Page 146 of At First Spark
“That’s not happening.”
His expression doesn’t change. “It’s the smart move.”
“So is locking myself in a room and not touching anything that matters, but I’m not doing that either.”
“This isn’t about the inn.” I keep telling myself this isn’t anything, but I’ve never been this careful with something that didn’t matter.
“It’s not just about the inn,” I correct. “It’s about everything.”
He leans back slightly, studying me. “Everything doesn’t matter if you get hurt.”
“I’m not leaving,” I say again, more firmly this time.
His jaw tightens. “I’m not asking you to leave town.”
“Then what are you asking?”
He hesitates.
“I’m asking you to stay somewhere safer for a few days,” he says finally. “Until we figure this out.”
I hold his gaze.
“And where exactly is that?”
His mouth presses into a thin line. “Not here.”
The words sit between us.
“And you want me to just… what? Move away because things got complicated?”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
Holt’s eyes flash, something frustrated and raw breaking through the control he’s been holding on to all night.
“It’s me trying to keep you safe,” he says.
“And I’m trying to keep my life from turning into something I don’t recognize,” I fire back.
Silence crashes between us, and he’s still watching me.
Not angry. Not calm. Something tighter than both.
The distance between us suddenly feels like too much. I don’t remember deciding to move. I just… do.
Cross the room. Close the space. Stop just short of him like I’m giving him one last chance to step back. He doesn’t. His hand comes up first—slow, deliberate—like he’s testing whether I’ll let him touch me.
The second his fingers brush my jaw, everything shifts. Charged in a way that has nothing to do with the storm outside and everything to do with the one building between us.
“Lark—” he starts. I don’t let him finish. My hand fists in his shirt, pulling him down to me before I can think better of it. The kiss isn’t careful. It isn’t measured. It’s everything we didn’t say crashing into one place at the same time.
He exhales sharply against my mouth, like he wasn’t expecting it either, but his hands are already on me—one at my waist, the other sliding to the back of my neck, holding me there like he’s not sure I won’t disappear if he lets go.
The couch presses into the back of my knees, and I don’t fight it when I sink into it, pulling him with me.
Rain taps steadily against the windows, softer now, but the house still feels like it’s humming with leftover energy, like the storm hasn’t fully decided to leave.
