hero.

I drive through Sunshine, punching buttons on my car stereo, looking for a good angry song to sing along with. Of course, I get only ballads and peppy, hopeful music. Everything’s fine music. Lies music. Switching it off again, I slump against the steering wheel as I come to a four-way stop.

I wanted to care for once, and this is what happens. But what am I supposed to do? Drive back to Ada’s and beg Shepherd not to go out with Lucy? Confess all my messy feelings? Show him my soft and tender underbelly I keep protected like a wounded armadillo?

That’s not me. I’m not the girl with the big, blubbery emotions.

Am I?