Page 30 of Catching Sparks

“The ranch,” Brody grunts. “We should still be here when you get back.”

“I’ll figure something out,” I tell them, a queasy feeling starting to grow in my stomach. It puts me on edge, and that frustrates me to the point I leave them there without another word.

It’s rude, incredibly so. But what’s more worrisome is the guilt that follows.

“Wait up!” Poppy calls from behind me.

I shoulder open the entrance door and catch sight of her close behind me. Extending my arm, I hold the door for her while rejecting the notion to ask if I’ve upset anyone in my haste to leave.

Poppy takes the lead, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. I fall into step beside her. It’s so quiet out here, the air clean and crisp as we walk for a couple of silent minutes.

“You don’t make it easy for them to let you in, you know,” she says, breaking the quiet when a line of houses appears on our right.

“That’s for the best.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t need to.”

Her exhale is forced, angry. “I don’t buy this whole charade. The ‘I don’t care about anyone or anything’ act. Nobody wants to be alone, Garrison. No one. I don’t care who you are or where you come from.”

“If you believe that, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

She nods once, not denying it as she inhales deeply. “You’re right. But if you let us, we might want to get to know you.”

The statement rattles the steel walls around my heart, and I immediately reinforce them.

“The only person I’m interested in getting to know right now is you,” I admit brazenly.

She looks up at me with wide eyes. I realize my misstep instantly. Cold sinks into my bones, but my chance to correct myself disappears when she stops walking.

“We’re here.”

The house is small. Quaint, to be polite. The lawn is thin in width, maybe double that of the sidewalk. Shutters sit on both sides of the front window, the white paint peeling to reveal old wood. Cement steps lead up to a front door with a bright-coloured wreath hung from it and a sign that says come back with tacos.

I tug at the back of my shirt. “It’s nice.”

“I’m sure you’re used to penthouses and mansions, but this is home.”

“Does your voice echo when you step into the living room?”

She furrows her brows. “No?”

“Then you’re already better off than any penthouse or mansion.”

Silence returns as she turns her body to face mine completely and takes my hand in hers. She brings it between us and stares down at it, measuring the length of my fingers compared to hers.

“You make it hard to believe you’re not lonely when you say those things, Garrison,” she murmurs.

I swallow, tugging on her hand. She stumbles into me, and my arm is already there. I wrap it around her waist and haul her against me, chest to chest, breath to breath.

“I’m not lonely right now,” I whisper, lifting my other hand to brush a strand of silky hair behind her ear.

Her lips part, words forming between them, but they don’t come. The tension between us pulses with its own life force. I feel it. So does she. There’s a clock counting down above our heads, and I’m ready for when it hits zero.

Poppy is less patient than I am.

My vision goes white when she reaches for my nape and pulls me in, chasing the promise of pleasure that I haven’t been able to ignore since the moment I saw her.

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