Page 33 of Sparks Fly

What drained me was everything wrapped around it. The performance of closeness. The expectation that every thought needed airtime and every feeling needed consensus. Some days it felt like standing in the middle of a room where everyone was talking at once and somehow still expected me to hear them individually.

I answered because that’s what I did. I smoothed things over and kept the wheels turning.

Still, as I sat at my desk with my salad slowly wilting beside the laptop, I felt the pull of something quieter. A different pace. A different kind of connection. One where conversations didn’t feel like group projects and affection didn’t come with bullet points.

When the office finally quieted, I opened Sawyer’s thread. I stared at the blank message box for a moment before typing.

Me: Still smiling about last night. Just thought you should know.

I set the phone down and tried to focus on a listing description, but my attention drifted back when the screen lit up again.

Sawyer: Same. Let’s do it again soon, Sunshine.

My chest tightened slightly as I picked the phone back up.

Me: I’d really like that.

I hesitated before typing again.

Me: I was nervous before. But once I saw you, I wasn’t. That never happens.

The three dots appeared on the screen almost immediately.

Sawyer: That’s kind of the best thing you could’ve said.

I stared at the message longer than necessary before setting the phone down again and forcing myself back to work while pretending my pulse hadn’t gone uneven.

* * *

The afternoon blurred into the usual parade of showings. There was a fixer-upper in Charlestown that smelled like mildew and potential, and first-time buyers with Pinterest boards and hopeful eyes. I sold the dream even when I personally hated fixer-uppers.

Around five, Hallie, my assistant popped her head into my office.

“You okay if I head out?” she asked.

I looked up from my laptop and nodded. “Go,” I told her with a small wave. “Thanks for staying.”

I was ready to head out too.

As I packed up my phone buzzed.

Lilly: Bridal boutique. You. Me. Now. They got the veil.

The boutique smelled like lavender and money. Lilly was already there with a glass of champagne in hand.

“You’re late,” she teased as I walked in.

“You literally texted me 20 minutes ago, and I was uptown,” I said while collapsing beside her on the velvet bench.

The veil arrived like it was something holy. Lace. Cathedral length. Everything she had dreamed about since she was twelve. I teared up despite myself.

Then Lilly asked casually, “So… how are things with Jason?”

I stiffened slightly before answering. “They’re ending,” I said carefully. “I just haven’t done it yet.”

“Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”

Relief loosened something in my chest. “It does?”