Page 110 of At First Spark
She goes quiet.
“And I needed something that wasn’t the memory of the fire.”
Her breath catches slightly, just enough to seize my attention. And I realize this isn’t just a distraction, it’s something else, something I’m not sure I’m ready to name yet. But I feel it anyway.
Chapter Twenty – Holt
The uneasy feeling Kenzie leaves behind doesn’t fade when I return to the firehouse after the impromptu dinner with lark.
That’s the problem with some people. They don’t have to stay in the room to keep taking up space in it. They leave something behind when they go, something that gets into the cracks and sits there, waiting for you to notice it at the worst possible moment.
I move back through the bay and into the kitchen on instinct, needing motion more than anything else. The station is quieter now, the lull between calls stretching long enough for everyone to settle into whatever version of rest they can manage. Beckett is at the table with one leg kicked out, phone in one hand, half-eaten sandwich in the other, while Ray stands at the coffee pot like he’s offended it exists but resigned to needing it anyway. Mac is in his office with the door open, glasses low on his nose, reading something that probably should’ve stayed at county headquarters and somehow ended up here anyway.
I open the fridge and stare into it without really seeing anything. My reflection ghosts faintly across the stainless-steel interior—shadowed, tired, not nearly as collected as I’d like. I grab the first bottled water I see and twist the cap off harder than necessary, taking a long swallow that does nothing to settle the weight still pushing against the center of my chest.
“You look like you saw one,” Beckett says without lifting his gaze from his phone.
I shut the fridge with my hip and turn toward him. “Saw what?”
“A ghost. Bad debt collector. One of your sisters in a mood.” He glances up finally, mouth tugging at one corner when he catches whatever expression I’m wearing. “Worse, apparently.”
I lean against the counter and let the cold bottle rest against the back of my neck for a second. “Kenzie showed up.”
That gets his full attention. The phone lowers, and the sandwich pauses halfway to his mouth.
“Now that,” he says, sitting up straighter, “is a deeply unfortunate sentence.”
Knowing Beckett most of my life, my entanglements are common knowledge.
Ray turns from the coffee pot, expression sharpening in that quiet way of his that usually means he already knows exactly how much trouble something is worth before the rest of us catch up.
“How long?” he asks.
“Ten minutes, maybe less.”
“What’d she want?” Ray adds.
I let out a slow breath. “Didn’t say. Claimed she was passing through. Then made it clear she’d heard about Lark.”
Beckett drops the sandwich onto the plate like his food just lost all relevance. “And this woman remains alive because?”
I cut him a look that would work on most people. Not him.
He shrugs. “I’m just asking.”
“No,” Ray says, voice flat as he pours coffee into a mug, “you’re fantasizing. Different thing.”
Beckett points at him with one finger. “Yet, no one said I was wrong.”
I ignore both of them and take another drink of water. The station lights hum overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a cabinet door bangs shut, followed by the low sound of Mac muttering to himself about paperwork. The ordinary sounds of the place keep moving around me, but my head is still outside with Kenzie’s smile and the way she’d said playing house like the words had edges.
“She know where the farm is?” Ray asks.
I nod once. “She knows enough. Most people from here do.”
Kenzie knowing where I live isn’t new, even though we spent most nights at her place. My house on Otter Creek Farm was never exactly a secret. But Kenzie knowing Lark is there, knowing enough to bring it up with that look on her face, knowing enough to show up uninvited after years of nothing—that feels different. It feels deliberate.
Beckett leans back in his chair and scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t like her.”
