Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series)

by Samantha Christy

  Oliver has become more involved in every aspect of my life since I agreed to come to London. Maybe he felt because I was doing this for him, he was going to do something for me. He’s become the perfect fiancé.

  It’s for the best. Especially given that Denver has been too busy to visit me ever since the day I told him I was going to London. I saw him briefly on the way to the airport this morning when we dropped off Kokomo at his place. Oliver waited in the cab, so Denver could have easily talked to me on the stoop of the townhouse. I wanted him to talk to me. About what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe in the back of my mind, I wanted him to give me a reason not to go to London. But he didn’t. He didn’t talk about anything other than Kokomo. But he did stare at me. And I stared at him. And it made me wonder what he did with the painting I gave him. Is it hanging on the wall of his bedroom where he can look at it and remember what he dreams about? Or did it end up in the back of a closet so he can try to forget? Forget the hundreds of hours he spent sitting by my side. Forget the countless conversations we had and the endless card games we’d play. Forget the forbidden kisses we shared.

  “Are you ready?” Oliver asks, taking my hand in his as we exit the plane.

  “I’m nervous,” I say. “This is the first time I’ve been to another country.”

  “Your passport tells a different story, hun.”

  “I know.” But I can’t remember, I want to say but don’t. I know everyone is tired of me saying that.

  When we get through customs, an older couple approaches us. The woman pulls Oliver into her arms.

  “My boy!” she exclaims while holding him tight.

  “Hi, Mum,” he says. He shakes his father’s hand as he embraces his mother. “Dad.”

  He finally extracts himself from his mother and introduces us. “Mum, Dad, this is my fiancée, Sara Francis.”

  I draw my brows at him. “You make it sound like we never met. Is that for my benefit?”

  His mother wraps her arms around me. “We haven’t met, luv. You and Ollie were always on the go, popping into town for just a day here and there on your way to some exotic location. We were never able to make it happen,” she says, flashing Ollie an accusing stare.

  I look at Ollie, confused. “But you said I love it here. You said we come a lot.”

  He shrugs. “We do. But we were always so busy.”

  His dad hugs me as well. “Sara, we’re so happy to finally meet you.”

  “May I see the ring?” his mom asks.

  I raise my hand. She studies it and then her eyes tear up. “I never thought it would happen to my Ollie.”

  She hooks her elbow with mine and talks to me all the way to the car. “I do hope you’ll let me help you plan the wedding. Will you have it in New York or London? Are you thinking a spring wedding?”

  “Mum,” Oliver chides her from the front seat of the car.

  “Uh … I’m still getting used to things, Mrs. Compton. We’re not really making plans yet.”

  I don’t tell her that Oliver and I haven’t even consummated our engagement. I don’t tell her that although we share a bed, we do little more than kiss and cuddle.

  “Please call me Enid. Or, if you prefer, Mum.”

  “I … I don’t think—”

  A hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Oh, dear. You lost your mother. Of course you don’t want to call me Mum. Can you forgive me for being such a daft cow?”

  “It’s fine, Enid.”

  She grabs my hand and gives me a sympathetic, motherly smile.

  I gaze out the window as the three of them have a conversation. I recognize landmarks that are in my paintings. Paintings I don’t remember creating. When we approach the London Bridge, I stare at it, knowing I must have spent time there as it was the focal point in the painting I was told I did for a New York socialite a few years ago. The bridge is amazing. How can I look at something so incredible and not remember being here?

  “Can we go there, Ollie?” I say as we pass.

  He turns and smiles at me from the front. “We can go anywhere you fancy. I will have to work a bit while we’re here, but there should be plenty of time to go sightseeing.”

  “And while he’s working, I’ll take you wherever you want to go, luv,” Enid says.

  As we drive through the city, I can understand why Oliver said I liked it so much. Who wouldn’t?

  My phone vibrates with a text. I look at it and see Denver’s name.

  Denver: Please let me know when you arrive safely.

  Denver: And Sara, I’m sorry about this past week. I was being an immature jerk. Your friendship means a lot to me.

  Denver: Kokomo says to tell you he misses you but that he likes hanging out with me.

  “You have such a lovely smile,” Enid says.

  “Ma’am?” I look up from the phone.

  “Your smile. It’s lovely. Just now, when you were looking at your phone your face broke into the most brilliant smile.”

  I look guiltily into the front seat. Then I say, “I just heard from a friend.”

  “We’re here,” his father announces.

  A girl comes running out of the house and through the front gate, flinging herself into Oliver’s arms as soon as he exits the car. I recognize her from a picture. She’s Oliver’s sister, Octavia. She’s almost twenty years younger than Oliver. He told me she was an accident but that she’s the light of their parents’ lives.

  “Ollie! I wanted to come, but Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me ditch school.”

  “Hey, sis.” He twirls her in his arms and then sets her down next to me. “This is Sara.”

  “We’re going to be sisters,” she says gleefully. “I always wanted a sister.”

  “You’re very pretty,” I say, taking in her long blonde hair and toothy smile. She has a slightly crooked smile that I recognize as Oliver’s. In fact, she looks so much like him that if he were younger, they could be twins.

