Page 54 of At First Spark
Lark wraps both hands around her mug and stares down into the coffee like it might give her instructions.
“You don’t have to stay at the farm forever,” I say after a minute.
Her eyes lift to mine.
“I know.”
“You say that every time like I’m trying to trap you.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
The answer comes quick, then I think about it a little harder and add, “Not on purpose.”
That catches her off guard. I see it in the way she stills for half a second, then leans back slowly against the booth.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“It’s supposed to be honest.”
The coffee steams between us. Around us, the diner breathes and moves and talks. A fork clinks against a plate somewhere near the counter. Someone laughs too loud at the back booth. The front door opens and lets in a draft before closing again.
Lark glances out the window toward the street, then back at me.
“You always answer like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve already decided whether the truth is worth the trouble.”
I think about that. Too long, probably.
Then I nod once. “Yeah.”
She accepts that too easily. Which tells me something about her I probably don’t want to know yet.
Marlene brings the food before the silence can deepen too far. Plates land. Fries spill hot and golden across paper liners. The burger she sets in front of Lark is stacked too high to be reasonable, and she stares at it like I’ve placed a physical challenge in front of her instead of dinner.
“You said food,” she says.
“It is food.”
“That is a project.”
“You like projects.”
That earns me another look.
“Did you just flirt with me using a cheeseburger?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Eat.”
She shakes her head once, but she does it smiling this time, and the sight of it does something unhelpful to the center of my chest.
