Page 29 of Sparks Still Fly

BON:

Did you make it to Owen’s okay? Is he being nice to you?

I quickly type out a response, even though I know she’s likely not awake yet.

MAEVE:

I’m here. Haven’t seen him yet. Thanks for the snacks!

The second name is one that has me scowling.

MUM:

I hear one of my daughters got married.

MUM:

I had to see it in a magazine. Since Charlotte actually picks up my calls, she confirmed that it’s true.

MUM:

Hopefully you fare better with your first husband than I did. Doubt it, though.

MUM:

Will I find out about the divorce through the tabloids, too?

Whatever. I don’t care. I refuse to give her any of my energy. Though the thought that she’s right, that my marriage will end in divorce just as all of hers have, makes me feel sick. Mum changes husbands faster than most people change cars, and I’ve worked hard to ensure that I’m nothing like her. No doubt, she’ll hold this over my head for the rest of her days.

The next message is from Owen about ten minutes ago.

OWEN:

Morning. Hope you slept well.

OWEN:

I have breakfast here in case you don’t want to cook anything.

My stomach growls in response to his breakfast offer. I definitely don’t want to cook anything. I never do. And I have to see him anyway, so I quickly get dressed in jeans and a lilac jumper, toss my hair into a low bun and make my way across the treed path to the main house. Out of habit, I put on my daily makeup and bright red lipstick.

You can take the girl out of LA, but you can’t take the LA out of the girl…

I can smell the bacon from outside as I step closer, suddenly feeling very unsure as to whether I should knock or simply walk in.

I should knock. I don’t live here, and we’re not exactly friends. But then again, we’re married now, so I could just walk in, right?

The door opens as I’m hovering a hand over the handle, still battling with myself.

“Were you going to come in or just stand there staring at the door?” I don’t know what hits me first. Owen’s leathery, manly smell or the sight of him in workout shorts and a perfectly fitted black T-shirt. I’ve never seen his legs before. I mean, sure, we were naked together once, but I wasn’t looking at his legs. I could hardly see anything because it was so dark. All I could do was feel…

Maeve Charlotte Howard, get your mind out of that place right this second!

In an effort not to stare, I end up looking down at his shins, then back up to his face, back to the shins, up to his face, until my eyes get tired and land somewhere over his crotch.

Shit balls, this is no good.

I wince, feeling very caught in this game I’m apparently playing with myself, and when I look up at Owen’s face, his eyes are wide, eyebrows high on his forehead, a small smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

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