Page 56 of At First Spark
“I can see that.”
And there it is. The first spark of something I don’t like. Not because of the guy but because of what changes in her when he’s standing here. She gets still in a way I haven’t seen before. I know that posture. I wore my own version for too long.
Marlene appears like a damn ghost with a coffee pot in one hand and a curiosity problem in the other. “Well, this table just got interesting.”
“You should’ve answered my calls.”
Lark’s fingers tighten around the edge of her napkin.
“I was busy.”
His jaw shifts once. I don’t miss it.
Neither does Marlene, apparently, because she looks from him to me and mutters, “I’m going to get pie before this gets stupid,” then disappears.
I should probably be grateful. Instead, I’m watching Lark. Watching the way her shoulders hold. Watching the way she refuses to look at me now that he’s here.
That bothers me more than anything else about the moment.
Nolan looks at me again. “You’re Holt.”
It’s not a question.
“Yeah.”
He nods once. Controlled. Too controlled. “She didn’t mention you.”
Across from me, Lark closes her eyes for half a second. Interesting.
I lean back in the booth. “Well, I hope that if she had, it would have been flattering.”
That gets her attention fast enough that she cuts me a sharp look, and some ugly little part of me enjoys it.
Nolan doesn’t smile. “You’re helping with the inn?”
“I am.”
His gaze holds mine a second longer than it needs to.
Then he looks back at her. “You free after this?”
“No.”
The answer comes so fast it surprises all three of us.
Lark seems to realize that at the same moment I do, because something flickers in her face before she smooths it away.
“I’m tired,” she says more carefully. “I’m heading back after dinner.”
Nolan nods slowly. “Then, since I’m sticking around after flying nearly halfway across the country to check on my best friend, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He says good night to her and nothing at all to me before turning and heading toward the counter to order coffee like he didn’t just walk into the middle of something.
The moment he’s out of immediate range, Lark exhales. I sit back in the booth and look at her. She looks at her coffee. Neither of us says anything for a beat.
Then I ask, “That your contractor?”
Her gaze lifts.
