Starry-Eyed Love (Spark House)

He reaches for the door handle, but I’m quicker. “I’ve got it.” I grab his coffee and the bag from the roof, gulping in fresh air—well, as fresh as it can be for a downtown street—and drop back into the passenger seat. I take one last haul of non-Jackson-scented air before I pull my door closed again, locking me inside with his charisma and the delectable smell of his cologne.

“Here you go.” His fingers brush mine as I transfer the coffee to his waiting hand, sending a small shiver through me.

I crack the window and clutch my own coffee with both hands. “This is a really nice car.” Awesome, London. Way to keep the conversation rolling with stupid observations.

“Thanks. It gets me from A to B and is as gentle on the environment as a car can be, so I like it too.” He gives me another sidelong glance.

“Harley and I have a hybrid. And we share a car. Mostly because it’s more economical than both of us owning one, and we live together so it makes sense.” If I can just keep talking about nothing, I’ll be able to survive today without adding another item to the list of humiliating things I say to Jackson.

“That’s smart and responsible.”

“And better financially.” I take a sip of my coffee and let my eyes slide his way. Thankfully his focus is on the road and not me. I should have picked something I could guzzle, since my mouth is dry, but buying a plastic bottle of water in Jackson’s presence seemed similar to taking God’s name in vain in front of a nun.

I’m currently too nervous to even consider putting more than coffee into my stomach. I dive into work-talk mode and spend the entire drive reviewing the plan for the upcoming event, going over the items up for auction. “Oh! If you have a little time when you drop me off at Spark House, we can visit the room where the silent auction will be held since you didn’t get to see the space last time.” I remind myself not to say anything about the way he bolted.

“That would be a good idea.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. He’s been driving with his hands at ten and two the entire time apart from when he takes a sip of coffee. “I don’t have another engagement until this evening.”

“Oh? What kind of engagement?” I blurt without thinking, like I have a right to know his personal schedule. I have the strangest uncomfortable feeling in my stomach.

“I’m looking at a couple of properties in Denver before I head back to New York.”

“That’s exciting. I thought maybe you had a date or something. I probably should have asked that before. If you were in a relationship. I guess I just sort of assumed you weren’t. And you know what they say about assumptions making an ass out of me.” I bite the end of my tongue. There I go again. “I’m so sorry. I should stop.”

He smiles. “I haven’t been on a date in quite some time.”

I dab at the edge of my coffee cup with a napkin, soaking up the drip of tan liquid. My blouse is pale, and I don’t want to risk a stain. “How long is quite some time?” I cringe. “Sorry. Again. I don’t know why I asked that.”

“It’s been several months. Since before that camping trip I went on.”

“I’m the last person you asked out?”

“You are.”

“Oh. Well. That’s … I’m sorry I said no.” Did he say no to me because he’s not attracted to me anymore? Maybe he’s not interested now that he knows me better. Why did I not consider that before now? Well, I might as well ask. I don’t have much to lose. My dignity was left behind long ago. “When you said you didn’t think it was a good idea for us to go on a date because it could complicate things, was that just you letting me down easy?” I consider unbuckling my seat belt and throwing the door open, but that would leave Harley on her own to deal with Avery.

“That wasn’t my intention at all, London. I realized after you joined the Teamology initiative and with the event that you’re hosting for me, that I’d put us in a difficult position. That’s all.”

I entertain shoving the entire cinnamon roll I still haven’t touched into my mouth to stop myself from asking what other positions he’d like to put us in. Instead, I say the next thing that I think.

“Why aren’t you in a relationship? I mean, you’re successful and you”—I gesture to him—“look like this.” I can’t read his expression, but it seems as though he’s fighting a smile.

He shrugs. “Relationships are successful for people who want them to be.”