The Spark Between Us by Stacy Travis

Chapter Fourteen

Braden

I heardmusic coming from the house when I was halfway up the front walk—dance music. It was jarringly pleasant. Sure, I listened to music in my car or on earbuds while I worked out, but I went more for motivating rap anthems or classic rock. This sounded like a Top 40s playlist at a wedding reception.

It felt like joy. It surprised me how much I liked hearing it in my own house.

When I flung the front door open, Bella scrambled to greet me, paws dancing on the hardwood floors. As I knelt down to apologize for locking her out earlier, my senses were assaulted by the warm scent of chocolate and a Taylor Swift song about not needing a man.

For two years, I’d convinced myself how much happier I was living alone, but my emotions instantly called bullshit. I liked coming home to signs of human life in my house. And my heart surged with desire to see Sarah, redoubling the feelings I’d fought all night long.

I was getting tired of fighting.

“Hey, girl. Sorry about earlier,” I told Bella. She gave me the kind of stink eye a golden is capable of, which is not much. After I rubbed her under her chin, all was forgiven.

Bella followed me to the kitchen, which had to be the source of the chocolate. Whatever it was, I hoped there was enough for me too.

When I got to the kitchen, I froze.

There was Sarah, wrapped in a light blue towel, her honey-colored hair hanging down her back, leaning over the open oven door wearing two giant red oven mitts shaped like lobsters. I’d bought them at a craft fair in town a few years ago and rarely used them because they had curly feelers hanging off the ends, which got in the way.

But on her, the whole ridiculous outfit was perfect.

And hot. The unexpected sight of Sarah in bare feet and several other bare parts had my dick perking up despite myself.

Twirling to the music, Sarah brought a pan of brownies out of the oven and turned to put them on the counter. When she saw me, she screamed.

“Shit!” She nearly dropped the brownies but then righted them and held the pan, gawking at me until the heat bled through the mitts. Then she flung it to the counter and struggled to strip off the lobsters with little success.

“Great, these things are glued on.” She continued to struggle, and her towel slipped a couple inches, revealing the swell of her breasts, which were milky white against the blue towel. And they were heaving.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away, and as she saw where my gaze was fixed, she crossed her arms over herself and secured the towel, the floppy lobsters dangling from her hands.

A tendril of her hair dropped in front of her eyes, and I wanted to sweep it away, but I didn’t dare come closer. As it was, she looked terrified at the sight of me.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry,” I choked out, backing away from the kitchen until I nearly tripped over the ottoman in the den. So I sat on it and tried to seem convincingly interested in the basket of dog toys because the towel was pretty short on the bottom and was coming undone at the top.

She couldn’t fix it because of the mitts, but the last thing I was going to do was get between a thin layer of towel and her breasts.

After a second, she freed her hands, resecured the towel, and grabbed her cell phone to turn down the music. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me. I didn’t think you’d be back for hours. Are you . . . with guest?” she stammered. Glancing around to check, she didn’t immediately concerned with the fact that she was wearing only a small swatch of blue terrycloth.

I held a hand over my eyes, looking at her through the slats of my fingers. A useless effort.

“Just me. I’m so sorry. I smelled chocolate and couldn’t resist.”

She grinned, one hand on her hips, the other fanning over the confections like a game show host. “Brownies. I might be a little addicted to this recipe. It has coffee in it, probably why.” She swayed to the side, her hip resting on the counter.

I took note of the half-finished bottle of wine on the kitchen counter. Was she tipsy? Her relaxed grin said she was, which I found unexpectedly charming for this hard-charging woman ruled by science and plans.

Sarah stayed like that for a moment, her smile warming me until she looked down at her barely-covered body and her eyebrows shot up in horror. She pulled the towel more tightly around herself and backed farther into the kitchen. I stayed on the ottoman.

“Oh gosh, you’re probably wondering . . . I was . . . I took a bath while the brownies were baking and forgot about them, so I rushed to get them out.”

I nodded. “I’m glad you’re getting comfortable in the house.”

She barked a laugh. “Um, yeah, just a little.” The pink color rose in her cheeks, and seeming even more self-conscious, she stood watching me expectantly. When I didn’t take the hint and leave, she moved carefully from the kitchen and past me, never turning her back, still holding onto the towel like a protective shield. “I’ll, um, be back in a second.”

While Sarah darted upstairs, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and wiped the cold across my forehead. Jesus, I was burning up. Just glimpsing her creamy skin had heat crawling over the back of my neck and a fire building everywhere else.

