Page 58 of At First Spark

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“My contractor,” I say.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Then answer the question.”

I turn fully now, facing him.

“And what exactly gives you the right to ask it?”

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel the shift. Too sharp. Too defensive. Too close to something I don’t want to define.

Holt doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t push back. He just nods once.

“Fair.”

And that—that feels worse. Because now I’m the one who pushed something where it didn’t need to go.

I look back out the window. The farm comes into view ahead of us, the house lit from the inside, warm against the dark.

“I used to work with him,” I say, quieter now.

Holt doesn’t look at me, but I can feel his attention shift.

“Used to,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Now I hired him.”

“Why?”

Because I don’t trust anyone else.

Because he knows the work.

Because I know exactly what I’m getting with him, even when I don’t like it.

Because—

“It made sense,” I say.

That’s not the whole truth. It’s enough for now.

Holt doesn’t press again. But the question doesn’t go away. It sits between us for the rest of the drive.

Claire has made herself at home in Holt’s house when we pull into the drive. Of course the main house is just across the way, so it makes sense she wants to keep a close eye on her son.

She’s at the table with a book open in front of her and a cup of tea she hasn’t touched, like she’s been waiting for the sound of the door before letting herself relax.

Her gaze moves between us once. Twice. She doesn’t say anything about what she sees. Which means she sees everything.

“How was dinner?” she asks.

“Good,” I say.

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