Spark

by Erin Noelle

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Foster,” I cheerfully greet the first couple to make it over to the tables. “Did you enjoy the horseback riding today?”

  The great thing about only having eight cabins at our resort is once I meet a guest, it’s easy to remember their names and the things they share with me during their stay. We embrace the bed and breakfast atmosphere, but the separate cottages give everyone, our family included, plenty of privacy if desired. I don’t work registration personally—my mom takes charge of all of that—but it doesn’t take long after people check-in for us to get to know them.

  “It was a little chillier than I expected, but we had a great time.” Mr. Foster pulls the chair out for his wife then sits down next to her. “Thank you for recommending that place. They were top notch.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. If you need help with anything else, just let me know.”

  Smiling brightly at them one more time before moving to acknowledge the Coleman’s, my eyes snap over to see who’s entering each and every time someone comes through the doorway, impatiently waiting for Beckham to show up. Now that I’m here and it’s time, I just want to get this over with so it can be done and we can be free to go to the movies or wherever he’s planning on taking me.

  After exchanging hellos and small talk with three more couples, I introduce myself to some new arrivals—a couple of older gay men, and then Mary and Caleb Elliott, an attractive, thirty-something woman and her son, who I’d guess is around thirteen. It’s as I’m going through my usual welcoming spiel, most of my attention attuned to the kid whose face could light up the darkest of canyons, when the door swings open and he steps inside.

  I stop speaking mid-sentence, every thought I have disappearing before it reaches the tip of my tongue as I simply stare at him. The horses have awakened, but they’re no longer running from the nervousness and anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Instead, they’re galloping inside my chest, racing to keep up with my pounding heart, thus warming my body from the inside out.

  His shaggy brown hair and scruffy, unshaven face, along with the navy thermal and worn jeans he’s wearing, are imperfectly perfect, and he walks with a confidence that is neither arrogant or haughty, but captivating and irresistible. I’m sure if I dared to glance around the room, others—namely my sisters—would have their hungry eyes fixated on him as well. But I don’t risk tearing my gaze away, because right now, he’s staring directly at me as he strides in my direction.

  Somehow, I know he’s going to make this day both special and charming. The only problem is he isn’t my date.

  “Hey, stud man. We haven’t even been here an hour and you’ve already got the hot chicks flocking to you. I’m impressed.” Smirking, he ruffles the back of my new friend Caleb’s sandy-colored hair, his twinkling green eyes still locked on mine.

  The cute, freckle-faced kid cranes his neck up to look at him with a big, goofy grin. “Well, I learned from the best of the best.”

  “That you did, lil’ bro. That you most certainly did,” he repeats lowly, obviously referring to himself. The taunting smirk transforms into a full-blown, I-get-girls-to-drop-their-panties-at-will smile, and I subtly grab ahold of the chair in front of me, steadying myself from whatever craziness is happening inside of me while praying my tights are immune to his allure and stay up on my hips.

  Okay, so maybe he’s a wee bit full of himself, but he did call me hot, so I’m willing to forgive a little cockiness.

  It’s not until Mary says, “Crew, stop being an arrogant ass and properly introduce yourself to this nice girl. Her family owns the lodge,” that I realize I haven’t spoken a word or stopped staring at him since he walked in. God, I must look like a complete idiot.

  Closing my jaw, which had evidently dropped open sometime during my gawking session, I force out the improper thoughts swirling in my head—a rarity for me—and turn on my best hostess face, extending my arm in his direction. “Hi, I’m Hudson Shavell.” Those are the only words I can manage, because when he takes my hand in his, all of the nerve endings in my fingers and my palm fly into hyperdrive, shooting a jolt of energy straight up my arm and throughout the rest of my body.

  “Nice to meet ya, Hudson Shavell. I’m Crew Elliott, the arrogant ass for a son,” he jokes, his Southern drawl endearing, while holding onto my hand a few seconds longer than necessary. “I’m glad you got to meet the sweet son first, but don’t let that innocent face fool you; he’s more of a heartbreaker than I could ever dream of being.”

  “Shut up, Crew!” Caleb exclaims, playfully punching his older brother in the ribs. “Don’t be cock-blocking me. Even if Hudson here isn’t digging my chili, have you looked around and seen the rest of her sisters? They’re smokin’ too, man.”

  Unable to hold back, I burst out laughing as Mary flicks her younger son on the ear and shakes her head in disbelief, mumbling something about having boys. Meanwhile, Crew is scanning the dining room, obviously searching out my other smokin’ sisters, which puts a damper on my short-lived amusement. I know at least one of them will be all over him before the night is over, and seeing how I’m going on a date with someone else, I can’t very well call dibs on him, or whatever my sisters usually do when they all see a cute guy they’re interested in.

  Never before have I cared much to find out how this process works, but I’m guessing it’s not like food. I suppose licking his face real quick to mark him as mine for when I get back wouldn’t be appropriate.

  “Hudson! Hey, Hudson, your date just got here! Doug’s got him cornered in the lobby,” Cheyenne calls out from behind me, emphasizing the word ‘date’ with the sugary-sweet voice she only uses when she wants something. And unfortunately, I know exactly what she wants right now.

  I twist around at the waist, careful not to snarl my nose up at her, and tip my chin in acknowledgement. “Thanks, sis,” I bite out. “I’ll go save him.”