I needed to get a grip. I snapped off the cap and took it back to the ottoman, using crack ninja mind control to think about anything except Sarah soaking in the bathtub upstairs.

And…epic fail. I exclusively pictured her in the tub.

After a minute, she came back, hair in a ponytail, wearing a hoodie sweatshirt and a pair of shorts that made it impossible not to admire her long, shapely legs. She was probably in such great shape from pole dancing. Great. That opened up a brand new playground for images of Sarah shimmying around a metal shaft.

Fuck me.

“So,” she said, grabbing the bottle of wine and her glass from the kitchen and plopping down on the dark gray couch opposite where I sat. “How was your date? Did you have a nice time?”

Did she honestly want to know about my date? I knew she loved knowledge, but this seemed a little overboard. A grin played across her face, eyes sparkling like she cared and wanted to know. I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever met like her.

I scrubbed a hand over my chin, reminding myself I needed to shave one of these days. “It was alright.”

“‘Alright?’ Come on, fireman, you can do better than that. Was it fun? Love connection? Or . . . is this not a conversation you want to have with your roommate?” She poured another half a glass of wine, and I took note that very little of the wine was left in the bottle.

“I don’t mind the conversation, but there’s not much to tell. Tonight . . . I’d say no, not a love connection.” I opted against telling her that part of the trouble was that I wished I was out with her instead.

I braced myself for her next question. She seemed infinitely curious about everything—there would be more questions.

“Sorry to hear you didn’t find the magic. Assuming you’re even looking for that . . . ack. There goes the patriarchy again, putting ideas into my head that relationships have to lead somewhere. Oops. Loveless fun is good . . . or . . . you know what I mean.” She waved a hand in front of her face as though to fan the idea from the room.

I held up a hand. “It’s fine.” I sipped my beer and put thoughts of love firmly from my mind.

Her eyes gleamed, and she tucked her legs under herself on the couch, which made it easier to look at her without feeling like I was gawking. “What do you look for in a woman?” she asked. I didn’t expect the question, and two weeks ago, I’d have refused to answer because I wasn’t really looking for anything. Intentionally.

But now . . . the only thing I could say for sure was that it didn’t freak me out as much to have the conversation.

I swallowed hard, understanding from her question that Finn hadn’t said anything about my past. It made sense—he conveyed information on a need-to-know basis, which was partly why we’d stayed friends for so long. He respected boundaries.

And while I could tell Sarah the same lie I’d been telling people for two years, the whitewashed version that seemed fit for public consumption, I felt like she deserved the truth. She’d been honest when I’d asked her questions, and it made me want to meet her halfway.

“I guess . . . kindness would be the first thing,” I said.

She laughed for a second. “Well, obviously.” Then her face grew serious and her cheeks reddened. “Sorry. I was thinking you were joking. But if you’re not, then yes. Kindness is something you should insist on.” She sipped her wine and stared into the glass.

“Don’t apologize. I know it might seem obvious to someone who is kind, but yeah, I ought to look harder for it.”

Her mouth tipped up on one side, and the way her gaze assessed me from head to toe was like a caress of silk against my skin. “You deserve it,” she whispered.

I swallowed thickly, unsure how to respond. I wanted to deserve her. No way in hell I planned to tell her that. No indication she agreed.

Sarah quickly raised her glass to her lips and looked away as she took a sip. Torn between wanting to go deeper with the conversation and worrying that I wasn’t ready to be so open, I defaulted to gruff guy generalities. “Anyhow, after someone being a generally nice person, I’d say I look for common interests and, you know, attraction.”

Her eyes flipped to me in almost comical seriousness. “Yeah? Way to be specific. Who’d have thought to include common interests and attraction in a compatible female?”

“Are you giving me shit about my answer?”

She shook her head dramatically and continued in a playful voice. “Not at all, you robot. C’mon, fireman. You can do better.”

If it wasn’t for those sparkling sunset pools she had for eyes and the fact that she was definitely a little bit drunk, I might have taken offense at her finger wagging. But she was damn cute.

“Okay, fine. You want more?” I shifted in my seat. Sarah nodded in anticipation, her grin spreading. Bella, who’d been curled up on her bed, seemed to be siding with her, suddenly looking at me from under quirking eyebrows. “Okay, here goes . . .” I took a deep breath and prepared to bare my soul, still not completely understanding why Sarah and the way she looked at me made me want to tell her everything.

