Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  I smile. I smile even though I don’t feel like smiling. Because although I have no right to be, I’m jealous over the thought of Nora cooking him dinner. At the thought of him being at her apartment. At the thought of them being intimate.

  The timer goes off on the foot bike, ending my exercise.

  “You did good this morning, Sara,” Donovan says. “Go enjoy your lunch and then you can go see George.”

  George is my speech therapist. He’s trying to get me back to reading and comprehending normally.

  When we’re in the courtyard eating lunch, Denver asks if I want to read some more of the book we’ve been reading.

  I put down my slice of pizza and wipe my mouth. “No. I’ve got some mail to go through, and with Ollie gone, I thought maybe you could help.”

  Denver looks surprised. “Ollie? I’ve never heard you refer to him by his nickname. I know you try to use it when he’s around, but typically when you speak of him, you use his full name.” He regards me thoughtfully. “I’m glad to see you getting back to normal.”

  “I’m trying,” I say, pulling out the stack of mail. “Most of these are medical bills. They’ve started piling up.”

  “I’ll bet. I hope you have good insurance.”

  “Oliver says I do.”

  I’m not sure why I consciously chose to call Oliver by his real name just now. But it doesn’t go unnoticed by Denver.

  I open some of the bills and pass them to him. “If you can read them for me and make sure there aren’t any surprises. I can pretty much understand them, but I want to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

  “Of course,” he says, paging through the papers.

  I open something from a brokerage firm while he’s looking those over. My eyes bug out when I see the numbers on the page. “Oh, my God.”

  “What is it?” Denver asks.

  “Uh … I guess it’s my portfolio statement.” I stare at it in disbelief. “I mean, I knew I had money. My parents left me well off, but this …”

  I show him the bottom line and he blinks several times as he looks at it.

  “Holy shit, Sara. I guess your investments must have done well for you over the past three years. That or you sold a crapload of paintings.” He pats the stack of bills. “Oliver was right, you don’t need to worry about being able to pay these.”

  I shake my head as I try to let reality sink in. “I had nowhere near that amount before.”

  “Well, I guess in addition to being a prolific artist, you must be a savvy business woman.” He peruses the pages of my statement then looks up at me. “Your name is the only one I see here. You and Oliver have separate accounts?”

  “We do, but he said we were going to open a joint one after the engagement. We just never got around to it. I think he’s working on doing that now.”

  Denver wrinkles his brow. “Maybe you want to slow down on that, Sara. Things seem to be going well for you right now. I’m not sure you should go making any big changes.”

  I shrug. “Maybe.” Then I pull out the Stephen King novel we’ve been reading together. “How about we take turns reading pages until my next appointment?”

  He smiles and grabs the book from me. “As long as it’s not one of Baylor’s books.”

  We share a look, and it’s more than evident we both remember exactly what happened when he read Baylor’s book to me. Neither one of us pulls our eyes away. Neither one of us blinks. It’s like we’re lost back in that moment. A moment that never should have happened, yet it was one of the most perfect moments I can remember.

  I avert my eyes, wondering if I shared any such moments with Ollie over the past year. The first touch. The first kiss. The heated moment when you just know you want to be with someone.

  My first kiss with Oliver was awkward and forced and something people were encouraging me to do. After that, they became easier, more pleasant. Comfortable, even. But they aren’t what I’d call passionate. Heated. Emotional. They aren’t like the perfect kiss Denver and I shared.

  Denver reads to me, but I don’t hear the story. I get lost in his words. The low timbre of his voice and the soothing way about his delivery.

  “Sara?”

  I snap out of it. “Uh, what?”

  He hands me the book. “Your turn.”

  I read the words carefully and meticulously, the way the therapist taught me. I stumble over a few. It must be difficult for Denver to listen to me read this way, but he doesn’t say a thing. He never does. He just looks content as if he’s enjoying the story.

  “Time’s up,” he says fifteen minutes later. He picks up the remains of our lunch and throws them in the nearest trashcan. “I have to head out, but I’ll pick you up at three.”

  I narrow my brow at him, wondering where he’s going.

  He smiles. “All part of the surprise.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Don’t be mad,” he says as he walks me up to the door of his townhouse.

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “Because you didn’t ask for this. I took a chance. If you don’t want it, it’s okay. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

  He looks nervous.

  “Denver, just show me the surprise already. You’ve had me guessing all day long.”

  He opens the door, letting us in. It’s quiet inside. I’m not sure what I expected—some kind of surprise party, maybe? Except that I don’t know very many people.

  But he said something about me not feeling obligated. I’m utterly intrigued.

  “Have a seat,” he says, motioning to the couch. “I’ll be right back.”

  While he’s gone, I look around. I knew he lived at his sister’s place, but I’ve never been here before. It’s nice. Much different from my loft. More casual and homey. I like it. I wonder if Oliver would ever be amenable to moving out of our place into somewhere more inviting like this.

  My eyes stop when they fall on the painting of his family in the blizzard. He’s hung it in the sitting room where Aspen keeps her piano. I smile knowing he put it in such a prominent place. He’s told me how passionate his sister is about the piano, and I wonder if she looks up at the painting while she plays and remembers their parents.

