Page 2 of The Spark Between Us

“Translation—you didn’t like any of them enough to let them pay you thousands of dollars to live in your house.” She was correct. I didn’t have a rational reason.

I shouldn’t have cared how much charisma the tenant had as long as the person could pay on time and didn’t plan to tear the place up, but I’d somehow gone mother hen about my home—no suitor seemed good enough to date my baby, so I sent them all away, corsages and all.

Ah, finally my lane started moving. I unkinked the knot in my neck as my speedometer edged up to ten miles an hour. Then I came to a grinding halt again.

“Shit!” I gasped as my car’s front bumper came within inches of the fender in front of me. The Toyota Camry I’d almost humped seemed to be lacking brake lights. “There’s nothing in front of you. You don’t need to stop!” I narrowly managed to keep from pounding the horn again.

“Still your fault if you hit him,” Tatum sang. Her tapping on the keyboard resumed. “Wait, so no one’s living in your house for six months?”

I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “I mean, maybe I’ll come back on the weekends some time, but pretty much, no—”

“Can I live there?” Her voice squeaked with glee.

“You live in Palo Alto. Near work. Which makes sense,” I reminded her. She had a five minute commute, door to door. Blissful. What kind of person gives that up?

“I live in a cracker box. I’d commute an hour if it meant I could spread out in your house.”

I slammed on my brakes again. “Just drive!” Almost as though he heard me, the man in the Toyota started inching forward. “Sorry again. So let me make sure I’m understanding. You want to put yourself through what I’m experiencing right now, just to live in a house you’ll barely get to see anyway? You work a million hours a week.”

“Not all of us are as squeamish about traffic as you are. I like driving. Give me a steamy romance audiobook or some true crime podcast, and I’ll drive all day,” she said.

“Are we even related?”

Then Nigel piped up, giving me instructions, telling me to take the next freeway exit. “North Carolwood Avenue” sounded like a storybook destination in his British accent. This was it, the beginning of...something.

“Hang on...” Tatum instructed. I heard muffled voices, and after a moment, she yelped.

While I waited to find out what had her so excited, I focused on the road and a future I couldn’t quite fathom.

For the next six months, I’d be another local in Carolwood, California. Sure, the town likely had some kindly folks and operated at a slower pace, but I wasn’t moving for the scenery. Carolwood had the distinction of being a short drive from Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory—basically NASA meets Hogwarts for physicists. Mind-blowing science fair nirvana. Researchers there dallied with things like national security and the nation’s nuclear weapons. And they wanted me.

If all went according to plan, I’d break new ground in metals welding using friction and lasers.

Yup, my nerd flag flies high.

I hadn't done much planning in my abrupt decision to move my life away from Berkeley, where I taught college physics. My train of thought had involved picturing my commute, feeling nauseous at the amount of time I’d spend on the road each day, experiencing dizziness at the idea of running into more stationary objects, and making a frantic call to my brother, Finn.

Besides being an economist with a savant-like understanding of the stock market, Finn was my oldest sibling, only brother, and go-to savior when I got stuck.

He also taught at Berkeley, so it only took him a few minutes to get from his office to mine, where I was lying on the floor with my knees up near my ears to keep the blood flowing to my head.

Finn knew a guy. Calls were made. A roommate situation was procured.

I went home, drank wine from a can, and started packing.

That was a week ago.

Now I was obeying Nigel’s directions and pretending he was guiding me to a charming bed and breakfast where we’d have a very proper British tryst. I diligently signaled and exited the freeway and turned on First Street, which took me toward the center of town. The main road featured a parkway down the center, and after a block, I reached an open green space with a burbling fountain and several benches. A few streets with shops fanned out in various directions, and ...that was it. That was the town.

I hadn’t expected a sprawling place like San Francisco or Oakland, but Carolwood was even slightly smaller than I’d anticipated when I pictured a place with a population of twelve thousand. No more views of the Bay Bridge or the bustle of students, bye-bye thirty coffee houses in a one mile radius.

This would be quieter. Much quieter.

I had mixed feelings about the move. Working at the lab checked every box on my career thrill spreadsheet, and avoiding the commute felt like multitasking gold. But since my family lived an hour away and I didn’t have any friends in town, the next six months promised a lot of solo time. A lot of hours reading science journals and finding new, interesting ways to make salad dressing. For myself, party of one.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tatum piped in. “We just got a new contract. Everyone’s pumped.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. She had startup culture in her genes. She never ran out of energy, and she loved technology.

“Don’t worry about it. But I should call you later. I need to get my bearings before I get lost in suburbia.” I was already passing the same wine shop for the third time.

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