Page 44 of When Sparks Fly

“Fine.” I really should learn to fight him harder. “What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see,” he says.

I hate surprises. “What should I wear?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Not helpful.” Approximately two bites worth of cheesecake stare up at me from the single-serve container. Briefly, I look between the cheesecake and Sutton. His brows furrow. I fork half of the remainder into my mouth, savoring the taste on my tongue with closed eyes. When I open them, Sutton’s steel blues blaze as he watches me.

With the last piece of cheesecake speared onto the fork, I lean forward. Sutton’s eyes flick between the fork and my face. “Open up, Cowboy.” Like magnets, our eyes stay locked as he opens his mouth. I slip the cheesecake onto his tongue, and he closes his mouth slowly, as I willfully refrain from telling him he’s agood boy. But I can’t hold back from staring as he chews slowly, swallows deeply, and licks his lips.

There’s no denying the wetness gathering between my legs.

“Mm, my favorite.” His voice is husky and my eyes widen.

“Is it really?” He drops his chin as his eyes roam over my face. “Then why didn’t you get a slice? Or tell me and I’d share?” A small part of me feels insecure that I should’ve offered a second time.

The hand on my shoulder wraps a few pieces of my loose hair around it, sending tingles down my spine. “Watching you enjoy it was treat enough.”

I clear my throat and lick my lips, averting my eyes to soften the intensity of the moment. He claims a growing addiction, but I’m a moth to a flame.

“Tell me about your family.” His voice is clearer and his fingers rest on the back of the swing, releasing me minutely from his captivating hold.

My chin falls to the side, a deep breath filling my lungs. The fork fits perfectly into the plastic container and I seal each of the four corners before I speak.

“Nana was my mother’s mom. You may know, Randi, my aunt.” Randi has worked at the high school since we were children. He gives a small dip of his chin. “They grew up here.”

I eye the window into the living room like it tells a story. In some ways, it does. But I don’t know what he wants to know and my words cease.

“What about your dad?”

I wouldn’t know him if I saw him. I hardly know if he’s even alive. “My parents weren’t together long. I don’t remember much about him.”

Stephanie’s words fill my head. “My mother said he turned out to be a criminal. I was really little. I remember that he was big—not fat, just…imposing. I think I used to play with his beard.” Longing washes through me and my eyes trail over every inch of the porch, while instead seeing the hazy memories my young mind retained. “He would tickle me with it.” I touch my neck marking the spot. “I don’t remember him ever being harsh or anything other than loving.”

An image I’ve not thought of for a while fills my vision and my eyes feel full. I blink away any tears trying to force their way forward. “I think he really loved my mom. I vaguely remember him whispering in her ear once when he came home and her laughing.” The sound would seem foreign if I heard it now.

“Have you tried to reach out to him?” Sutton’s voice brings my eyes back to him.

I shake my head. “No. I guess I assumed if he wanted to reach me, he would.”

Sutton gives that a little thought. “And your step-dad—you don’t like him.”

Anger rockets through me and I jump up to start pacing. Sutton’s hand tangles with my own. I trail my eyes from our connected hands, up his chest, to his face.

“Come here.” His voice is low and soothing. This time when I sit and start to pull my legs up, he eases them over his lap, where he rests both hands atop my knees. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” I promise. “He’s a sore subject.”

“Because he’s a prick.” He raises an eyebrow at me, shadowed under the rim of his hat.

“Yes,” I agree with a smile.

“I caught as much when everyone was here after the service. How long has he been around?”

I inhale deeply, squashing the rising frustration. “Since I was a teenager. Late middle school.”

“You have siblings?” His left arm comes to rest on the back of the swing again, while the other stays firmly in place on my legs.

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