Page 91 of Sparking Sara

“You did?”

He nods. “Why don’t you start off with something easy like pasta?”

“I think I can do that.”

I start to get up off the couch, careful not to put too much weight on my left foot, but Oliver pulls me back down and I fall onto his lap.

“Now that’s more like it,” he says, wiggling beneath me. “I rather like having you in my arms.” He cups his hands around my face. “I’m going to kiss you now, Sara. And you’re going to let me, because it’s part of the routine.”

I close my eyes and nod. And I let him kiss me. I let him kiss me because everyone has told me that’s what I need to do. I let him kiss me because I’m hoping it will evoke a memory, a spark, a tiny twinge—anythingthat will be a reminder of why I fell in love with Oliver Compton.

So then why, when I feel his lips against mine, do I only crave one thing? The lips that taste of pepperoni.

Chapter Twenty-two

The doorbell rings and I smile. I knew he was coming. The doorman called me to let me know he was on his way up. But still, my heart leaps when I hear the bell. And he’s early—somehow that makes it even better.

I’ve barely seen Denver over the past week. There was the baseball game and the farewell party, but neither of those places were times we could really talk. I found myself getting excited about the cab ride to physical therapy today. For at least twenty whole minutes, we can have uninterrupted conversation. No Oliver lurking over my shoulder. No Nora possessively holding Denver’s hand. No cousins or therapists to eavesdrop. Just the two of us.

I check myself in the mirror once again. My clothes aren’t anything special. I’m going to PT, after all. But I did find myself taking extra time to apply makeup this morning.

I open the door to see Denver holding a box full of candy. “I wasn’t sure which kind you’d like, so I got a little of everything. We have to fatten you up.”

I laugh, taking the box from him. “Being a woman, I never thought I’d appreciate hearing those words.”

He steps over the threshold and kisses me on the cheek. The spark I get from his lips momentarily touching my skin is more than what I felt during the make-out session I had with Oliver last night. I will myself to ignore the lingering feeling.

“Thanks for coming over to take me,” I say.

“It’s my pleasure. I know I’m early,” he says. “I hope I didn’t catch you in the middle of anything.”

“In the middle of being lonely,” I say.

I see his face fall.

“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to sound so depressing. I guess I just got used to having people around me all day. Even if it was only the staff a lot of the time. I didn’t realize being alone was going to feel so lonely.”

“I guess there are a lot of things you’ll have to get used to again,” he says.

I look over at the couch where Oliver kissed me. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“What did you do on your first day home?”

“What do you think?” I ask.

“I think you painted.”

“I think you’d be right.”

“Can I see?”

“You want to see what I painted yesterday?”

“I do.”

I shrug. “Okay, but it’s nothing special.”

“Everything you paint is something special, Sara.”

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