Page 119 of Catching Sparks

Anna would squeal if she knew about this. “So . . . your favourite artist? I’m not going to let it go.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he hides a smile. “Noah Hutton. Rock is more my type.”

“He’s too rough for my taste.”

He chokes on a laugh. “You have no idea.”

Spinning, I lean my back against the shelves of records and grab his sides, pulling him close. His cologne hits me first, the spiced scent so damn sexy it makes my mind swim.

“I like my men a bit tamer. Rough around the edges but peanut butter smooth on the inside. Kind of like you,” I murmur, tapping his chest with a blunt nail.

He covers my hand with his, keeping it pressed between his pecs. “Careful, if anyone else heard that, I’d lose my reputation.”

“We don’t want that.”

“No, we don’t. My reputation keeps the jet fueled and ready to take you wherever you want to go,” he breathes out, head dipping ever so slowly.

“I don’t need the jet.”

His throat works with a thick swallow. “So tell me what you do you need.”

I press up on my tiptoes and hover my lips a paper’s width from his. He holds me by my waist, steadying me, waiting for my words.

“Just you, Garrison. All I need is you.”

41

GARRISON

I’m still waking fully from our nap when Poppy and I sit at the dinner table two hours later. Mom must have been in the kitchen from the moment we went upstairs for her to have cooked so much food in such a short time.

A full, golden-brown chicken with crispy skin has already been carved and sits atop a platter of carrots and celery. A porcelain bowl of mashed potatoes is next to the one nearly overflowing with buns that I know didn’t come from a store. I caught a whiff of fresh bread the moment I woke to find Poppy still asleep on my chest.

My stomach growls, catching Poppy’s attention as she slides her eyes to me and laughs.

“It’s not my fault. My mom makes the best bread I’ve ever had,” I say.

“Really? Mine doesn’t bake at all. She doesn’t have the patience for it.”

Reaching across the table, I snag a bun from the stack and rip it in half. It’s still warm as I extend half to her. “Try it.”

She accepts it eagerly and takes a bite. Her eyes widen, a soft moan sliding up her throat. After swallowing, she says, “That’s really good.”

Finishing off my half, I nod in agreement and sling my arm over the back of her chair.

“It’s a Beckett family recipe. Reggie’s mother taught it to me back when we were just two young adults in love,” Mom says, appearing out of nowhere at the head of the table. “I could teach you, Poppy.”

“I’d love that!” Poppy squeals before I have a chance to chastise my mother for making future plans again.

Her instant agreement should make me excited, but it only makes things worse. If I let myself grow excited for things that won’t happen, leaving will wind up killing me.

“How was your nap?” Mom asks, stealing a quick glance behind her into the kitchen. I follow her stare, knowing who she’s looking for.

Poppy sets a hand on my knee. “It was exactly what I needed.”

“Fantastic. It’s been quite a while since I last flew, but I remember it being tough on the body. I don’t know how Garrison or my husband do it so often,” Mom replies before twirling to flash a smile at my father as he appears behind her and moves to stand at her side. She curls into him and palms his stomach. “I’ve chalked it up to them being a different breed. Would you agree, Reg?”

Discomfort turns me to stone. Poppy’s fingers stroke my knee before drifting up to rest on my thigh, squeezing once. My father looks at me for the first time in weeks and has the nerve to smile as though he cares at all that I’m here.

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