Page 94 of At First Spark
“Fine,” he says quietly.
The word isn’t surrender. It isn’t agreement, either. It’s him stepping back because she asked him to. He looks toward the back hall, then the side windows, like he’s checking the exits before he leaves. The movement is quick enough that anyone else might miss it. I don’t.
“Lock the side gate before you go,” he says. “The latch is sticking.”
Lark frowns. “How do you know?”
A beat too long passes.
“I checked it this morning.”
Then he turns and walks out. The door shuts behind him, the sound echoing in the barren space.
Hadley exhales loudly. “Well. That was either protective or deeply suspicious.”
Bailey’s gaze stays on the door. “Could be both.”
I don’t say anything. Because I’m thinking the same thing.
“Hmm,” she says. “That escalated. Anywho, we wanted to come check out the place, not cause any drama.”
Bailey snorts.
Lila shakes her head.
Ivy finally moves, stepping farther into the room. Still quiet. Still watching.
“And also add that I noticed a very suspicious SUV belonging to a certain ex driving near the farm. But it could be nothing.”
I look at Lark, but she doesn’t look at me right away. She stands there like she’s holding everything in place by force. Slowly, she turns, and our eyes meet.
And all of this, everything Nolan said, all her claims, it all changes now. Now, this is not about him, or the inn, or the project. The big question now is what she'll choose. And whether I’m part of it.
Chapter Seventeen – Lark
No one says much the rest of the afternoon. Hadley fills the first few minutes with a running commentary about Nolan’s “audacity,” Bailey laughs where she should, Lila tries to smooth it over, Ivy listens—always listens—but eventually the conversation thins out, the crowd dispersing to their own unproblematic lives.
I don’t linger around the inn much longer, my SUV following Holt’s truck to his home. Even Rook is strangely quiet during the drive, his small yips dissolving into the hum of the road and the rhythm of tires over gravel.
By the time I pull into the farm, the silence is more than uncomfortable.
The sky shifts toward evening, streaks of soft gold cutting through the fading blue, the kind of light that makes everything look softer than it is. The barn doors are open, shadows stretching long across the ground, and somewhere down the road leading to the ranch, I hear the low, steady sound of cattle settling in.
It should feel peaceful, and it almost does, until I remember the way Nolan looked when he left. Not angry, not really. Worried. Which is almost harder to shake because anger is simple. Worry has roots. Until I remember the way Holt stepped forward without hesitation. Until I remember how my own voice sounded when I told them both that this was my choice.
My choice. The words echo differently now. Heavier. Because now I have to stand by them.
Holt sighs like he expected nothing less.
Dinner happens in pieces. Holt doesn’t say much, and neither do I. We don’t need to. Everything we didn’t say at the inn is still sitting between us. Still waiting.
It’s later when the house finally settles. Dishes done. Lights dimmed. Doors closing one by one.
I step out onto the back porch without thinking, drawn by the cooler air, by the open space, by anything that doesn’t feel like walls closing in around everything that’s changed in the past twenty-four hours.
The night stretches wide. Stars just beginning to scatter across the sky, the faint hum of insects rising from the grass, the soft shift of wind moving through the trees.
I rest my hands on the railing and breathe. Try to let something settle. I feel him before I hear him. The door creaks softly behind me. Holt stops just inside the doorway. He doesn’t come all the way out.