  Twins. I think of Denver. He’s been wanting me to meet his sister, Aspen. He talks about her all the time. I can tell they are very close. I told him I would, but she’s coming to town in a few weeks, when I’m still in London.

  Unlike Denver, Oliver doesn’t mention Octavia much. I guess it’s because they didn’t grow up together. He only lived in London the first few years of her life. Still, they seem to be very comfortable with each other. It makes me wonder why we’d never met.

  “What grade are you in?” I ask Octavia.

  “I’m in year nine.”

  Oliver takes my suitcase and pulls it up the walk. “That’s seventh grade to you Yanks.”

  Over the next few hours, Enid and Harry regale me with tales of Oliver growing up. I have a hard time staying awake, but they tell me it’s best to push through and stay up until bedtime or else the jet lag will kill me.

  I yawn for the millionth time as I crawl into bed. “I can’t believe I traveled so much. Didn’t I have issues with the time differences?”

  “You learn to handle it,” he says. “You used to take sleeping pills a lot so you could sleep when you were supposed to.”

  I recall seeing a prescription for them in my cabinet at home. I wondered why I had them.

  “That can’t be good for me, can it?”

  “I guess you do what you have to do.”

  “Well, I don’t want to do that anymore,” I tell him.

  He looks at me thoughtfully before turning out the light. “Don’t want to do what—take sleeping pills, or travel?”

  I shrug in the darkness.

  He crawls into bed behind me. “We used to talk about moving here, you know.”

  I stiffen. “Moving to London?”

  “Yes. It’s much closer to a lot of the places you like to visit. Europe is where the real art is. The culture. It would be easier for the jet lag not having such a large time difference between the places you travel to the most.”

  I turn around in bed, facing him for perhaps the first time when lying together. I can somewhat ma
ke out his face with the moonlight coming through the window. “But what if I don’t travel anymore? I’m not painting like I used to, Ollie. I may never get back to painting like that again.”

  He kisses my forehead. “You’ll get back to it. You’re too talented not to.”

  “But what if I don’t want to move to London? What then?”

  “Then we don’t move to London,” he says. “Or we postpone it. I told you we’d take it slow. Your happiness is all I want.”

  “It’s been months, Oliver. Why are you being so patient with me?”

  “Because”—he hesitates, and something gnaws at my gut—“because I love you, Sara. And shouldn’t we do anything for the ones we love?”

  It’s been thirteen weeks since my accident. Eight since I went home with Oliver. And he’s never said those words to me. Maybe he was afraid of scaring me off. Maybe now that he’s back home, he feels more confident and secure.

  “I … I …” I close my eyes, squeezing a confused tear out of them.

  “It’s okay, luv. You don’t have to say it back. Not yet.”

  He brushes a hair out of my face before leaning in to kiss me. I let him kiss me. I always do. Because that’s what fiancées do—they kiss. They kiss and a lot more. I know he wants more. I know he deserves more. I’m just not sure I’m ready for more.

  “Sleep now,” he says. “You’re exhausted and we have a busy day tomorrow. I’m going to take you to the church where your parents got married.”

  I smile thinking of my parents and their love story. They met in London and decided to come back here for their wedding. I can’t wait to see the cathedral. I know I’ve seen it before. I’ve painted it. Joelle told me I came to see it about a year after their death. But like so many other things, I don’t remember.

  I turn around and Oliver spoons me, drifting quickly to sleep. I find my hand searching around the bed for Kokomo before I remember he’s not here. He’s with Denver.

  I miss you, I whisper to myself, pulling a pillow tightly against my chest.

  I think of the very first words I wrote in my journal eight weeks ago. And once again, I wonder who I was writing them about.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “Last stop, as promised,” Oliver says as we exit the red double-decker bus onto the steps of the ornate cathedral.

  I spent the morning with Ollie’s mother and sister, who gave me a tour of Westminster, where Oliver grew up. They took me under their wings while Oliver handled some business. They’re fabulous. His whole family is. I’ve found myself completely at ease with them, and it’s made me realize how much I’ve missed being a part of something. Enid and Octavia have accepted me completely, faults and all. They didn’t look at me like I was damaged goods when they saw me limp. Or when I had a little trouble reading the history of some of the landmarks we visited. Enid treated me like a daughter. And Octavia, a sister.

  Despite my lingering jet lag, today has been one of the best days I can remember. It’s obvious how much Oliver loves London. He’s said more than once he’s not sure why he ever left. And after only one day, I can see why. I’m not sure I could live here, but I’d be amenable to visiting a lot.

  We walk up dozens of steps—the very steps on which my parents met—and I already feel closer to them. The church is breathtaking. Tourists are snapping pictures from every angle. Inside, a few people are sitting in pews, praying. A mother is trying to keep her rambunctious child quiet. And old man is lighting a candle.

  “Come,” Oliver says, offering me his hand.

  He leads me to the front of the sanctuary. We stop and stand at the altar, Oliver turning to face me almost like a groom facing his bride. “We could get married here if you want,” he says. “Just as your parents did. I’m sure they have an enormous waiting list, so it could be years away. But I just wanted to put it out there.”