  I like to think he looks at it and remembers, too. Remembers them. Remembers me.

  I hear a noise before Denver comes back into the room. It sounds like the meow of a kitten, and I look around to find his cat. He never said anything about having one.

  Then Denver comes down the stairs holding the cutest little white and yellow furball. I walk over to him as he holds the kitten carefully, like the way you might hold a new baby. “Oh, my God—you have a kitten.”

  “No. You have a kitten,” he says. He looks at me hesitantly. “That is if you want him.”

  “You bought me a kitten?” I say with a slack jaw.

  “You seemed so lonely after you left the rehab center and moved back home. I know you have your painting to keep you busy, but since you aren’t traveling now and Oliver is gone all day long, I thought this little guy might keep you company.”

  I take the tiny precious ball of fur out of his hands and pull it to my heart. “Oh, Denver, I love him.”

  He looks relieved. “Thank God. I know he’s no replacement for Freckles, but I thought—”

  “You know about Freckles?”

  I nod. “Lydia told me.”

  I sit down and the kitten explores my lap before curling up in the crook of my arm. My eyes begin to tear up. I swallow the lump in my throat.

  I look over at Denver. “How do you always know the perfect gifts to give me?”

  He smiles brightly. “I’m glad you think so.” He sits down next to me and pets the kitten. “So, what are you going to name him? Freckles, Jr.?”

  I laugh. “No. He deserves his own name.”

  Denver scrunches his brows in thought. “Cotton? He kind of looks like a big cotton ball. Or maybe Puff? Oh, how about Fluffy?”

  I hold the kitten up and stare at
him. I shake my head. “No, those won’t do. His name is Kokomo.”

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “Kokomo,” he says. “After your mom’s favorite song.”

  I close my eyes, wondering how this man gets me so much. The man who sat day after day by the bed of a comatose woman, learning about her from the stories of others.

  He reaches over to pet Kokomo in my lap. I put my hand on his and stare into his eyes. “Thank you, Denver.”

  His eyes burn into mine and I swear a million unspoken words pass between us. Intense words. Passionate words. Confusing words.

  Confusing because I’m with Oliver and he’s with Nora.

  Confusing because I’m torn between needing to remember my past and wanting to start a new future.

  Confusing because his words tell me one thing and his eyes, another.

  But that doesn’t stop me from wanting this moment to freeze in time. And that doesn’t stop him from slowly leaning closer to me. My eyes flicker to his mouth. My tongue darts out to wet my lips. My heart starts thundering in my chest.

  Kokomo meows, breaking apart our moment. Denver jumps up off the couch and runs his hands through his hair.

  “I’ll just go get his stuff,” he says, leaving the room. “Then I’ll take you guys home.”

  And as I watch him walk up the stairs, I wonder—just for a moment—what life would be like if I were here in this townhouse with Denver. With Kokomo. Just the three of us.

  But then my phone rings. I look at it and see Ollie’s face on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss me, luv?”

  I look at the empty stairs and then down at my new kitten. Kokomo is staring up at me like he’s waiting for my answer. I give him a pat on the head as I think about the past week and all the progress Oliver and I have made.

  And I nod. “Actually, I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  For the third time in the past six weeks, I watch Joelle’s twins, Ashley and Zoë, play on the floor of my loft with the new toys I bought them, and I remember Oliver telling me I hate kids. When I was twenty-one, I never paid much attention to them, but what twenty-one-year-old does? Lydia and I had better things to do than play with kids and plan families.

  “They are so precious,” I say to Joelle when Zoë gives her sister a hug.

  Joelle laughs. “They’re such a handful, sometimes I have to stop and remind myself of that.”

  I reach up and run my finger along the scar on my scalp. “Try not to forget,” I tell her. “Because you just never know what could happen.”

  She looks at me sympathetically. “I’m so sorry we drifted apart, Sara.”

  I shake my head. “You have nothing to feel sorry for. It was all my fault. But everything has changed now, and I plan on being in your lives. Next time, maybe I can come to your house. I’m sure you’re tired of lugging your kids and all their gear into the city.”

  Joelle’s eyebrows shoot up. “You can drive?”

  “No,” I say sadly. “I think it will be a while before they let me do that. They tell me my judgment of speed and distance isn’t good yet. You should see the exercises they have me doing at therapy, they’re more like games your kids would play. They have me trying to throw a ping-pong ball into a moving bucket.”

  “A cab to our place would be pretty expensive,” she says.

  I roll my eyes. “Apparently, I can afford it.”

  “Yeah, I guess you can.” She nods to the spread of toys on the floor. “You’ve been very generous with the twins. Thank you.”

  “I’d like to do more,” I say.

  She laughs. “Oh, they have enough toys now. Any more and I won’t be able to walk through my house.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” I say. “I’d like to pay for your mom’s expenses at the memory care facility. I know it must be expensive.”

  Joelle looks at me, her mouth hanging open. “That’s … that’s very generous of you, Sara. But insurance pays for most of it.”

