Page 83 of In a Word, Yes

Wyatt’s surveying the place. “Where do you hide Smitty?”

Chuckling, I point him down the hall. “Second bedroom on the left.”

“May I try it out?”

“Knock yourself out,” I say, filling the electric kettle. “I’ll just check on Chase.”

Thirty-One

spark(n.): something that sets off a sudden force

Minutes later, I pass through the sliding door onto the balcony, carrying two hot mugs. Except that I make the mistake of focusing on Wyatt where he stands looking out over the railing and bonk my right shoulder on the doorframe. At my weird little squawk, he turns just in time to see hot liquid slosh to the ground.

“Don’t mind me. I’m kind of a klutz.”

Wyatt angles his head. “Don’t say that.” His words are both gentle and firm. “Happens to all of us.”

It’s a nice sentiment, although clearly not everyone has bull-in-a-china-shop disorder to my extent.

“I see what you mean about Chase,” he says as we settle into the two rattan chairs. “He’s a really great kid. Reminds me a lot of my nephew.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Zach. I really enjoy him. He sees the world ... differently, and it forces me to. In a good way.”

Well, this explains a few things. I turn toward the mountainscape, inhale chilled air that carries the musty scent of pine mixed with sweet, yeasty dough. My downstairs neighbor is baking again.

String lights sway, gently illuminating the balcony. The landscape beyond is awash in milky moonlight. There’s the hum of a car, an occasional cricket chirping. Gauzy gray haze drifts across the black canvas, making the stars appear to wink.

“I love it out here this time of night,” I say solemnly.

“I can see why,” Wyatt whispers.

We’ve both fallen into using hushed tones.

He sips his tea, then sets it down on the small glass table. “I can’t get over how different the terrain is here. So expansive.”

“I love that about the high desert. It’s so ... uncluttered. Wait till you see it in snow.”

“Uncluttered. That’s a great way of putting it.” Wyatt turns to me, brows drawn. “Hey, anyone ever tell you you’re pretty good with words?”

Then he sends me a little wink that makes my stomach do a front two-and-a-half pike with a twist.

What is it about this man that draws so many involuntary physical responses? I mean, he’s not your classic book-cover model, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find him attractive. More and more so as I get to know him. What is that about?

Sensations I shouldn’t indulge. And yet, here, now, just for one night, I’m tempted.

Wyatt returns his gaze to the horizon. “It’s like, for the first time in a long time, I have a wide-open view. I’m clearheaded. Free to dream.”

“About?”

“About where all my hopes and all my experiences could take me.”

He slides a glance at me, and our eyes catch. Which sets off another round of slam dancing low in my belly. Sheesh, it’s a regular mosh pit in there.

“What prevented it before?” I ask. “I mean, why haven’t you felt like you could set your dreams free?” It’s about as personal a question as I should pose at this stage in our friendship.

Wyatt heaves a heavy sigh. Scratches his jaw. “The truth is kind of ... morose, honestly, Lucy. I’d hate to ruin such a beautiful evening.”