Page 49 of At First Spark
Holt shifts slightly beside me, his arm brushing mine just enough that I feel the contact before I process it. He doesn’t move away immediately. Neither do I.
“That’s a hard person to convince,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You ever consider you don’t have to?”
I let out a quiet breath.
“That’s not really how I work.”
“I figured.”
I glance at him.
“And how do you work?”
His gaze stays forward.
“Same way,” he says.
Of course he does.
By the time we head back inside, the air has shifted again. Not cooler. Just heavier. More aware. We work another few hours. Slower this time. More deliberate. Less about tearing things out and more about setting up what comes next. It gives me space to think and that might be a mistake because thinking leads me right back to the same place every time.
Him.
The way he moves through a space like he belongs in it. The way he watches without hovering. The way he steps in without asking and doesn’t make it feel like I’m losing control when he does.
We don’t leave until the light fades. This time, when Holt says we’re done, I don’t argue.
That surprises both of us. I can tell by the way he looks at me.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m observing.”
I roll my eyes.
“That’s my line.”
“Get a new one.”
I shake my head and grab my bag.
We step out into the evening air together, Rook weaving between us, the inn standing behind us in a state that still feels fragile but less overwhelming than it did this morning.
Progress. Holt locks the door behind us. Checks it, then checks it again.
“You always do that,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Double-check.”
