Page 28 of Sparks Still Fly

What’s taking her so long?

I still haven’t been able to bring Julia home. Thankfully, Monica and Clay had her name picked out, so at least I didn’t have to make that very permanent decision for her. Since I have no familial relation to either of them, it’s a more complicated process than I originally thought it would be. It seems like it should be straightforward since Julia has no next of kin, but the court is so backed up that we need to wait for a hearing date. It’s bullshit. They also need to meet Maeve, and I don’t know how to bring that up to her.

I’m settling in for the night, checking the security system one last time, when my phone lights up with Maeve’s name.

MAEVE:

Hi. I know it’s late, but I’m about ten minutes away. Is that okay?

OWEN:

Yeah, I’ll have the gate open for you. Guesthouse is to the left.

OWEN:

I’ll be up for a bit if you need anything from the house, the backdoor code is 1027. The code for the guesthouse door is 0523.

MAEVE:

Thanks. I should be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later, I see her Porsche Cayenne pulling in and then away toward the guesthouse. I consider going over there to check on her, to see if she needs anything. I know she doesn’t. I had the fridge stocked with fresh produce and dairy. Glass jars filled with homemade jams line the shelves along with a few pre-made meals that just need to be heated up. A tray of colorful fruits sits on the kitchen island. The beds are loaded with pillows of all different sizes and firmness. The linen closets have plush, white towels and soft, woven blankets lining the shelves.

I don’t know what she likes, so I asked for two of everything available. Overboard? Probably, but I’m trying here.

I stay inside but keep an eye on the guesthouse, just in case she needs my assistance. I want to make sure everything is perfect for her stay, because Maeve Howard might hate me, or be indifferent to me, but I could never feel that way about her. Not even close.

17/

these are my favorite snacks.

maeve

I slip into the guesthouse, taking in the large space. It has two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a spacious kitchen, a den set up as an office, and a huge fireplace in the living room. If this is Owen’s guesthouse, the main house must be massive.

It smells like fresh linens and there’s a faint smell of lavender in the air. I take a deep breath as I look out the window toward where I know there are mountains, even if it’s too dark to see them. There are a few lights outside, but we’re clearly in the middle of nowhere because I can actually see stars in the sky. This already feels nothing like LA, and I love that.

I can’t even see the main house from here, so maybe this means I’ll be able to ignore Owen’s presence as much as possible while we live on the same property. I’ll say hi tomorrow, then come back here and stay out of his way.

I open up the fridge, hoping to find some water inside, and am shocked to see it’s completely packed. Flat water, sparkling water, three different kinds of juice, milk, some cut up veggies neatly stashed in containers, and every possible condiment known to man.

Grabbing a bottle of water, I walk further into the kitchen, noticing the kettle and container labeled ‘tea’ next to it. I immediately wonder if it’s at the very least black tea.

I sincerely hope so.

I walk over and open the container, smelling English Breakfast. Excellent. Now all I need are some digestives.

With a smile on my face, knowing my morning tea will at least be the same as always, I open up the pantry. It’s also stocked. Neatly arranged clear containers are filled with colorful snacks on the shelf at my eye level and my eyes widen when I see the Walkers bags. Just below it is a whole row of digestive biscuits, even the chocolate ones, and some Jammie Dodgers.

Oh my God. These are my favorite snacks.

Owen must have asked Bon what my favorite things are and then he stocked up the kitchen. I can’t dwell on how that makes me feel, or on the weird way my stomach dips at the realization that he took time to prepare for my arrival. But maybe Bon had these sent here. I wouldn’t put it past her.

Shutting the pantry door without looking at what else may be lurking in there, I grab my suitcase with my toiletries and pjs and head toward one of the bedrooms. I choose the one that faces away from the main house. Temptation be damned.

The following morning, I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside of my window. The sound is so foreign that I reach for my phone, attempting to silence a non-existent alarm.

As I pick up my phone, I see a few texts that came in while I was peacefully sleeping in this wonderfully silent place.

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