Page 49 of Sparrow

Orion

Ishould have taken my bike out for the night.

I turn over again, seeking a cool place in the sheets, and close my eyes firmly, demanding that my brain turn off and let me go the fuck to sleep.

It doesn’t work.

I open my eyes and grab my phone just to see what time it is, and see that it’s 2:11 in the morning. Nothing good happens after 2, I think, and apparently sleep doesn’t, either.

I sit up throw the sheets off, frustrated in that way that happens when it’s 2 in the morning and you can’t slow down enough to sleep, and finally just climb out of bed. If I’m not going to be sleeping, I might as well get up and do something. Starting with something to drink.

Water would be good.

Whiskey would be better.

I leave my room without turning on any lights and creep down the hallway toward the main body of the house, avoiding the boards that make too much noise in this house. The world around me is pitch black and silent, everyone else in town no doubt sound asleep the way they should be. I’m partially jealous of them... and partially not.

Night is my favorite part of the day. It’s the only time when the world around me actually gets quiet.

And no, I don’t want to be awake right now.

But there are worse things than being awake in the middle of the night with nothing but a glass of whiskey to keep you company.

I’m reveling in the darkness of the night, soaking it into my soul, until I turn the corner into the kitchen and find it brightly lit. And occupied.

Arden’s at the stove boiling something, a spoon in her hand and her hair mussed from sleep. She’s still in pajama pants and a t-shirt big enough to be a dress, and she looks both slightly scruffy and incredibly charming at the same time. Bare feet and no makeup, lips slightly puffy and caught completely off-guard.

My heart lurches in my chest and I pause, trying to clock the problem. She’s not dangerous, at least not in the way that the heart palpitations usually mean, but that doesn’t slow my heartbeat at all.

Evidently discovering my favorite girl in the kitchen in bare feet and oversized clothes is a kink I didn’t realize I had.

I huff a laugh at that and she looks up suddenly, her eyes big and the spoon out in front of her like some sort of weapon. I glance at it, one eyebrow lifted, and then turn my eyes back to her.

“Am I supposed to be scared of that or...?”

She gives me a lopsided grin and goes back to stirring.

“Not unless you’re lactose intolerant, I guess.”

I slide onto one of the bar stools behind her. “Which I’m not, as you already know.” But then I pause. “Unless you didn’t know, and gave me that hot chocolate the other night thinking that I might be. Oh, Arden, were you trying to hurt me?”

She doesn’t respond, pouring the milk into two mugs instead and then dumping cocoa powder into each one. When she turns around, she’s wearing that expression she gets when she thinks I’m being annoying.

I love that expression.

She slides the mugs onto the countertop and produces a bottle of whiskey from some magical hiding place.

“If I wanted to kill you, Orion, milk would not be my preferred weapon.”

“Interesting. What would be?”

She turns her eyes up to mine, and they’re shining and golden and beautiful. “Poison. Obviously.”

This... is not what I expected.

“Wouldn’t it be safe to say, Arden, that lactose is poison to a man who’s lactose intolerant? Gets to the same point, no?”

She tips generous pours of whiskey into each cup, then slides one my way. “No. Lactose intolerance might upset your stomach and leave you the worse for wear, but it won’t kill you. Orion.”