Page 2 of One Small Spark
Rosetta chuckles. “We have a more generous definition than that.”
“Krause can be a stickler with details,” Callahan says, eyes on me.
“That’s a relief,” the woman next to Rosetta pipes up. Nora, I think. “Most of us forget the finer details of the books before we ever get together to discuss the…ahem…broader aspects.”
They’ll be sincerely disappointed in me, then, since I was expecting to discuss thebroader aspects, too. By which I assume we mean the kilt-wearing hero.
But I should probably come up with something a little more specific to say about the actual romance. “Well…I think the hero believing that love is a lie is relatable when you consider?—”
Rosetta raises a hand to stop me. “Oh, no, no, no. No literary discussion just yet. Not until we’ve got our food and are settled in.”
“There’s a structure to it,” Isabel says.
“Oh. Right.” I look past them to the table where the other women are piling their plates. Along with the pies I brought sit a couple of vegetable dishes, a fruit salad, some kind of spicy chicken, and a hearty loaf of bread.
“Krause is eager to discuss her skepticism about love.” Callahan’s gaze stays stuck on me as the women titter over their plates.
“Yup. That’s me.” I grab his hand.Mistake. Too late to do anything about it now. “You don’t mind if I steal Callahan for a minute, do you?”
Pretty sure fresh laughter rolls around the group as I drag him to the relative privacy of Ada’s hallway. It’s lined with framed photographs of what I assume is her family and an old-fashioned travel poster of Mount Bachelor. It’s also only about twenty feet from the crowded table, but shutting ourselves up in a bedroom would be wrong on so many levels.
“How are you here?” I hiss at him.
He smirks down at me. Just a twitch of his lips beneath his short beard, but it’s enough. He dips his head, sending locks of his mouth-length dark hair over his forehead.
Mouth-length?No. That’s not a thing. Ear-length. Somewhere in the vicinity of his cheekbones. Nowhere near his mouth, which I’m definitely not looking at. Whatever the length, his hair is perpetually windswept and messy, like he just hopped off a motorcycle.
Which isn’t really the point right now.
“Rosetta invited me,” he says.
“When?”
“A few months ago.”
A few months? I’ve been finagling my way in for at least that long.
“Why?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I enjoy reading. And we were in the library. Just in case ‘Where?’ was going to be your next question.”
“You don’t even read romances.” I have no basis for this assertion, but the other option is too absurd to comprehend.Shepherd Callahan, sitting around reading about love and romance and relationships? Never.
“You make a lot of assumptions about me.”
He squeezes my hand, and I’m horrified to realize I didn’t let go of him when I dragged him back here. I make up for it now and drop his hand like it’s on fire.
“They don’t let anybody into their group,” I hiss again. My gaze darts past him, but nobody’s followed us into the hall. “They keep it a big secret. It took me forever to get them to invite me.”
Isabel tried to pretend ignorance even though she’s come into Blackbird’s to buy desserts for the book club several times.
His smirk widens. “We’re a very exclusive group.”
“Ugh.” My hard-won invitation doesn’t seem so special now. Not if they hand them out to just anybody.
“What? Am I not allowed to read books and discuss them with some of Sunshine’s most interesting minds?”
No. Not really. He can join some other book club. Not the one I’ve been so desperate to get into. I can’t believe he’s been privy to the inner workings of Ada and Isabel’s romance club for actual months.
