Page 59 of At First Spark
“Productive,” Holt says at the same time.
Claire’s mouth curves slightly.
“Those sound like two very different experiences.”
“They weren’t,” I say quickly.
Holt doesn’t contradict me, but that doesn’t mean he agrees.
“There’s leftovers if you’re still hungry,” she says, already closing her book.
“I’m good,” I tell her.
Holt nods once. “Same.”
She studies us one more time, then pushes back from the table.
“I’m turning in,” she says. “Just wanted to check on the progress today.”
With the gleam in her eye, I’m suspicious that she’s referring to something other than the Carrington House. Claire hums like she’s filing that away for later and heads down the hall toward the front door.
I stand near the kitchen counter, not moving farther into the space, not retreating either.
Holt sets his keys down by the door, shrugs out of his jacket, and runs a hand through his hair in a motion that looks more tired than anything else.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
“You didn’t like him,” I say.
It’s not a question.
“No.”
“That was fast.”
“I don’t need long.”
I cross my arms.
“That seems fair.”
“It is.”
I shake my head once.
“You don’t even know him.”
“I know enough.”
“And what exactly is enough?”
Holt steps closer. Not into my space, but enough that the air shifts.
“He walked into a room and looked at you like you were something he’d already decided he owned,” he says.
The words hit harder than I expect. I swallow.
“That’s not—”
