Page 77 of Sparks Fly

When she came back out with her damp hair braided, wearing my sweatpants low on her hips and an old band tee, I nearly dropped the bowl in my hands.

“You look very… at home right now,” I said.

She lifted an eyebrow. “At home?”

I glanced at her standing in my kitchen like she had done it a hundred times. “Yeah. It’s a good look on you.”

Her expression softened. “I like it here.”

“Good. Sit.” I nodded to the couch.

I set a bowl of pho in front of her, steam curling from the broth.

Her eyes widened. “Is this spicy pho?”

“You said you were obsessed with it recently.” I shrugged.

“Baby!” She said taking a bite.

I watched her face carefully as the heat hit.

“Oh my God.” Her eyes closed, and she let out a quiet moan. “Sawyer, this is so good.”

“Comfort first, fire second.”

She took another spoonful before looking at me. “You made this because I had a bad day?”

“I wanted you to feel better.”

Her expression changed, softening in a way that made my chest ache.

“No one has ever done something like this for me.”

“It’s dinner, Sunshine.”

“It’s not just dinner.” She shook her head.

I reached across the table and brushed my thumb over her knuckles. “Then let me do it again sometime.”

We ate slowly, talking about her day between bites. By the time she finished, her shoulders had relaxed, and the exhaustion in her face had eased.

Later, curled beneath a blanket on the couch, her fingers slipped beneath my tank, and my hands followed, slow and careful.

She stopped me before things tipped further.

“I can’t tonight,” she whispered.

“I know.”

I kissed her like a promise instead of a question.

“I want to take my time with you,” I murmured. “When your not exhausted or rushed.”

“I’ll let you,” she whispered. “Soon.”

When she finally left later that night, the ache stayed with me.

So did the certainty. This weekend couldn’t come fast enough.