Page 102 of At First Spark
“And when it gets harder?” I ask.
“It already has.”
“And?”
“And I’m still here.”
The answer is simple. Holt’s standing here choosing this, choosing me. Even when it complicates everything.
My breath catches.
“Lark.”
The kiss builds slowly. Nothing rushed. Nothing stolen. His hands settle at my waist, steady, grounding, and I feel the contrast of it—the control he holds, the way he chooses restraint even when everything between us feels like it’s pushing past it.
My fingers curl into his shirt. Anchoring me to him. The world doesn’t disappear. Instead, it narrows. The barn. The field. The lingering tension from the call. All of it still exists. It just doesn’t matter enough to stop this.
His mouth moves against mine with intention, slower than before, deeper, like he’s learning something instead of taking it.
I lean into him, letting myself feel it. The way this feels like something real in a way nothing else has in a long time.
When we pull back, it’s not because we have to.
“This is going to get harder,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“And you’re still here.”
His answer doesn’t change.
“No plans to leave.”
And I believe him. I shouldn’t. That’s the part that keeps catching on something inside me, the part that doesn’t quite settle the way everything else does.
I’ve spent too long learning how quickly things shift. How easily something steady can turn into something conditional. Temporary. Convenient.
And Holt—Holt doesn’t feel like any of that. That’s what makes it dangerous.
I linger where I am for a second longer than I should, aware of the way his hands are still at my waist, the way he hasn’t stepped back even though the moment has softened, even though the urgency of it has faded into something quieter.
Something steadier.
His thumb brushes once, absentminded, along the side of my shirt. It’s small, barely anything, but it sends something warm and unfamiliar through my chest.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmurs.
I huff a quiet breath. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad,” he says. “Just… loud.”
I glance up at him. “Loud?”
“Yeah,” he says, studying me in that way that makes me feel like he sees more than I’ve actually said. “Like you’re already trying to figure out how this ends.”
His gaze softens slightly.
“Maybe don’t do that yet,” he says quietly.
