Page 26 of At First Spark
The single word lands flat, but there’s something under it. Not tension. Not irritation. Just… restraint.
I lean my head back against the seat.
“That’s a relief.”
He doesn’t respond immediately.
I can feel the weight of his awareness shift slightly, even without looking at him.
“Why?”
I glance over at him then, taking in the profile I’ve only caught in fragments until now. Strong lines. Sharp angles softened by the smudges of soot still clinging to his skin. His hair is darker at the roots where sweat has dampened it, curling slightly at the edges.
“You seemed like the type who talks too much earlier,” I say. “I was starting to worry.”
His mouth shifts, just slightly.
“You seemed like the type who doesn’t.”
I let out a quiet breath that almost turns into a laugh.
“Depends on the situation.”
“And this situation?” he asks.
I look back out the windshield.
“This one’s still undecided.”
The corner of his mouth lifts again, but it disappears before it can fully form.
The road stretches out ahead of us, the town falling away as the land opens up into something wider, quieter. The buildings thin. The streetlights grow sparse. Darkness settles in around us, broken only by the steady sweep of the headlights cutting through it.
It feels different out here. Less contained. Less forgiving. The sign appears just ahead, lit briefly as we pass. Otter Creek Farm.
The gravel drive crunches beneath the tires as we turn, the sound loud in the quiet of the night. Dust lifts behind us, faint and fleeting, before settling again.
The house comes into view slowly. It’s larger than I expected. Not grand in the way of polished estates or perfectly curated properties, but solid. Built with intention. The kind of place that was meant to last, not impress.
Light spills from the windows. Warm. Steady. Unapologetic. It shouldn’t feel inviting. It does anyway.
The truck comes to a stop. For a moment, neither of us moves. Then the front door opens.
I exhale slowly as a woman steps out onto the porch, her movements sure, unhurried, like she’s been expecting this moment all along.
“Hi, honey,” she calls when she notices the truck windows are down.
Holt’s hand tightens slightly on the steering wheel before he releases it.
“Hi, Mom.”
Right, of course.
I push the door open and step out into the cool night air. It wraps around me instantly, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth and something clean that the fire didn’t touch.
Rook jumps down beside me, his paws hitting the ground with a soft thud before he immediately begins circling, sniffing, adjusting, like he’s already decided this is acceptable.
I recognize the woman from the market when she reaches us in seconds.
