Page 29 of Sparks Fly

“What about Jason?” she asked.

I made a face. “Trying to exit,” I said. “He’s not bad. Just not right anymore.”

“And now?” Sawyer asked, and her voice was quieter when she said it.

I met her eyes and didn’t look away. “Now I want tacos,” I said before adding, because I couldn’t help it, “and beer, and someone who listens.”

Sawyer’s smile turned soft and real. “I like that answer,” she told me.

“Me too,” I said, feeling it settle somewhere deep in my bones.

It didn’t feel like a first date, at least not in the way I had trained myself to think one was supposed to feel. It felt like something beginning, slow and steady and real.

* * *

9

Sawyer

The tacos were gone.

Wrappers crushed and forgotten on the coffee table, and the last of the beer sat warm in the bottles between us. Addison was still curled up on my couch with her legs tucked under her like she had been there before.

She didn’t look like a guest. She looked like she fit, like she hadn’t just wandered into my space but had somehow landed there naturally. The thought settled heavy in my chest, and I told myself not to follow it too far. I told myself not to start imagining her here again and again, laughing that laugh that made me want to keep talking just to hear it.

I stood before my brain could get any worse ideas and started gathering the wrappers and bottles, using the task to keep myself steady.

“Whiskey now, pie in a little bit?” I asked her.

“Sounds great,” She said.

Addison accepted the glass I handed her. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

I shrugged while settling back down beside her on the couch. “Full-service hospitality,” I said with a small smirk. “One-woman operation.”

Addison laughed easily, the sound unguarded and bright, and it hit me fast and sharp, like a match struck too close to dry paper.

We drank without rushing it. I let the quiet stretch for a moment, curious whether she would get uncomfortable or reach for conversation the way most people did.

She didn’t.

Addison simply sipped her whiskey while her eyes drifted around the room, taking everything in like she was memorizing it. The way she looked at the place did something to me.

I stood again, restless in a way that felt good. “Want to see my favorite part of the place?” I asked her.

Addison raised her eyebrows with interest and pushed herself up from the couch. “Lead the way,” she said.

The spiral staircase creaked softly as I climbed, my hand sliding along the cool metal rail. I wondered if she was watching me. I wondered if she noticed the way I moved. I shut the thought down before it had time to grow teeth.

I pushed open the hatch and stepped out into the night air. The rooftop wasn’t much. There were a few string lights, one large cushion, and a railing that had seen better days. Still, it was mine. It was the place I came when I needed to think and I needed sky instead of walls.

Addison climbed up behind me with her glass still in hand, and something like nerves flickered low in my gut. It wasn’t because of the rooftop itself. I didn’t care what anyone thought of it. The nerves came from the fact that this wasn’t small. I was letting her see something real, not just tacos and beer, but the place I went when I needed to breathe.

Addison stepped out beside me and looked around slowly. “This is amazing,” she said, her voice soft with genuine surprise.

Relief loosened something in my shoulders. “I come up here to think,” I told her while leaning against the railing. “Or just sit. Depends on the night.”

We settled onto the cushion together, and our knees touched almost immediately. Neither of us moved away. The contact ran warm and steady through me.