The Spark Between Us by Stacy Travis

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sarah

We’d already hadthe conversation several times, but hanging out in Braden’s front yard pulling weeds felt like a great time to discuss the topic again.

“Okay, you’re sure you’re cool having everyone here? They’re hellions.”

“You remember, I know your family. Or at least I did when you were kids.”

“Exactly. When you and Finn hung out, we were practically still in diapers. Harmless. Now my sisters are all grown up and vicious.”

Since my car had been at the repair shop for months, I’d begged off the family dinners in Berkeley, but this week my siblings wanted to move the dinner to Braden’s house so we could catch up.

He smirked at me. “It’s hard to imagine, frankly. But if they’re the troublemakers you say they are, even more reason why I want them all here. We could use some action in this town.” Then, as though noticing me for the first time, he poked me in the ribs. “Hey, where’d you find my favorite hoodie?”

It was a worn gray sweatshirt with frayed sleeves, and it was maybe the softest article of clothing I’d ever worn. I raised my finger to my lips. “Shh, don’t tell the fireman, but sometimes when he’s not here, I sleep in this.”

“Well, that’s going to make my dreams of you sleeping in my bed even sweeter, especially when I imagine taking this off your body with my teeth.” He leaned over, grabbed the hem in his teeth, and lifted it off my midriff. He kissed me there and raked the skin with his stubble until I sighed.

“Sorry I took it without asking,” I apologized, feeling a tiny bit guilty, but my happiness in the worn fleece outweighed it.

“Damsel, what’s mine is yours. I’d give you the clothes off my back.” For as strong and sexy as Braden was, his soft side was sweet duck fluff.

I wracked my brain for any excuse I could come up with to keep my family away. Finding none, I relented. “Okay then, sisters are coming. Bring on the savages. Just trust me and know that we need a united front before they get here. I’ll show you how to avoid their questions. Always keep moving.” I pantomimed jabbing and ducking like a boxer until Braden pulled me in and planted a kiss that knocked all the fight out of me.

“What’s the big deal with these family dinners, anyway?”

I shrugged. It was hard to explain our unique bond to anyone who wasn’t from a family of six siblings.

Scratch that.

It was hard to explain to anyone who came from a family not filled with meddling intrusive sisters and a brother who thought he knew more than anyone. Losing our dad when we were young made us overlook rivalries or personality differences because we knew how it felt to lose one of our own.

I loved them all so much.

“I’ve missed too many family dinners, and they’re giving me shit.” At first, I’d enjoyed the break from everything—my teaching job and even seeing my siblings, not that I didn’t love them. But I liked my adventure in this new town, and I wasn’t ready to share it with them. More than that, I was afraid I’d revert to being the person they expected me to be.

The longer I stayed away, the more I could let myself believe that my temporary reality was a real one. I could pretend that my life consisted of coming home to dinner with Braden each night, huddling on his deck, spending hours wrapped in phenomenal sex positions with the best-looking guy I’d ever met. I could pretend I didn’t live strictly according to science and plans. I could fall for my roommate. I could pretend it didn’t have to end.

But I knew it did. Which was partly why I was regretting agreeing to have my whole family drive down for dinner. At first, it seemed easier to drive myself to Berkeley to see them. One person in the car, one headache if there was traffic.

But Braden wouldn’t have it. “Not on my watch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you have a shift at the station that night?”

He laughed. “No. Not that. I’m not putting you in my car to drive for an hour when the last time you did that, you ended up with a face full of airbag, and my guys spent a week buffing out the rear bumper of our truck.” Not to mention that I still hadn’t figured out whether my insurance company was dropping me.

“Why do I get the feeling you enjoy telling that story?”

“Because I do.” His kiss was gentle. Then not. Then hot and seductive.

I tore my lips away from his before we got too sidetracked from the conversation. Or the weeds.

We were crouched down in his front yard pulling crabgrass out of his flowerbeds. If someone had told me a few months earlier that I was going to be harvesting weeds with the world’s sexiest gardener, I’d have asked for a tab of that hallucinogen. Not really. But I’d have let out a cackle at the ludicrous suggestion.

I was sitting cross-legged in front of a planter box filled with sweet peas that were trailing all over the path toward the front door. Braden sat next to me working on a second planter box where he’d planted basil and mint, but that too had gone crazy after a late spring rain.

Every so often, he’d stop gardening and pull me in and drop a sweet kiss on my lips, almost like his body was on a timer. Like there was a certain amount of skin-on-skin contact and me melting into a puddle against him that needed to be fulfilled before he could continue on the yard. I couldn’t argue with the logic of his horticultural protocols.

After he’d kissed me so thoroughly and so exquisitely that I felt dizzy, he plucked a handful of mint from the ground and rubbed a sprig between his fingers. “This will make for some good mojitos later.”

I leaned down to inhale the aromatic scent and realized how good it felt to have my hands in real dirt. “You know, I have a small yard at my house, and I haven’t done anything with it except grow grass. And if I’m honest, it’s not grass. It’s weeds that look like grass from a vast distance because they’re green.”

“Weeds are nice,” he said kindly. “Better than dirt.”

I shook my head and punched him in the arm. “You’re such a liar. You told me this morning you hate weeds. We’ve spent an hour pulling the weeds out of your perfect plants. You’re quietly judging me for my weeds.”

He shrugged. “I’m not one to judge. I know you’ve got a busy life. And what with all your teaching and the pole dancing I don’t believe you really do, who has time for gardening?”

Now I punched him harder, and he tackled me. Somehow my assault ended with me on my back and him hovering over me. “How did I end up on the bottom in this attack?”

He grinned and traced my lips with his finger. Then his hand trailed down my neck to where he rested it on one of my breasts. I felt my nipple harden immediately at his touch. He had an ability to work my body into a storm with a single touch. He bent to kiss my neck, sucking on a sensitive spot beneath my ear until my whole body hummed with desire for more.

“It’s called a sneak attack. You thought you had the upper hand, which allowed you to relax enough to hand it over to me.”

I was delirious with desire. “I hear you talking, but I have no idea what you’re saying.” My voice sounded sultry and wild for him. I’d been getting to know this version of Sarah over the past few months, and I liked her. She’d found beauty in the unexpected. “And I don’t even care. Just kiss me more.”

He laughed. “I could kiss you all day.” He lowered his lips slowly to mine. Something was different in the way we’d been with each other since our overnight at the vineyard. Instead of feeling like roommates who were having great sex, we were acting more like a couple—pulling weeds, hosting dinners.

I liked it. It didn’t necessarily mean our rules were changing. But for the first time, I was starting to hope they could.