Page 56 of Ignition

Mom draped a quilted throw over his legs and chuckled.

Blackey was snoring, curled up on the rug by the fireplace.

My chest squeezed tight, and I longed to trap this moment in amber and take it with me.

When the game show ended, and grandma retreated to sleep, dad’s soft snores filled the comfortable silence. The fire was dying down, embers fading to a muted auburn, casting a cosy glow on my mom’s face as she twisted on the couch, tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear with slender hands, and gave me a look I knew all too well.

My phone buzzed again, burning a hole through my pocket.

Who’s this persistent?

“No boy you like around there?” She arched in, voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone.

“Nope,” I said flatly. “They’re all jerks.”

My mind flashed to Josh.

Understatement.

The knowing curl to her lip told me she wasn’t convinced, and my spine locked up, bracing for further questions. For once, she didn’t push it, just gave me a goodnight kiss on the forehead, before waking my dad and coaxing him upstairs as well.

A soft, contented sigh rumbled from my chest as I sank into the cushions and kicked my feet up on the armrest, tracing the exposed wooden beams on the ceiling, before my phone buzzed again.

Cursing under my breath, I checked it, starting with the first:

Miss me yet?

My brows drew up into a frown as I straightened up to a sitting position. The second one read:

Admit it, you’d die of loneliness without me

With a sinking feeling of who it might be, my eyes slid to the next one:

It’s Josh, by the way. If you couldn’t tell :)

Got your number off Pri.

I could almost see his smirk in my mind’s eye. My stomach gave a warning little lurch, the one I’d started to associate with him.

Why the hell is he texting me?

J: You’d better have a good excuse for ignoring me…

The impatience practically vibrated off the screen at me.

Sleepiness all gone, I rolled my eyes and padded to the kitchen to make myself another mug of mulled wine.

The phone landed on the pale green painted cabinet with a soft plock as I tried to light the smallest burner—forgetting it was broken—cursed under my breath, and tried another one.

Soon, the delicious aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg floated in the air as the wine simmered on low heat, and my thumbs hovered over the screen.

M: Still delusional, tsk-tsk. I was chatting with my family. Good enough?

My phone buzzed seconds later.

Huh.

I was pouring the drink, so I let it breathe—or so I told myself.