Page 18 of When Sparks Fly

She has a girl-next-door aura to her. The one with grit underneath the beauty. Without question, she was heartbroken—is heartbroken—but she stood surveying the turnout with pride.

Her words were affectionate and she described Ruthie more as a mother than a grandmother. It caused an ache in my chest that I found myself rubbing with my fist. Not just because of her grief, but because I know beneath her pleasant, gracious facade she’s also fiery and full of life.

You can learn as much about people by what they do as what they don’t. Not once did Maci interact with her mom. Their bone structure is so similar, there’s no denying the lineage, and yet they didn’t comfort each other or even acknowledge each other at any point that I saw. It hints at a crater between them.

I’ve only seen her toss her anger towards flowers. It leaves me wanting to know what she’s like when she lets loose.

Terrence is standing outside his truck near the first training ring I come to. He waves amicably as I park behind him.

“Afternoon.” He smiles widely, extending a hand to me.

“Hey, there.”

“What brings you over?” He eyes my sport coat as if to say it’s overdressed.

“I wanted to let you know that we’d love to discuss the property with you further. Think you can check your calendar and call me with a good time?”

He dips his head in a nod. “You bet. Glad to hear it, son.”

It doesn’t bother me how he speaks to me, having grown up in the South. As long as it’s not rude, I’m good.

We exchange a few more pleasantries and I confirm he has the house number before I head home.

Chapter 10

Maci

Sunday morning, I move quietly into the kitchen, brewing coffee before the sun comes up. Squirrels rustle the leaves near the back porch, interrupting the whir of the coffee maker.

The wooden blinds in the common rooms were left open, allowing the early light in. Gripping my scalding mug of coffee like an anchor, I move into the living room and peer into the front yard. A tornado of emotions swirls inside me. I’m already exhausted at anxiously awaiting what the day holds.

Over the years, I’ve become good at meeting Stephanie’s self-serving tendencies head-on. Her ability to find advantageous loopholes in conversation is uncanny. It’s what woke me earlier than necessary, expecting her to be pilfering around like a squirrel. My stomach tightens.

Stephanie travels in a hushed manner down the stairs and directly into the living room a short time later. Her dark, wide-leg trousers are exaggerated in the shadowed light of the room opposite her light-colored top. Tall heels regularly grace her feet, but today her steps fall silent on the hardwood, feet clad in soft flats. An intentional change, no doubt. She makes a beeline for the hutch situated on the back wall. Some of Nana’s oldest pieces of serving ware are housed within it.

I sip my coffee silently. Stephanie registers that someone occupies the room with her as she passes me midway through the space.

“Jesus Christ!” She startles and clutches her chest, scolding me in an uncharacteristic loss of composure. “You should have said something Maci. I could have had a heart attack.”

“Two in one week. Wouldn’t that be a tale?” Riling her brings such satisfaction. I smother a smirk.

“It’s rude to skulk about in the dark.” Her tone is laced with venom.

I shrug. “I didn’t want to disturb anyone.” We both know I’m lying.

“Well, since you’re up already, you can help me pull out the china from the hutch.” She continues on her path.

The antique cabinet is somewhat misplaced. It sits on a wall in the living room instead of the dining room. The dining set, which has seating for six, is too large for the space. It really should be called a breakfast room, but there’s no other dining space. Thus, the hutch had to be housed elsewhere.

“It’s just after seven. You told Randi and Liv eight.”

“No, I did not. Randi said they would be here by eight. ”

And, there it is.

My grip on my mug tightens and I cock my head. “Do you hear yourself talk?”

“There’s entirely too much to go through in a few hours, Maci Grace. I didn’t see the value in arguing with her in a heightened emotional state.”

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