“What do I look for in a woman?” I took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling as though it contained the answers. “It would be simple if all I had to do was make a list—must love dogs, like outdoorsy stuff, career aspirations a plus. I kind of don’t give a shit about any of that. Those things . . . come. In time.”

I chanced a glance at Sarah and saw her eyes locked on me, her jaw slack. Slowly, she nodded and I felt emboldened to continue. “It’s the intangible stuff that isn’t part of some list. A connection—I don’t know where the hell it comes from. That’s the magic. The way the entire world falls away when we’re in the same room. Like nothing else—no one else—matters. She knows me. And even though everyone else can feel her soulful inner beauty when they’re around her, she burns brighter for me.

“So I guess…I want a level of understanding where I instinctively sense her missing pieces. And give her whatever she needs to shine like she deserves. So it’s not about looking for a certain set of characteristics—liking the same movies or wanting to visit the same vacation spots—it’s about losing myself to be a part of her. So I don’t know that I’m looking for a ‘love connection’ as much as something that’s unbreakable.”

Sarah had been sitting forward, so focused that she almost spilled her wine before noticing and righting the glass. Then she slumped back against the couch with a hand on her cheek. I saw the rise and fall of her chest and realized my pulse had sped up as well.

Where the fuck did that come from?

I was not the expressive kind of guy who generally waxed poetic about love. Especially because I didn’t believe it in. Not anymore.

She shook her head, eyes glistening and fixed on me. Not gonna lie—I loved the way it felt. Maybe because she had the potential to connect with me the exact way I’d just described.

Which is why you need to shut it down. Now.

She also had the power to leave me so much worse off than Ellie did if I wasn’t careful.

“Braden, that’s just . . . wow.” She shook her head again and bit down on her lip. “I really hope you find her. And while you’re at it . . . order me up one of her too. I don’t date the ladies, but that sounds freaking amazing.”

I laughed. “Yeah, well, she doesn’t exist.”

“Why d’you say that? C’mon, where’s my optimistic fireman? You just haven’t met her yet.”

I ran a hand over my scruff, which was a nervous habit. “I did meet her. Or at least I thought I did. I was engaged . . . previously. To a woman—Ellie was her name—who I thought was at least some of those things. Or if not, she fell pretty damn close.”

Sarah put her wine glass down and leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “What happened?” she asked softly, her forehead creased with worry. “Did she die?”

I couldn’t help my smile at her earnest concern. “No. Nothing like that. She’s alive. But she’s with a different guy. She met someone else two months before the wedding, moved to New York to live with some brilliant hotshot lawyer she met on a business trip.” I waited for her to digest that information.

Sarah blinked a couple times and squinted as though what I said didn’t make sense. To me, truthfully, it still didn’t.

“Yeah, at first it was phone sex, then he started flying out to see her. They were screwing in the spare bedroom right up until two weeks before the wedding when she dumped me officially. In a text. Said I wasn’t enough for her. She needed someone more educated, with more depth.”

“Depth?” She spat the word out. “Screw her, Braden. What a horrible thing to say.”

“She didn’t mean it the way it sounds.”

As usual, I was defending her. I’d been doing it since the day she left, not to make her look less cruel but to make myself feel less fucked over. If her reasons sounded valid, it was objective, not personal.

Sarah scooted closer and put a hand on my knee. The heat spread like a late summer brush fire consuming dry leaves.

“Braden. You are educated. Your job is selfless and admirable. And you have more depth than most people I’ve met. I’m sorry she said that.” Her scowl and the crease in her brow underscored her words. She closed her eyes, then leveled me with their expressive sea of blue. “Wait, did you also just say she told you all this in a text?”

“Well, not all of it. She started with the ‘I can’t marry you,’ and that dovetailed into a screaming match in person.”

“Good. She deserved some screaming at.”

I appreciated that she wanted to take my side, but if she’d met Ellie, she’d see that I was outclassed. No doubt, everyone saw it. Except me.

“Maybe in the moment, but it wasn’t meant to be. She grew up in downtown Chicago, loved big cities. She was never going to be happy here. She was too good for me. I was just too dumb to see it until it was way too late. Willful blindness.”

She picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it at me. Her aim was decent. If I hadn’t ducked, she’d have beaned me in the face. “Hey.”

“You’re an idiot. Albeit one with fast reflexes.”

“Why, because I don’t understand particle physics?”

