Sparks Fly

by Kris Calvert

  SPARKS FLY

  A Moonlight and Magnolias Novella

  Kris Calvert

  © Copyright 2014 by Kris Calvert

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover by Jim Wilmink, Insignia Design

  jim@insigniadesign.com

  Edited by Mary Yakovets and Molly J. Kimbrell

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Mary and Molly the best doggone grammar ninjas in the business. You keep my I’s dotted, my T’s crossed, and me on my toes. I’m incredibly grateful for you.

  Thank you Robyn for reading for me. Your suggestions, insight and friendship mean the world to me. You rock and I love you.

  Thank you Jim, my friend and colleague for over twenty years. You are the most talented designer I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing or working with. Thank you for being my friend through thick and thin.

  Finally, thank you to my wonderful husband, Rob and my two amazing children, Luke and Haley. Even in our darkest times, we’ve always had each other and we’ve always had hope.

  For anyone who has ever suffered a broken heart–

  Someday, someone will hug you so tightly,

  all your broken pieces will stick back together.

  Be ready.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  June 19th

  June 20th

  June 21st

  June 23rd

  June 25th

  June 27th

  June 26th

  June 28th

  June 29th

  July 1st

  July 2nd

  July 3rd

  July 4th

  One year later…

  Connect with Kris

  Excerpt from Sex, Lies & Lipstick

  A note from the Author

  Coming Soon: Sex Lies & Pearls

  New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.

  –Lao Tzu

  June 19th

  Banks Bartel hated deadlines. As an artist, limits were what he was taught to throw off in school. Time and space should never interfere with his creative process. The absolute pouring of his soul into his art couldn’t and shouldn’t be bound by mere days on a calendar or sleepless nights of introspective pondering. And yet as he sat in his studio and gazed at the sculpture he’d been obsessing over, what mattered most wasn’t the texture, the line or composition of the work. It was the time frame he was being held to. Commissioned artwork had deadlines and this one fell on his least favorite day of the year.

  In what was to be his hometown’s Sesquicentennial celebration, the forty-foot, six thousand pound stainless steel sculpture for the rehabilitated town square needed to be finished, delivered and installed for the upcoming Independence Day celebration. He had two weeks – two short weeks.

  As Banks watched the sliding door to his barn studio open to the sunlight, he had an inkling of who was coming to see him. What he didn’t know was if he wanted hear what she had to say.

  “Banks!” his sister shouted.

  Grace Bartel squinted – impatient for her eyes to adjust to the dark conditions her brother was accustomed to working in. She was a spark plug at four foot ten inches tall and as petite in frame as she was in stature. But Grace’s looks were deceiving. She had a temper as fiery as the red hair on her head and a short fuse to accompany it. She was tiny, but a force to be reckoned with. It was the face she presented to the world, but underneath she was a girl on the verge of giving up.

  A sommelier and owner of her own wine shop, The Seller, Grace was a shrewd businesswoman – even if Banks did have to talk her out of naming her store Grace’s Whines.

  She pushed the wide doors of the massive studio barn closed allowing the sunlight to brighten the expansive area for a mere moment.

  “For pity’s sake, it’s dark in here.”

  “Hey, Gracie,” Banks nodded as he pulled the heavy welding helmet from where it sat perched on his forehead. He rubbed his face, unable to recall when he’d put it on or exactly why it was there. He’d not worked, let alone tap-started an arc in days. He had good intentions, but couldn’t seem to finish and let it go.

  “How’s it coming along?” Grace asked, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and promptly wiping his salty taste from her lips.

  “I need more time.”

  “To do what? Wring your hands and worry that it’s not right? It’s never going to be right…for you.”

  He knew what she said was true. What he didn’t know was how to commemorate something so personal. How did he translate what he felt without baring his soul in one piece of art that was to be shared by so many?

  He shook off the emotion and shoved his hands in his pockets. “What brings you to the boonies? Surely you didn’t come all the way out here to see if I was still on task.”

  As the words crossed his lips, he knew no matter what she said that was the reason she’d come to visit.

  “No,” she smiled at him, dropping her shoulders. “I just worry about my big brother from time to time. Is that okay?”

  “Does the worry come with a sandwich from your shop?” Banks asked as his stomach growled. It was nearly noon and he’d begun toiling away in the studio at four in the morning after a fitful night of sleep – if you could call what he did sleeping. He hadn’t realized how empty his body felt. He’d been too consumed with the emptiness of his mind.

  “What do you think?” she asked, giving him a half-grin.

  “You wouldn’t make the effort to check up on me if you didn’t bring me some sort of sustenance, and since I’m pretty damn sure you’re not going to bring me wine from your store at noon, hopefully you’ve got a sandwich tucked somewhere in that huge bag you call a purse.”

