Page 9 of The Spark

That made her look at me again. Fully. Like she was seeing me—not as the friend who always had a slick comment or the boy who floated from girl to girl like flipping tracks on a playlist. But asme.

Her eyes—sable brown, glinting with tears and moonlight—locked on mine, and for a second, the whole car went quiet.

Not silent. Still. Like even the engine knew to give us space.

And in that space, something shifted. Something honest. Her pain didn’t scare me off. It pulled me in. Not with lust, but with longing. I wanted to tell her that one day, someone was going to see her andneverlook away.

That she didn’t have to shrink to be kept. Didn’t have to be perfect to be chosen. Didn’t have to beg to be adored.

I didn’t say any of that. Not out loud.

But I reached for her—just my hand—and brushed the back of my fingers along her cheek. Her skin was warm. Damp. Real.

Her breath caught.

And then our eyes locked again. Closer this time.

Her lashes were wet. Her lips parted. The hoodie swallowed her small frame, but nothing could dull the light she carried, even dimmed like this.

My thumb moved, soft, pressing first to the gentle cleft in her chin, then brushing the corner of her mouth. Not a kiss. Just a graze. Just a question I didn’t know how to ask.

She didn’t lean in. Neither did I but we both stayed there, suspended.

Her eyes softened, and she whispered, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I blinked. “Because I hate seeing you like this.”

Her face shifted—like maybe she understood more than I meant to say. Like maybe a part of her heart already knew.

But instead of pressing, she leaned into the back of the seat and closed her eyes, breathing in deep.

She tugged at the hoodie’s hem and murmured, “I’ll give this back.”

“No,” I said, quiet but firm. “Keep it.”

She didn’t argue. Just clutched it tighter around herself like she already knew it meant something more.

And I sat there beside her, still and silent, trying to forget how badly I wanted to hold her again.

But not tonight. Tonight, she just needed someone to stay. And I told myself—again—if I ever got the chance to love her,

I’d never let her wonder if she was enough.

4

Present day…

The smell of bacon pulled me from my sleep, curling into my senses, coaxing me awake before I was ready. Which was strange, because I knew for a fact I hadn’t gone grocery shopping. My fridge was damn near empty except for a few sad condiments and a bottle of wine I’d been meaning to finish.

I stretched beneath the sheets, rolling onto my back, the warmth of the covers doing little to stop the sudden awareness crawling over my skin. I was alone in my bed, but I wasn’t alone in my space.

The distant sizzle of bacon, the rhythmic scrape of a spatula against a pan, the murmur of Sade’s voice floating from my speakers—someone was in my kitchen.

Amir. He’d been here for only a couple of days, avoiding doing anything to break the rules I set, and yet somehow, it felt like he was everywhere at all times. His presence pressed into my heart like he belonged there, and he probably did, but neither of us allowed it to become a reality. Me, because I was afraid he would hurt me, and him, probably because I wasn’t exactly his type.

Sighing, I pushed back the covers, slid on my glasses, and made my way toward the doorway, my sleep tee slipping against my skin, my shorts barely brushing the tops of my thighs. I should have thrown on something else, but this was my damn house. If he was making himself comfortable, I wasn’t about to change for him.

Except—maybe I should have.

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