Page 98 of Sparking Sara

I show him the bottom line and he blinks several times as he looks at it.

“Holy shit, Sara. I guess your investments must have done well for you over the past three years. That or you sold a crapload of paintings.” He pats the stack of bills. “Oliver was right, you don’t need to worry about being able to pay these.”

I shake my head as I try to let reality sink in. “I had nowhere near that amount before.”

“Well, I guess in addition to being a prolific artist, you must be a savvy business woman.” He peruses the pages of my statement then looks up at me. “Your name is the only one I see here. You and Oliver have separate accounts?”

“We do, but he said we were going to open a joint one after the engagement. We just never got around to it. I think he’s working on doing that now.”

Denver wrinkles his brow. “Maybe you want to slow down on that, Sara. Things seem to be going well for you right now. I’m not sure you should go making any big changes.”

I shrug. “Maybe.” Then I pull out the Stephen King novel we’ve been reading together. “How about we take turns reading pages until my next appointment?”

He smiles and grabs the book from me. “As long as it’s not one of Baylor’s books.”

We share a look, and it’s more than evident we both remember exactly what happened when he read Baylor’s book to me. Neither one of us pulls our eyes away. Neither one of us blinks. It’s like we’re lost back in that moment. A moment that never should have happened, yet it was one of the most perfect moments I can remember.

I avert my eyes, wondering if I shared any such moments with Ollie over the past year. The first touch. The first kiss. The heated moment when you just know you want to be with someone.

My first kiss with Oliver was awkward and forced and something people were encouraging me to do. After that, they became easier, more pleasant. Comfortable, even. But they aren’t what I’d call passionate. Heated. Emotional. They aren’t like the perfect kiss Denver and I shared.

Denver reads to me, but I don’t hear the story. I get lost in his words. The low timbre of his voice and the soothing way about his delivery.

“Sara?”

I snap out of it. “Uh, what?”

He hands me the book. “Your turn.”

I read the words carefully and meticulously, the way the therapist taught me. I stumble over a few. It must be difficult for Denver to listen to me read this way, but he doesn’t say a thing. He never does. He just looks content as if he’s enjoying the story.

“Time’s up,” he says fifteen minutes later. He picks up the remains of our lunch and throws them in the nearest trashcan. “I have to head out, but I’ll pick you up at three.”

I narrow my brow at him, wondering where he’s going.

He smiles. “All part of the surprise.”

~ ~ ~

“Don’t be mad,” he says as he walks me up to the door of his townhouse.

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because you didn’t ask for this. I took a chance. If you don’t want it, it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

He looks nervous.

“Denver, just show me the surprise already. You’ve had me guessing all day long.”

He opens the door, letting us in. It’s quiet inside. I’m not sure what I expected—some kind of surprise party, maybe? Except that I don’t know very many people.

But he said something about me not feeling obligated. I’m utterly intrigued.

“Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

While he’s gone, I look around. I knew he lived at his sister’s place, but I’ve never been here before. It’s nice. Much different from my loft. More casual and homey. I like it. I wonder if Oliver would ever be amenable to moving out of our place into somewhere more inviting like this.

My eyes stop when they fall on the painting of his family in the blizzard. He’s hung it in the sitting room where Aspen keeps her piano. I smile knowing he put it in such a prominent place. He’s told me how passionate his sister is about the piano, and I wonder if she looks up at the painting while she plays and remembers their parents.

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