Page 4 of Spark

“Avery, thank God,” comes Mary’s relieved voice. “We’ve been hollering all morning. There’s another limb that damn near crashed through the back door. We’d jump out the windows if I didn’t fret about Tom breaking a hip.”

“Fool woman,” I hear Tom mutter, which makes me smile despite everything.

“You guys say there. I’m going to find a way to get inside.”

The limb is the size of a small tree. There’s no way I’ll be able to move the damn thing, but I try nonetheless, to no avail. The windows on either side of the house are over my head, so there’ll be no climbing up unless I can find something to stand on. They weren’t kidding about the back being caved in. Half a rotten tree collapsed on it.

I come back around to the front, hoping I can wiggle my way in between the tree and the front door to get it open. Above the sound of distant buzzing chainsaws and humming yellow Tomets, I begin to hear the sound of more voices, some raised over the din. More people must be up and moving around trying to clear out paths, discern the extent of damage.

The crunch of boots on leaves snapping twigs has me looking up as I near Tom and Mary’s front steps. Maybe it’s someone who can help.

I open my mouth to call out to them when the words die on my tongue.

The man hasn’t noticed me yet. He carries a chainsaw with one hand like it doesn’t weigh a thing. He scans the area, sharp and observant. I know that gaze. I’ve stared into it, dreamed of it. His eyes haunt me every day.

“Walker,” I say, louder than I intend, because it’s the only thing I know about him other than what it feels like to have him inside me.

He stops. Turns to me.

Those blue-gray eyes meet mine.

Chapter 3

Walker

Past

“Idon’t normally do this,” is all I remember her saying before she tugs me to my Airbnb.

“Neither do I.”

She pushes open the door and stumbles inside. “No, I mean it. That’s not just a line. I don’t go home with strange guys.”

When I’m over the threshold, she pushes it shut behind me and presses me against its surface. My brain short-circuits like it had the moment I saw her in the bar. Sounds cliché, but they’re clichés for a reason.

She’d been waiting tables at the restaurant I’d gone to for dinner. Not my waitress, but one a couple sections over. I’d lingered over a mediocre steak and over-dry baked potato that I’d washed down with cheap beer to watch her like some kind of creep. I’d stayed through dinner rush, then wandered over to the bar where she’d taken over serving drinks. She plied me with alcohol until I, with some stroke of luck or fate or both, convinced her to go to the bar next door when we couldn’t stay at the restaurant any longer. Some hours later, with enough alcohol to make bad decisions sound like good ones, I’d convinced her to come back to my place where we could be alone.

“I’m not complaining,” I say and let my hands wander wherever she’ll allow them. “I wouldn’t judge you even if you did.”

She pauses her own explanation to peer up at me with fathomless brown eyes. “That’s so sweet,” she says, causing me to laugh. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Walker,” I answer and brush back her loose brown curls from her face. God, I want to kiss her.

“I’m Avery.”

“I remember.”

She presses her eyes shut, sighs a little. “We should probably talk some more. Get to know each other better. I think I’m a little drunk.”

I close my eyes and lean my head against the door, praying for some self-control. “Whatever you want. I just don’t want to be alone.”

Her fingers pause their exploration of my chest over the thin material of my T-shirt. I glance back down at her, watching her study me. Fuck, maybe she was right. I’d had way too much to drink.

“I don’t want to be alone either,” she confesses.

Wanting nothing more than to taste those confessions on her lips, I instead put my hands on her arms and put some much-needed distance between us. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll make us some coffee. I think there’s some in the kitchen.”

At this, she chuckles and carefully sits on the small leather sofa in the living room. “You don’t know if you have coffee in your own house?”