Page 43 of Sparks Still Fly

Why did I agree to this? Why did I have to accidentally get married to the one man I have never been able to keep out of my mind? Why did he suddenly have to be so nice to me? It’s not fair, but we came here for a sunset, and I’m going to enjoy this fucking sunset if it’s the last thing I do.

With my elbows on my knees and my face in my hands, I get Owen out of my peripheral line of sight, but then I breathe in, and his scent is everywhere. It’s infuriating and delicious and I want none of it, but also so much more of it.

Once the sun sets, I allow myself to sit back.

“Wow,” I whisper. I did manage to take in the colors, even if only for a few minutes. Now the sky is a mix of blues and pinks and purples, and though my fingers itch to reach for my phone so I can take a picture, I know it would never do justice to the real thing.

I look up at Owen and wouldn’t you know it, he’s looking at me again.

Or still? No, he couldn’t have been looking at me this entire time.

“Do you think we can do this again sometime?” I don’t know what possesses me to ask the question, other than the fact that I need to experience another of these sunsets while I’m here.

“Anytime you want. I can take you to a few other spots, which are even better than this, but they’re a little farther away.” He shrugs, eyes steady on me.

“Really? You’d do that?”

“I know it’s going to take more than books, honey, and a sunset for you to realize this, fengári mou, but there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you. Not a damn thing.” His eyes bore into my soul, and it should be too much. I should be running, like I usually do when anything beyond platonic civility happens between Owen and I, but I don’t move. I can’t.

I feel my body being pulled and pushed by an invisible force. My head feels light, like I’m floating on the current of his words. He has me in the palm of his hand, swaying back and forth like a leaf on a branch in the breeze.

His hand comes to my chin, his thumb brushing against my lower lip, the heat of his touch burning me in a most luscious way. Just before I give in to the touch, his hand is gone.

“Shall we? Before it gets too dark.” He stands and puts a hand out to help me do the same. I still feel like I’m off balance, so I take his hand and know I’ve made a mistake immediately. His touch warms my entire body, and the blanket almost feels too hot now. Owen’s face gives nothing away, though, and his lack of reaction sobers me.

He pulls me up, grabs the remaining honey sticks and the several empty ones we plowed through, then places a hand on my lower back, guiding us back along the path, which is darkened, but not completely.

I keep his blanket on me as we drive back to his house. We’re silent the whole way again, and I allow myself to doze off for a moment as the blur of streetlights and darkened mountains fly past us outside.

When I open my eyes again, Owen is opening the passenger door, looking at me with a tenderness I surely must be imagining in my sleepy state.

“Come on. I’ll walk you up. Unless you want to sleep in the truck tonight?” His lopsided smile makes my stomach flip and that wakes me up enough to jump up in my seat.

“All right. I mean, no. I mean, all right to walking me to the guesthouse, no to sleeping in the truck.” I move the blanket off my lap then all of a sudden realize my error. The night is chilly, and the wind is ice cold as it hits my legs. I wrap the blanket back around me, hearing Owen’s deep chuckle next to me. We walk down the paved path surrounded by flowers, and when I reach the door, I turn to look at him.

“Thank you again. This was such a lovely evening.” Owen nods and hands me my book and an unopened box of honey sticks.

“Don’t mention it. I’m glad you got to see a little Ojai magic tonight.” We stand silently looking at one another for several seconds, and it dawns on me that he probably wants his things back.

I fumble the items in my hands, attempting to unravel the blanket from around my body, remembering I still have his hoodie on.

“Oh, your things. I’m sorry. Here?—”

“They’re yours, Maevey. I don’t want them back.” He catches my book just before I drop it and places it back in my hands, his hands closing around mine with a gentle squeeze.

“Have a good sleep.” His hands release mine and he turns, putting both hands in his pockets as he walks away from me.

I don’t dare watch him walk away. I slip into the house and immediately rip off the blanket, sweater and hat. I leave the book and honey sticks on the table by the door and rush into the bathroom for a shower so I can wash the smell of Owen James off me. I put on fresh pajamas and vow to go straight to my bed, but before I do, I find myself in the hall, turning his hoodie over in my hands and slipping it on over my head, allowing my lungs that deep breath they begged for earlier.

I slip into bed with the hood up and the neckline of his sweatshirt pulled up to my nose, and know there’s a stupid smile on my face right before I fall asleep with images of pink and purple skies, and green eyes looking intently into mine. The words, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you, play on a loop as I doze off.

23/

i remember everything.

maeve

The morning light streams through the curtains, and I feel the soft fabric of Owen’s gray hoodie enveloping me. With a deep sigh, I wrestle with the pang in my chest that has been there since I started living in his guesthouse. I roll onto my side and push away the blanket, hating myself for finding comfort in something that smells like him.

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