Page 4 of Spark

I step closer. “You’re very obsessed with fires.”

He steps closer too. “And you’re very obsessed with pretending nothing ever goes wrong.”

My breath quickens. “Maybe I like believing the world can be good.”

“Maybe I like preparing for when it’s not.”

We’re inches apart now.

Too close.Waytoo close.

Holly’s voice breaks the tension as she runs up from nowhere, a blur of purple boots.

“Uncle Ash! You forgot my mittens!”

Ash curses under his breath and steps back. I feel his warmth disappear like someone ripped away a blanket. He grabs the mittens from her and mumbles, “Thanks, kid.”

Holly looks up at me. “Are you coming to the parade? They have candy canes.”

“I’ll be there,” I say.

She beams and runs back toward their cabin.

Ash lingers.

“Don’t overload the outlets,” he says.

“I’m not an idiot.”

He gives me a slow once-over. “I’ll let you know when my opinion changes.”

My jaw drops. “You?—”

He walks away before I can finish, boots crunching, shoulders broad and unbothered.

I shout after him: “For the record, I’m perfectly capable of handling a few string lights!”

His voice carries back through the trees:

“Sure you are, Sparky. Sure you are.”

By nightfall, I’ve hung exactly three strands of lights and burned hot chocolate to the bottom of a pot. I step onto the porch to cool off—and nearly jump when I see Ash standing in his own yard, staring at my lights like they’ve personally offended him.

He crosses his arms, lifting one brow. “They’re crooked.”

“They’re festive.”

“They’re a fire risk.”

“They’re LED!”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I point a finger at him. “You are impossible.”

He smirks—actually smirks—like he’s been waiting for that.

“And you,” he says, voice low, “are my sparkly pain in the ass.”