Page 12 of When Sparks Fly

We’re going to need another refrigerator.

“Hi.” The woman’s eyes twinkle and her smile is sunny. She reminds me of a summer day. It makes smiling back at her easier. “I’m Andi Strickland. This is my son, Sutton.”

My eyes flit to the man behind her, also sun-kissed. He evidently works outdoors, and judging by the amount of food he’s holding easily, he does hard labor. His expression isn’t unkind, just blank.

“Thank you for coming. I’m Maci, Ruthie’s granddaughter.”

Liv approaches from behind me. “Here, let me take that.” She extends her arms to the stack of dishes Andi holds.

“I’ll come with you.” Andi follows Liv into the kitchen with Sutton still carrying the bags behind her. If he minds, he doesn’t show it.

The only thing people bring more of than food is flowers. I don’t understand why. Logically, I will accept the tradition has some historical connection to scent. Past that, they only die. A reminder of death and of what’s just been lost.

Unfortunately, the overwhelming combination of floral notes is giving me a headache. The few side tables where they’ve all been placed are overflowing and with nothing to expend my nervous energy, I begin rearranging the vases chock-full of freesia, roses, tulips, and wildflowers.

“I’m not gonna watch you die,” I mutter to a vase of mixed wildflowers. “First sign of drooping and I’m tossing you.” Beside it is a tiny basket of pink buds. As if the fact that they haven’t bloomed yet will grant them eternity in this house. My eyes roll. “Rather have a cactus.”

Turning from the vase, I startle at Sutton standing in the entryway again. Studying me.

Good job, you lunatic.

Liv and Andi return from the kitchen chatting quietly, the insulated bags tucked under Andi’s arm. Liv has more color to her face than I’ve seen the last few days. “I’ve been craving your jam.”

I slip past them onto the front porch, taking a deep breath to flush out the flower shop from my sinuses. When the door doesn’t bump against the frame like normal, I snap my head back and find Sutton has followed me out.

“I’m just headed out to the truck,” he offers, showing me the insulated bags he now holds as proof. His voice is deep and smooth. It seeps into my body, warming me. From his straw hat and tan button-up to his jeans and dirty boots, he looks like he stepped out of a Texas Ranchers magazine. Itdoesn’t even matter that his sandy hair is somewhat long, not quite brushing his shoulders.

“It’s fine.” I wave him off, moving to the porch railing which wraps around the entire house. Sutton dips his chin in my peripheral, a typical southern departure.

My eyes tingle. Of its own volition, my mouth opens and words tumble out. “We were supposed to have lunch.”

Sutton halts at the top of the steps, but doesn’t speak. His eyes are trained on me.

One of my arms flails wildly at the porch swing before coming back to drag two fingers along my eyebrow. “She made cheesecake. It’s my favorite.” The last part comes out in a whisper, but catapults me into a frenzy of words. “She knew I was coming. It was planned. She did it for me.”

I throw my head back studying the roof of the porch. “She was perfectly fine. Her normal self. We were going to Aimee’s. It’s her favorite.” I right my head, letting my eyes fall to the floor. I can’t bring myself to look at him. “Was…It was her favorite.”

Tears pool in the corners of my eyes and I will them away, swallowing thickly. It doesn’t help. “She was my favorite person in the whole world.”

Sutton’s boots thump against the wooden planks, approaching slowly. He remains silent, likely thinking I could lash out at any second.

Wild energy bounces around inside of me. I exhale heavily, hoping to rid myself of some of it. What possessed me to share so openly? “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He takes another step, his boots coming fully into my downward gaze. Finally, I meet his steel-gray eyes. He studies me, tipping his chin down. “Grief isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that youloved deeply.”

My mouth parts slowly. The tears threaten to spill over again and I blink. I wasn’t expecting him to say something so insightful.

The screen door creaks open and Andi steps onto the porch. Her eyes zero in on Sutton and I near the porch swing. She gives me another sunny smile, behind which I feel a measure of her own loss. I wonder briefly what it would be like to have a mother who looked at me similarly.

“We don’t want to overstay our welcome.” Her eyes swipe to Sutton then back to me. “But we’ll be around if we can help with anything. I’m so sorry for your loss, Maci.”

“Thank you,” I manage hoarsely.

Andi looks at Sutton once more then heads down the stairs. My eyes trail her movements absently, dropping to the wood planks. Sutton shifts forward again, causing my gaze to slide up his body. He has a soothing nature, like beautifully still waters.

His mouth opens to say something, but fresh tires coming over the drive catch my attention. I welcome the interruption. I don’t have the bandwidth for all this emotion and support.

“Nice to meet you.” My voice comes out a little harsher than intended.

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