She rolled her eyes. “First of all, no one really understands it. That’s why we call everything a theory. We’re just really convincing when we talk about shit we can’t see.”

“Okay . . .” I wasn’t sure where this was headed.

“You’re an idiot because you think she was too good for you. That’s absurd.”

“If you met her, you’d know.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. She just wasn’t the right one. And I’m sure it felt awful, but she did you a favor. I know it hurt, but seriously, good riddance. She didn’t deserve you.” People had said that to me before, but hearing her say it felt different because I cared what she thought. And it triggered a movement—a shaking off of rust and stubborn atrophy—in a deep part of my heart that had been dead for a long time.

“It’s fine. I’m over it. It’s been two years,” I lied. Like I always did.

It felt like an iron cage was squeezing my chest. I didn’t want to lie to Sarah. But I’d already opened up more than I’d planned. Time to lock everything back down.

“Anyhow, that’s the deal and that’s why I know now that the perfect relationship doesn’t exist. But hey, we can fantasize, right?” That’s all it was—a fantasy.

Sarah nodded and flopped against the back of the couch. She looked defeated, leaning her arm against her forehead, or maybe that was just how I felt.

“So . . . now it’s your turn.” Desperate to shift the conversation away from my morose self, I got up and pantomimed a spotlight shifting to her. She put her hand up in mock blocking of the glare.

“You can ask, but no promises I’ll bare my soul,” she laughed.

“Oh, come on. I gave you complete honesty. I expect no less.”

“Fine.” She shrugged.

Rubbing my hands together like I was hatching an evil plan, I got another beer from the fridge. “Let’s see, where shall I begin?” When I saw the tray of brownies on the counter, I couldn’t resist. “I think this inquisition calls for some chocolate.”

She jumped from the couch. “No, no, you can’t eat them yet. They need frosting, but they’re still too hot.”

“I’m sure they taste great without frosting.” I pulled a knife from the block on the counter and bounced my eyebrows to see if she’d agree to my plan.

But she took the knife from my hand, and when she did, the brush of her fingers against mine was red hot fire. The barest graze sent a thrill of electricity along my skin.

Was it possible that she didn’t feel it too?

She gave no indication as she put the knife on the counter and looked at me like she was reprimanding a toddler. “Fifteen minutes. I promise you’ll like them better once they’re frosted. You can’t eat naked brownies.”

In my mind, she was telling me we should eat brownies naked, and I immediately pictured her lying on the floor with a brownie covering each breast, and I was fine with that.

I tried to shake that thought from my head by looking around the kitchen. “Am I crazy? I don’t see any frosting.”

“I have to make it. So ask me your questions and I’ll make the buttercream.”

I took a slug of my beer and leaned on the counter, studying her while she measured powdered sugar and put the remainder in the cupboard with my other sugar. “How’d you know where I keep the sugar?”

She looked at me like it was obvious. Maybe she’d already gone through all the cupboards and drawers and figured out where I kept stuff. “I went to where I’d put sugar, and it turned out that’s where you have yours. In the logical place.”

“Is that how you knew where to find the corkscrew?”

“Huh?”

“Earlier. You went to the right drawer the first time.”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Okay, forget about that. Let’s talk about your ideal man. Spill.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, and I started to think she might not answer. For all I knew, she was dating someone back in Berkeley, and he was her ideal man.

“Actually, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

Quirking an eyebrow, she smiled. “Just like it was none of my business when I asked you? Come on, we’re roommates and we never see each other. This is a chance to get to know each other. I’m not passing that up.”

I shrugged, glad that she was game. “Okay, then. Tell me. If your perfect man walked through the door right now, what would he be like?”

She started unwrapping sticks of butter. “He can’t walk through the door right now. I need to focus on work. The perfect man doesn’t fit with that. But I guess someday I’d like to meet someone who makes me feel, you know? I spend most of my time thinking and analyzing and controlling.” She winked at me, and it was all I could do not to wrap her in my arms.

“Someone who could share that burden without making me feel like I’m a nut job for being the way I am, that would be magical. I’ve never experienced that kind of support—I always feel a little apologetic for being myself. Oh, and I want mind-boggling sex, like orgasms so intense the neighbors feel aftershocks. Like, earth-shattering, screaming, rollicking orgasms . . . not that I’ve even come close to experiencing that, but I have a feeling it’s out there. With the right guy. You know?”

Do I know? Not sure. Because I’m pretty sure I just died.