  Banks and his sister Grace looked enough alike to be siblings, but bore no resemblance to either of their parents. Adopted at the ages of seven and nine from Russia, they had been inseparable for most of their life. In fact, the Bartels initial plan twenty-two years ago was to adopt one child. But when they discovered Banks had a younger sister who refused to leave his side, they knew they would be getting a package deal. Now that they were grown, not much had changed.

  The Bartel family wasn’t one of power and wealth but love and support. Banks had worked hard to be the type of artist that didn’t worry where his next meal was coming from and in turn had afforded Grace the opportunity to travel to Europe to find herself. The fact that, for the time being, Banks’ works were sought after and the money was good wasn’t something either of them took for granted, as they were both still able to remember what it was like living in an orphanage in Astrakhan, Russia.

  Now that they were older, they remained closely knit, clinging tightly to each other for support just as they’d always done.

  “How’s the arm?” Grace asked as she handed over the saran-wrapped turkey on whole wheat and strained to check out the bandage on her brother’s left forearm.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” he droned. “I’m going back to have the stitches taken out in a few days. The doctor said just to come back in the ER and he’d take care of it for me.”

  For as beautifully artistic as Banks was in his work, he seemed careless or perhaps just accident-prone while in his workshop. Three weeks ago he’d fallen from a ladd
er while working above the metal sculpture, slicing his forearm open resulting in a trip to the emergency room in town. He was unhappy with the physical pain, but thankful to have an excuse not to work for a few days.

  “Do you want me to go with you? You know, for moral support?” Grace asked with a mixture of sarcasm and sincerity.

  “I think I’ll be just fine alone. Besides, I’m sure you have better things to do than sit with me in the ER.”

  “Actually, I have a massage scheduled.”

  Banks let out a quiet chuckle. He’d given her a gift certificate for a massage over a year ago and soon found out she had no intention of disrobing and allowing someone to rub their hands all over her body while tranquil music played in the background.

  For Banks, a monthly ninety-minute massage was a necessity. The constant movement and isolation of his body in contorted ways meant sore muscles. Regular massage was the best way for him to unwind the tension in his body. Still, it did nothing to unwind his mind.

  “Did you schedule it with my girl Belinda?”

  “Yes,” she replied as she cocked her hip to one side and shook her head.

  “Excellent. I know you’ll have a good experience with her. I would hate for your first massage to be…”

  “What?” she asked. “Horrible?”

  “Weird,” Banks replied with a smile.

  “What could be weird about it? Damn you, Banks. Now you have me thinking.”

  “About what?” he laughed. “I’m sorry. It won’t be weird. She’s great. Go and relax. I’m glad you’re finally using your birthday present.”

  “You’re killing me, Banks. You know that?” Grace sighed as she came in for a hug. “If you weren’t my brother, I’d think you were some good-looking guy who holes up in a barn in the middle of nowhere and welds crap together and calls it art.”

  “You mean that’s not who I am?” Banks whispered into her shoulder as she hugged him tightly.

  “No,” Grace shook her head. “You’re my good-looking brother who needs to find a girl.”

  “Grace,” he sighed.

  “Okay, okay.” Grace backed off her words with her body. “But you’ve got to get out more, Banks. I worry about you. You’ve really not gone anywhere or done much of anything since –”

  “I know,” he replied as he shoved his hands back into his pockets and looked away. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not today. Not this close to July fourth.

  “I’m saying this because I love you. Everyone is trying to move forward, Banks. You should too.”

  “Why do you think I agreed to do this piece?” he asked, gesturing to the mound of steel that hung over them. “This is for everyone.”

  “Honestly?” Grace replied as she slid the barn door open just enough to slip out and into the daylight. “I think you did it for her.”

  June 20th

  Danielle Trask looked like a model. At five eleven, she towered over most women and some men. Her slender frame and long legs were often hidden in her conservative business suits. She liked it that way. She kept her platinum blonde hair short and cut into a pixie as she thought it made her look like the girl next door – the girl next door who just happened to be a Mensa member, amazing cook and kick ass public relations person. Most of the men she encountered didn’t care how smart she was – only that she could be on the cover of Maxim magazine. It had served her well when she lived in Los Angeles, as most of the women there were tall, blonde, beautiful and powerful. Now that she’d left the city of angels and her abusive boyfriend for a quieter life she continued to use her beauty and intelligence as a weapon. And she wielded it well. A self-defense mechanism she’d developed after years of ass grabbing, Danielle didn’t like that men considered her face and body before they ever cared to know who she was on the inside. It was a flaw in the world of the smart and beautiful – those who cared only about one attribute rarely noticed the other.

  When she arrived into town at the urging of her brother, she’d all but given up on men. And when her latest debacle of a date told her she was every man’s dream – a hot-bodied blonde with a hefty paycheck who could cook – she did give up.

