Page 2 of Sparks Still Fly

“No need to thank me. She’s been good for me, too. And for Charlie.” We lock eyes for a few seconds. His eyes are green, like his sister’s, but there’s something deeper about them. They remind me of fir trees in winter on a sunny day after a snowfall. The light bounces off them, and they nearly sparkle.

I’m so caught up in thinking about his eyes that, for the second time today, Owen keeps me from slamming my face into something. This time it’s the back of Charlie’s head as they’ve come to a stop in front of our building.

His hand is firm and warm against my belly, and it drops away quickly, but not quickly enough for me to miss the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around my waist.

“Okay?” And that word. That one whispered word turns my brain into soup inside my skull. I don’t respond. I can’t. I’m floating away, and the only thing keeping me tethered to the ground is Owen.

“All right, Maevey. Why don’t we let Elaina and Owen say their goodbyes?” Charlie takes my hand and looks at Owen with a small smile on her face. “Thank you for dinner, Owen. It was nice to meet you.”

“Right. Thanks.” Those are my parting words to him. To my future husband.

Crap on a cracker.

september, 10 years ago

I haven’t told Bon and Charlie about my feelings for Owen because they’ll surely think I’ve gone off my rocker, but Charlie instinctively knows. A twin always knows.

It’s been a few months since that first meeting, and I’ve dreamed about him every night. I think of him often, which is why I’ve taken up working out to Zumba videos. I need the distraction.

The music is so loud, and the dance moves are so outrageous that it makes me forget about his bright green eyes and that reluctant smile. With that thought, I put on my headphones and push our minuscule coffee table out of the way to make room for my awkward arse shaking.

Sweat pours down my back and chest halfway through the class and I throw my fist in the air, congratulating myself for finally nailing the hip thrusts in ‘Gasolina.’ I turn around to find Bon twisted in her chair at the kitchen table; a slack-jawed Owen on her laptop screen. I throw myself on the floor, hiding from their prying eyes and hope I can just live here forever. I don’t need to move ever again. I’ll just go ahead and die of embarrassment right here on our shit-brown carpeted floor.

“It’s too late. He already saw you.” Bon’s voice is so full of mischief, it makes me want to pinch her right on the nipple. She deserves it. She couldn’t have taken her call with Owen elsewhere? She had to do it here? While the camera faced my arse?

Ugh.

“Don’t let us stop you. I can see that the class isn’t over yet.” The low timbre of his voice has the butterflies in my stomach all taking flight at once and my skin breaking out into goosebumps even though I’m a sweaty mess. Every word is laced with amusement, but not in a way that makes me feel embarrassed. It makes me feel shy, and that’s not a feeling I’m comfortable with. At all. I obviously don’t mind an audience—I’m constantly on stage in front of crowds. So why do I feel like this?

His voice breaks through my muddled thoughts. “Come on. At least come say hi if you’re not gonna keep shaking your ass for us.”

My body reacts to his words quicker than my brain and before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, waving at the screen. I feel like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show with one hand awkwardly high above my head. “Hello, Owen.”

His smile is wide and makes his dimples pop. I’m drawn to the sight of it like a moth to a flame. I know it’ll be my demise, but I can’t be stopped. Can’t be helped. Wouldn’t want to be, either.

“Hey there, tiny dancer.” His voice is clear, but the deep baritone always hits me in the same spot. Right between my thighs.

I hover over Bon, smiling right back and hoping it looks casual, not frenzied. “Glad you enjoyed the show, O.”

“Ew, you’re sweating all over me. Here. Sit. I’m running late for class, but Owen should talk to someone other than me and Mamá, anyway. Not like he ever has a girlfriend he can call.” She pushes my shoulders down so I’m sitting on the chair, then wipes her hands on her jeans, not masking her horror at my sweat on her palms, completely unaware of how many times I’m going to overthink that girlfriend comment. “Bye, O. Love you!”

“Love you, Lainey Banainey!” The nickname makes me melt, which only reminds me I actually look as though I’m melting right now. There’s sweat everywhere, and my hair is stuck to my face and neck.

I clear my throat, attempting to wipe my forehead with the back of my arm. It’s not helping. Everything is sticky.

His chuckle brings me back to the moment, and I remember he can see me.

Is this your first time on a video call? Of course he can see you, you twat!

Oh, fuck me sideways.

His laughter gets brighter, the sound bouncing around in my chest like a ping-pong ball. “I said that out loud?”

“You sure did.” He cocks his head to the side, taking me in. I take a moment to do the same, noticing that the room he’s in is dark. His hair is buzzed even shorter than when I met him. His brown uniform seems to be covered in some sort of pixelated camouflage pattern, a black T-shirt peeking out beneath the collar. A million questions hit my brain all at once.

What time is it there? What does the air smell like? Are you sleeping enough? Eating enough? Will you come back to New York to see us? To see me?

“You wanna go get some water? That was an intense workout, and you seem a little out of it.” He’s joking, though the smile is gone from his face. Even so, the pesky belly butterflies flutter at the fact that he thought to ask.

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