Page 28 of Spark
“Come and have dinner with us one night once Warrick is back on shift,” Lulu says. “The other girls all tend to hang out together when the guys are working, but we’ll make them share you with us for at least one night,” she says excitedly. “That way you can meet the rest of the family.”
“Oh, I—” Verity starts.
“That sounds great,” I interrupt. “Verity’s cell broke, but I’ll grab her a new one before I go back on shift. I’ll send you her number so you can add her to the dozens of group chats you ladies have.”
“Perfect,” Cora says, eyeing me, then Verity, before a knowing smirk twists across her lips. “Verity, I know I said it before, but truly, you’re one hundred percent safe staying at Warrick’s place. But if you get bored or lonely, we have aguest room here empty and waiting for you if you need it. It’s important that you know that you have options, okay.”
Anger bursts to life inside of me, and I feel my expression darken as I glare at Cora. Verity is not leaving me and moving in here. She’s mine, and neither Cora nor any of the Barnetts will be taking her from me.
“Oh.” Verity’s cheeks turn pink, but I pull her to her feet before she has a chance to take Cora up on her offer. The Barnetts are my friends, but if they try to take my woman from me, they could easily become my enemies.
“She’s fine,” I tell Cora, flashing Huck a look.
“Peaches,” he coos, wrapping his arms around his pregnant wife’s belly. “Behave,” he whispers against her ear.
“Speak soon, Verity,” Cora says, ignoring Huck completely.
“It was really lovely to meet you all,” Verity says shyly, before allowing me to guide her outside and back home.
TEN
VERITY
I’m grateful for the reprieve when Warrick opens the front door and guides me into his house. Cora, Lulu, and Alice all seem lovely, but meeting so many people and being the center of attention, when I’ve spent the months since I ran from my apartment trying not to be noticed, is a lot.
I’m not sure how Warrick knew, but I was about ten seconds away from bursting into embarrassing tears when he sat down beside me on the couch and took my hand in his. His touch shouldn’t be comforting, but his reassuring squeeze calmed me down and let me know I was okay.
Having him beside me didn’t scare me, it made me feel better. Allowing Warrick to get me in his car and drive me away from the safety of town was stupid, but even though he’s a stranger and I have no reason to trust him, I’ve started to realize that I do. He makes me feel safe, and that’s something I haven’t truly felt in months…maybe years.
Everyone I’ve met since he told me I could stay at his house has assured me that I’m safe with him, and I’m starting to believe them. Maybe I was just lucky enough to be found sleeping rough in a tent by the only decent man left. Maybe I’mhere for a reason. Or maybe that’s all wishful thinking and I’ll be dead in a few days.
Either way, the desperate urge to flee has settled into a steady reminder that good things don’t happen to me, and that although I might be safe right now, that feeling never lasts that long.
“What do you want for lunch?” Warrick asks.
“Oh, I’m not hungry,” I instinctually say.
“You need three proper meals a day to regain your strength,” he says, completely disregarding my words. “I have stuff for subs, or I have soup or ramen.”
“Honestly—”
Silencing me with a lethal look, he says. “Amore mio, you’re having lunch. Now you can either pick what you want to eat, or I can pick for you.”
“Ramen would be nice,” I concede, a little too easily.
“Okay then. Why don’t you watch a little TV while I cook?” he says, stepping into my space and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, letting go of my hand and heading for the kitchen.
“I could help,” I say, my voice a little breathy.
“Sit, amore mio, relax.”
The moment I sit down on his couch, I feel cold and oddly alone. I don’t know why being alone is suddenly bothering me, because I should be used to it. But a wave of loneliness washes over me, making tears prickle at the backs of my eyes.
Fighting the urge to take myself to the kitchen, I turn the TV on and try to focus on the screen, but my attention keeps getting drawn to the man I barely know who’s making lunch for us. In my experience, ramen only takes as long as it takes the microwave to boil the water, but from what I can see from the couch, Warrick looks like he’s chopping something, and there’s steam billowing from somewhere.
“Lunch is ready,” he calls, ten minutes later, when I’ve barely paid any attention to the show I put on and have spent most of the time trying to discreetly watch him.
Jumping up, it takes more effort than it should to not rush over to the table. I don’t feel that hungry, but I must be, because I’m marching toward him like I haven’t eaten in a month. Just like the other times we’ve eaten together, Warrick has laid two place settings side by side, and I eagerly sit down, swallowing the sigh of comfort that tries to slip free the moment his reassuring body heat seeps into me.