  He was certain she was the kind of woman who could “keep a man satisfied”. When he tried to cop a feel, she rearranged his junk with her knee. In retrospect, it was satisfying.

  Danielle tried not to think about the fact that she was thirty, single, and alone. Instead she concentrated on the task at hand, PR for the Independence Day black tie event, Red, Black, White and Blue. The event would accompany the one hundred and fiftieth celebration of the town she’d moved to almost a year ago. It was a big deal to get the gig as many other long-time agencies had put in competitive bids for the occasion. Somehow, Danielle got the job.

  As she strolled into the town hall, she looked like the model most men thought her to be in tight black pants that hit her just above the ankle, a long flowing shirt that covered her muscular behind and black heels. She didn’t like to be thought of as an object, so she used her height to intimidate any man who might have plans to make a pass. Towering over the men on the Sesquicentennial committee and in her three-inch heels, Danielle was easily the tallest person in the room.

  “Good morning, Ms. Trask,” the mayor and committee chairman nodded as Danielle took a seat at the table with the other members.

  She took notes as each member reported on their particular aspect of the July Fourth celebration until it was finally her turn to speak.

  “Press releases have gone out. We’ll have a press conference to address any questions about the weekend if needed and all the promotional materials are out,” she began. “We have a confirmed number of three hundred and fifty-eight plates for the event, and so far we’re right on schedule for everything. The tents will go up three days prior. There’s a separate tent for the porta-potties being brought in and –”

  “Sorry to be so late,” chimed a voice from the door.

  Danielle caught her breath when she saw the man in black Ray-Ban Wayfarers and blue hospital scrubs walk into the room, flashing everyone a big white smile.

  “Everyone,” announced the mayor, “this is Dr. Seth Newman. I thought it would be nice to have someone from the hospital sit in on the last couple of meetings so we could go over any emergency plans that need to be made. Dr. Newman runs the ER in town.”

  Seth Newman was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, and the first thing that caught Danielle’s eye was the fact that he’d needed to duck when entering the old room that was part of the courthouse building. He looked like a long and lanky basketball player who’d gotten lost on his way to the gym. Apparently Dr. Newman had gotten lost on his way to the courthouse.

  “Even though I’ve lived here a while, I still get a little turned around from time to time,” he explained as he took off the sunglasses and tossed them on the table.

  Seth surveyed the room before taking a seat, gazing at each member of the committee that surrounded the old boardroom table. When he made it to Danielle, she was looking at her notepad, but eventually looked up to find him transfixed on her.

  “Dr. Newman?” the mayor asked. “Are you acquainted with everyone here?”

  “I don’t believe so,” he smiled, unable to break his gaze on Danielle. “I’m Seth.”

  He rose abruptly, taking the long way around the room to get to her. She stood upon his arrival and they gave each other a grin, as even in her heels Seth was still half a head taller than she. It was a moment only tall people could appreciate. It was a moment tall women wait for their entire life.

  “Danielle Trask,” she nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” he replied as he lingered in his handshake and they began to make everyone else in the room uncomfortable.

  “Well,” the mayor interrupted, “let’s get on with it. Shall we?”

  Instead of walking back to his original seat, Dr. Seth Newman took it upon himself to occupy the empty chair next to Danielle.r />
  “Sorry,” Seth apologized again.

  “As you were saying, Danielle,” said the mayor.

  “Right,” she continued as she caught a whiff of the fresh smelling Dr. Newman and lost her train of thought. “Um…we’re basically on track. I mean, we’re on schedule.”

  The mayor nodded but didn’t say anything more to her. “Dr. Newman? Is there anything you’d like to add? I know you’re new to our plans, but I want to give you an opportunity to chime in.”

  “I’ve arranged for extra EMTs to be on call that night and I’ll be at the party, but I’m pulling the eleven to eleven shift in the ER so I’ll only be able to enjoy it for a short while.”

  “And the hospital?”

  “The ER is fully prepared for any emergency or …” he paused. “Natural disaster.”

  “Even though it’s been three years, I know it’s still fresh in the minds of our community,” said the mayor. “But I think it’s important to still mark these one hundred and fifty years of our community and pay tribute to the loved ones we lost.”

  “I agree,” said another member from the table.

  “In fact,” the mayor continued, “Dr. Newman has been here almost three years now. Correct? It’s what brought you to our community.”

  “Yes,” he dropped his head and began to push a paper clip that lay on the table around aimlessly with his big hand. “I came in…after.”

  The mayor sighed heavily, knowing almost everyone around the table had been affected by the EF Five tornado that blew through their town at almost three hundred miles per hour just three short years ago on July fourth – everyone except Danielle Trask and Dr. Seth Newman.

  As the meeting adjourned, Danielle picked up her bag and yellow notepad and headed for the door. She in no way wanted Dr. Tall, Dark and Handsome to think she was interested – even if she was.