Page 106 of Sparks Fly

Me: I’ve been thinking about your text. About Friday.

Sawyer: Yeah?

My fingers hovered over the screen for a second before I answered.

Me: I want to come.

Sawyer: You sure?

Me: I’m nervous. Not in a bad way. It’s just new.

Sawyer: You don’t have to be anything other than you are.

Something settled in my chest when I read that.

Me: Then yes. Friday.

Sawyer: Then it’s a date.

Me: It is.

* * *

32

Addison

Dinner at my parents’ place was always a performance, and skipping Sunday had consequences. Apparently, one of those consequences was Tuesday night.

By the time I pulled my car into their street, I was already tired from what I’d generously been calling a dress rehearsal of a day. The morning had started early with three showings stacked back-to-back across the city, which meant coffee in a travel mug and breakfast at stoplights.

By noon I’d already toured two couples through properties they loved but couldn’t quite afford and talked a nervous first-time buyer out of offering fifteen thousand over asking. The afternoon had been paperwork and calls and a negotiation that stretched far longer than it should have.

Somewhere between the third coffee and the last email, I’d looked at the clock and realized I was late for nothing except my own evening.

Still, I’d gone home anyway, changed out of my work clothes, and put on something my mother would consider respectable. Jeans and a fitted sweater were the compromise between comfort and family expectation.

I arrived five minutes early, because being late invited subtle comments from my mother about how busy didn’t mean unavailable, and I didn’t have the energy to fake-smile through that.

The townhouse looked exactly the same as it always did. The front garden was trimmed within an inch of perfection, with the porch lights glowing warmly against the darkening sky. Through the door I could already smell garlic and rosemary drifting into the evening air.

I rang the bell.

My mother opened the door a moment later wearing a cream sweater set and pearls. Her makeup was perfect, her hair styled neatly at the nape of her neck, and her polite smile settled into place the moment she saw me.

“Darling, come in,” she said warmly.

“Hey, Mom,” I replied as I leaned in for a quick cheek kiss before slipping off my heels in the entryway.

Benji was already there. He lounged in one of the armchairs with a tumbler of something amber in his hand, legs stretched out like he’d been waiting a while. The second he saw me, he lifted his brows slightly in a look that read half warning, half save me.

I arched a brow right back at him.

My dad emerged from the study with the evening paper folded under his arm.

“Addison,” he said.

“Hi, Dad,” I replied.