  “Most of it. Not all of it,” I say. “I really want to do this. Aunt Maria was so kind to me after my parents died. I hate to think of the way I must have treated her.”

  “You didn’t treat her any way,” she says. “You just ignored her.”

  I close my eyes, feeling horrible about the person I became. “I want to help.”

  “Guilt money?” she asks with a raise of her brow.

  “No. Yes.” I sigh, leaning back into the couch. “I don’t know, Joelle, maybe it is, but I still want to do something. If you won’t let me pay her bills, then I’d like to set up a college fund for the twins.”

  “Let me talk to Dan about it first, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “How’s your painting coming along?” she asks.

  “Good. I’m painting so much, I ran out of room to store them, so I started giving them away.”

  Joelle looks taken aback. “You’re giving away your paintings?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. It’s not like they’re works of art. I’ve donated a dozen or so to schools and shelters.”

  She studies me. “Wow.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Early on when you were still sleeping in the hospital, the doctors told me you might be different when you woke up. If you woke up. And I’m not sure I knew what to expect. But I sure as hell wasn’t prepared for this.”

  “This?”

  “You being a kind and selfless person.”

  Ashley crawls up into my lap. I’m so glad they’re getting used to seeing me. I grab a tissue off the table and wipe her runny nose.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say to Joelle as I cuddle with Ashley.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” I say. “I shouldn’t get a pass just because I can’t remember the terrible person I became.”

  She looks at my head, my hair arranged to cover my scar, and then she nods to my left leg. “I think maybe you should. Listen, that’s all in the past now. You have your whole life to look forward to. And speaking of that, how is your charming fiancé?”

  The mention of him makes me smile. “He’s been great. Did I tell you we’re taking cooking classes together? He felt bad that I didn’t remember how to cook, so he offered to learn with me.”

  “That’s great, Sara.” She pats the couch. “Is he still sleeping out here?”

  I nod. “I’m not quite ready to take our relationship to that level yet. He has the patience of a saint.”

  “He seems like a really good man.”

  “He is. He wants to take me to London to see his family. He said we would go every few months and that I really liked it.” I pick at the couch. “But I don’t know.”

  “You don’t want to go?” she asks as Ashley crawls from my lap to hers, putting a sleepy head on Joelle’s shoulder.

  I shrug.

  “Sara, it’s a vacation, not a honeymoon, sweetie. Maybe you should. Has your doctor cleared you to travel?”

  “Not officially, but I think he would. I’m down to twice a week at therapy now.”

  “So there’s nothing keeping you here. A week or two away might do you good. I know you’re getting bored being cooped up here day after day. There are only so many paintings you can paint.”

  I look over at Kokomo, wondering what I would do with him if I went to London. Maybe Denver would watch him for me.

  As if my kitten knows I’m thinking about him, he saunters over and steps on my feet. I pick him up and hold him in my lap. Kokomo has no idea that he’s become an extension of Denver. Whenever I hold him, I think of the man who gave him to me. When I lie in bed beside him at night, I wonder what it would be like to lie beside Denver. But then I think of the man on the couch and feel guilty.

  “And Denver? How’s he doing?”

  “He’s good. He makes me schedule my therapy sessions on his days off so he can come with me. And when Ollie’s out of town, he comes over to keep me company, making me play games with him like th
e therapists do. He’s relentless.”

  Joelle raises a brow. “He only comes over when Oliver’s gone?”

  I don’t think she means to accuse me of anything, but the expression on her face says it all.

  “It’s not like that,” I say.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “I know, but you were thinking it. Denver just doesn’t like to step on Oliver’s toes.”

  “Does Oliver know he comes to your apartment when he’s gone?”

  “I guess he does. I mean, we had an agreement from the start that Denver was going to be in our lives.”

  “But he’s not in Oliver’s life. Based on what you’re telling me, he’s only in yours.”

  “It’s just … easier that way,” I say.

  “For whom? You or them?”

  I think about her words. I knew it was happening—the three of us spending less time together. In the beginning, Denver, Oliver, and I would do things together. We went to the park. To my old favorite restaurants. To some museums. But there was always so much tension. It’s much easier now. When I’m with Denver, he rarely asks about Oliver. And when I’m with Oliver, he never brings up Denver.

  “Sara, go to London.”

  I run my hand across Kokomo’s soft fur. “I’ll think about it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I lift up the spoon for Oliver to take a taste of the bearnaise sauce. His eyes roll back in pleasure and he kisses the tips of his fingers before waving them in the air like the Italians do. “Perfecto!” he says in his best Italian accent.

  I laugh. It really has been fun taking cooking lessons with Ollie. He’s always joking around. He’s a different man than he was two months ago. Back then, he was stuffy and reserved and even harsh at times. But now, he’s softer and caring. Maybe he was just worried about me. Whatever it was, he’s over it now and I’m beginning to realize what I must have seen in him when we first met.

  Back at home, we sit at our table, enjoying the fruits of our labor, having easy conversation about Oliver’s latest trip to Europe.

  “I’ve been thinking more and more about your invitation to go see your family,” I say.