  I think about what he said. Years away. And somehow, hearing those words makes the thought of marrying him not so daunting. Years. I’d have years to get to know him again. And he’s willing to wait that long.

  “Maybe,” I say, looking at our surroundings.

  “Come again?” he whispers a little too loudly.

  “I said maybe.”

  “Sara, I would pick you up and twirl you around right now if I didn’t think they’d throw us out on our bums.”

  “Shhh,” I scold him, like the mother who was scolding her boisterous son. “People are praying.”

  He looks out at the solemn parishioners. “Maybe they need to know that prayers are sometimes answered.”

  Oliver smiles at me and I feel myself flush. It’s the first time I’ve truly had this reaction around him.

  Coming here was a good thing. Getting away from New York may have been just what I needed to get back to normal. Or start my new normal.

  “Your mom asked me if we were planning on having children,” I say.

  He raises a brow. “And what did you tell her?”

  I shift uncomfortably. Standing at the front of a church is probably not where we should be having this conversation.

  “I said I couldn’t remember and that we hadn’t discussed it yet. She told me she thought I’d make a great mother.”

  “Did she now?” he says with a grin.

  He looks over at the mother and child, studying them. “I think my mum is right, you’d make a great mother, Sara. But I’m not sure I’m ready to be a dad, luv. I think I could be. In time. The concept of children is all very new to me. I think you’d have to be patient with me.”

  “Like you’ve been patient with me,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He tucks my hair behind my ears. “Anything for you.”

  I look up at him, thinking of everything he’s done for me today. Everything he’s done for me over the past few months. He’s not asked anything of me. Not one time. Other than a few bumps when I first arrived home, he’s been the perfect man. I often ask myself how a man can be so patient and understanding.

  “I think I’m ready to take the next step, Ollie.”

  I feel myself blush.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  I nod.

  “Dear Lord.” He looks around and then grabs my hand. “I think we’d better get out of here before lightning strikes us dead talking about such things on the altar of a church before we’re properly hitched.”

  I laugh as I let him lead me back up the aisle. And I wonder if one day, we’ll make this same walk as man and wife.

  Then I feel a twinge of guilt in my chest. I try to ignore it—after all, I’m doing what everyone said I should do. Aren’t I?

  ~ ~ ~

  Dinner with Ollie’s family tonight was filled with stolen glances between the two of us. We both know what’s going to happen when we retire to his old bedroom. I’m nervous. He’s excited. His family is oblivious.

  He makes up an excuse as to why we can’t watch old home movies after cleaning up.

  “We’re still a bit laggy,” he says to them. “Give us another day to get used to the time change, will you?”

  “Of course,” Enid says. “Take all the time you need.” She pulls me in for a hug. “I had a time of it today, luv. You’re perfect for my Ollie. I hope you know that.”

  “Thank you, Enid.”

  Oliver winks at me as I hug his mom. I can tell he’s impatient. He’s waited a long time for this.

  “Goodnight, then,” she says as we walk up the stairs.

  They all watch us walk away, and I feel more than a little self-conscious knowing I’m about to have sex with Oliver in his parents’ house. I wave awkwardly at the three of them before we round the corner on the landing.

  Behind closed doors, Ollie pulls me in for a kiss. Then he looks at my clothes and cocks his head. “I don’t suppose you brought one of those little numbers I gave you as a welcome home gift.”

  I shake my head. “No. I didn’t anticipate this.”

  “It’s ok
ay,” he says. “Truth be told, I’d rather fancy seeing you without anything on at all.”

  I look nervously at the bed.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. I’m just going to pop in the washroom for a quick shower. You make yourself comfortable.”

  I sit down on the edge of the bed, hearing him brush his teeth before the shower turns on. I have nothing to wear for such an occasion, so I decide a t-shirt will have to do. I search my things for one. I come across the FDNY t-shirt Denver gave me. I pick it up and run my hand across it, closing my eyes as my fingers peruse the soft cotton. Part of me wonders why I packed it when I was going on a trip with Ollie.

  A wave of guilt washes over me. I put the shirt back in the drawer, tucking it under all the other shirts as if to put a barrier between it and myself.

  I pick another one and put it on, figuring it’ll have to do. But suddenly, I’m not in the mood for anything but cuddling up to my cat and dreaming about eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

  I sit back on the bed, trying to remember all the wonderful things Oliver did for me today. He deserves this. I hear a noise come from the bathroom and listen closely to hear him singing. He’s singing in the shower. I can’t help but giggle.

  Then my phone rings, which surprises me. Few people ever call me, and those who do, know I’m in London. I look at the screen to see Denver’s face. I shake my head at the timing.

  “Hi, Denver.”

  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. It’s not even ten o’clock here.”

  “Good. Is Oliver with you now?”

  “Yes. Well, he’s in the bathroom, but he’s here. Why?”

  “Can you make an excuse to get away for a bit?”

  “We were just about to get into bed, so I doubt it.”

  Talking to Denver right before I’m supposed to make love to Oliver makes my insides twist in a knot. I wonder if he thinks we’re sleeping together. I’m sure he does. I’m sure everyone does. We’re engaged, after all.