Page 56 of Sparking Sara

“Sara Francis is one tough chick,” I say.

Baylor stops talking and turns to me. “Did you say Sara Francis?”

“Yes.”

“I know her. She’s doing a painting for me.”

My jaw drops. “She is?”

Baylor snuggles closer to her husband. “She’s making a painting of our engagement. She’s super into details. She tracked down the small jet Gavin proposed in and even talked the pilot into taking her up for a short flight.”

“Yup, that’s her,” I say. “But I’m sorry to say, it might be a while before you get the painting.”

“Oh, really? Why?”

“She was in an accident a few weeks ago. A bad one. She’s having to learn how to walk again. And I’m afraid she’s lost some of her memories. I don’t think she remembers making paintings for people.”

“Oh, that’s horrible,” she says. “I mean, not for me—I can always get another painting—but for her. Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s been moved to a rehab center. She’s doing better than anyone expected.”

“Well, that’s good. Is there anything I can do?”

“Are you friends?” I ask.

“No, not really. I found out about her from my brother-in-law who is a photographer. Why do you ask?”

I look down at the table. “Because she could use friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“Not many people have come to see her,” I say. “I guess she wasn’t what you’d call a very kind person. But I don’t see it. She’s been nothing but kind the past few days.”

“She was a bit of an arrogant one,” Baylor says. “But I thought that just went along with the territory, being a sought-after artist. Even so, it must be horrible to be in the hospital and not have visitors.”

“Well, her cousin is there sometimes, but she has twin toddlers, and Sara has a fiancé, but his job keeps him away most of the time.”

“She hasyou,” Aspen says, standing behind me.

I hadn’t realized they had arrived.

“Doesn’t she?” she says. “My brother here visits her every chance he gets.”

Nora’s eyebrows shoot up. “You do?”

“My company responded to her accident,” I say. “I felt bad for her.”

Aspen and Bass share a look.

“I’d be happy to visit her,” Baylor says. “But she won’t have any idea who I am. Do you think that’s okay?”

“I’m sure she’d love for you to visit. A famous author? Who wouldn’t? Maybe you could take a few books to her.”

“I’ll go, too,” Ivy says. “I’ll bring flowers.”

I smile. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

Nora spends the rest of dinner fawning over the famous author and the all-star baseball player at our table.

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