Page 147 of At First Spark
Neither have we.
His mouth moves against mine slower now, less frantic, more intentional. Like he’s paying attention again. Like he remembers exactly who I am and what this means.
My hands slide under his shirt, feeling the tension in him—every muscle tight, controlled, like he’s holding himself back even now.
That only makes me want to push.
His breath catches, and for a second, I think I’ve broken through whatever control he’s clinging to.
But then his hand tightens at my hip. He pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead dropping briefly to mine.
Something shifts in his expression. His thumb brushes along my jaw again, slower this time, like he’s committing it to memory.
“We don’t pretend this is nothing,” he says.
“I’m not pretending anything.”
The honesty in that hangs between us. Heavy. He leans in again, slower this time, giving me time to stop him. I don’t.
The kiss is different now. Deeper. Not rushed. Not about proving anything. About choosing it. Choosing him.
His hand slides along my side, pausing at my waist like he’s asking without saying it out loud.
I answer by pulling him closer. That’s all it takes.
The tension between us snaps again, but this time, it doesn’t feel like something we’re losing control of. It feels like something we’re stepping into. Together.
The storm has moved farther away now, thunder distant, rain softening to a steady fall rather than the violent downpour before. The quiet that follows feels heavier than the noise ever did.
Earlier, we were arguing about control. About fear. About what happens when something real collides with something dangerous and neither of us knows how to step back without losing something we’re not ready to lose.
My phone buzzes on the table. Both of us glance down at it. My mother’s name lights up the screen.
The timing almost feels like a joke.
I let it ring once. Twice. Three times. Then I pick it up.
“Hello.”
Her voice comes through crisp and controlled, like always. “Lark, I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I can imagine,” she says, tone sharpening slightly. “I ran into your contractor friend at the market today and Hadley, of course.”
Of course he did. The irritation comes fast, then fades just as quickly into something more complicated. Because Nolan doesn’t escalate unless he thinks something is already wrong.
“What did they say?”
I already know the answer won’t be simple. Nolan doesn’t deal in simple when it comes to me.
“That there was another incident,” she replies.
I glance at Holt. He’s watching me, every line of his body still, listening without pretending not to.
“I’m okay,” I say.
“That’s not the point,” my mother snaps. “You are not supposed to handle something like this on your own.”
