Page 52 of At First Spark
I shut off the engine.
“No?”
“No.”
I unbuckle and glance over at her.
The challenge is already in her face, but something else is tucked underneath it now. Something more cautious.
“Then it’s a miracle how much you felt the need to say that before we even got inside.”
For one second, she just looks at me.
Then she shakes her head and reaches for the handle. “You’re unbearable.”
I get out, laughing under my breath.
The evening air wraps around us cooler now, carrying the scent of salt and fryer grease and the faint sweetness from the bakery two doors down. Rook stays behind in the truck with the windows down, who was already curled up asleep in the back seat as if he was the one who did all the work today. Thankfully, that leaves us walking into the diner without the dog between us.
I notice the difference immediately. Lark notices it, too. I can tell by the slight adjustment in her posture, the way she curls her hands into fists for a second, then stretches her fingers back out as we step through the front door.
The place is half full.
A couple of fishermen still in caps sit at the counter. Two older women in a booth near the windows lean over pie and gossip. A family of four near the back, kids coloring on paper placemats. The ceiling fans turn slowly overhead, and somewhere behind the counter, a radio plays low enough to blend into the clatter of dishes and the hiss from the kitchen.
Conversation dips when we walk in but only for a second. Then it starts again, though not without a few glances in our direction.
Small town.
Lark feels it immediately. I see the way her spine straightens, the way her expression goes a touch more composed, a touch less readable.
“Relax,” I murmur as the hostess reaches for two menus. “They’re just bored.”
Her voice stays low. “I love that for me.”
It’s my turn for a near smile. We get a booth near the windows. She slides in first. I take the other side. Menus land between us. Water follows a second later from Marlene, who has worked here since I was old enough to be bribed with grilled cheese if I sat still long enough.
“Well,” she says, looking from me to Lark and then back again. “This is new.”
I don’t even look up from the menu. “Hi, Marlene.”
Her grin widens. “You bring a pretty girl in here after dark and expect me not to have questions.”
Across from me, Lark lowers the menu just enough to watch my reaction.
“I’m not answering any of them,” I say.
Marlene sets both hands on her hips. “That wasn’t an answer either.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She turns to Lark with the kind of easy warmth only lifelong diner servers and meddling mothers seem to possess naturally. “Ignore him. He’s a pain when he’s tired.”
Lark glances at me over the top edge of the menu, then back at Marlene. “I had that figured out pretty quickly.”
Marlene laughs.
So does Lark, softer this time, and the sound settles low in my chest in a way that should be illegal for such a simple thing.