  Turning back toward Mary, Crew, and Caleb, I twist the corners of my lips up in an apologetic smile. “Excuse me. It was a pleasure meeting you all, and I’m sure I’ll see you around quite a bit during your stay. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Our cell numbers are listed in the welcome packet in your cabin.”

  Then, without introducing Cheyenne to the group, which I know she’s eagerly waiting for, I spin on my heel and hurry out to the lobby to rescue Beckham from the wrath of my dad’s inability to shut up, wondering why this day of all days Crew Elliott walked into the lodge. It’s almost like a sick joke from the gods. Finally, after hearing my boy-crazy sisters for years, never understanding what all the hype was about, I’m introduced to someone who turns my insides to a liquefied, chaotic mess at the mere sight of him, only to be yanked away and put in the arms of someone else.

  Awesome-sauce.

  Dinner is…interesting, for lack of a better word.

  As luck would have it, I end up sitting directly across the table from Crew, who is flanked by Dakota and Cheyenne, both of who are sitting so close he can barely move his arms without elbowing them. I’m a little concerned they’re actually drooling in his food, but he doesn’t seem to mind, so I don’t either. Well, at least I tell myself I don’t.

  With Beckham to my left and Brighton to my right, I’m settled between my favorite sibling and a guy who’s obviously interested in me, based on the number of times he’s nudged his knee against mine and how he keeps dropping his hand under the table to graze his fingers suggestively along my upper thigh. But instead of feeling content and at ease, I’m edgy and jittery, ready to jump up and bolt at the drop of a hat.

  “So, Crew, where’d you say you guys are from again?” Beckham asks in between bites of chicken parmigiana, one of Gram’s specialties.

  Crew looks up from his plate and his intense stare catches mine, sending an odd tingle down my spine. I hastily shift my gaze over to Caleb, who’s trying to sneak peeks down Cheyenne’s low-cut blouse while she’s attempting to inch her way into Crew’s lap. I already like this kid.

&n
bsp; “Uh, I didn’t, but we’re from Dallas.”

  “That’s cool.” Beckham nods politely, his long, straw-colored hair falling into his face with the movement. “I’ve never been to Texas, but I’d love to check it out someday.”

  Crew snickers and sets his fork down, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in the chair. “Not much to see, man. It’s a bunch of flat land that’s hot as hell in the summer and cold as a witch’s tits in the winter.”

  Incapable of resisting the magnetic pull any longer, I glance back over at him to find his eyes still glued to me, though his focus is narrowed in on where Beckham’s arm disappears under the table and into my lap. He scowls; at least, I think he does…or maybe it’s that I hope he does, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

  “Dude, you’ve got no idea what cold is until you’ve been up on the mountain during a January snowstorm,” I remark, tipping my head toward the enormous windows that cover one entire wall of the dining area and provide a panoramic view of Breckenridge Mountain. “A Texas boy like yourself, you’d swear you’re freezing from the inside out. I doubt you could make it an hour.”

  “Is that a challenge, Miss Shavell?” Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the edge of the table and cocks a defiant eyebrow at me.

  “It would be…if you were gonna be here in January, Mr. Elliott,” I retort sassily, secretly hoping for some off-chance that he would be here then.

  With no regard to Beckham, who’s vigilantly observing the entire exchange, he winks at me, almost as if he just heard my silent thought. “Careful what you wish for.”

  Crew has a way of looking at me that makes me feel like I’m the only other person in the room, which is simultaneously enthralling and unnerving, mostly because this guy is a complete stranger. I’ve known him all of an hour, and he’s already rattled me on several occasions, wreaking havoc on my usually composed and collected self. And what’s worse is I’m pretty sure he knows he’s doing it…and liking it.

  Maybe Grams changed up her super-special brownie recipe and the two I snuck earlier while getting ready are affecting me more than I planned? Or maybe now that I’m going on a real date, my girly hormones are all out of whack? Either way, I’m flustered to the point my entire body is heating up like I’m sitting inside a sauna, and I’m in desperate need of some fresh air.

  The wooden legs of my chair scrape loudly across the slate floor as I push away from the table and rise to my feet. “I’m absolutely stuffed,” I lie. I barely ate a thing. “I need to grab my purse from the house before we leave.”

  Beckham glances down at the huge slice of chocolate cake he just served himself, and then back up at me. “Do you care if I finish this before we go?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll meet you out front.”

  “I think that went well,” Beckham declares as he slides behind the steering wheel of his late-model black Ford truck, his lips lifting at the edges before he starts the ignition.

  Nodding, I pull my coat tighter around my chest and offer a tight-lipped grin. “Yeah, with my family, you never know what you’re gonna get.”

  “They were all really nice. Even your dad…he didn’t show me his gun collection or anything,” he jokes. “Though, I have to admit it’d be weird to eat with a bunch of strangers all the time. How do you get used to that?”

  The truck pulls out onto the long, winding road that leads to town as I shrug my shoulders and stare out the window. I don’t want to talk about dinner, mainly because I’m really not sure what just happened. “It’s just what I’m used to. I’ve never thought about it much.”

  We sit silently for a few minutes, and I wonder if he feels as awkward as I do. This night was supposed to be about my date with Beckham—a nice guy I met at the local college—not some conceited jerk from Dallas, who thinks he’s God’s gift to the female population…even if Crew does look like he just walked straight off the set of an Abercrombie photo shoot. So I decide to make a concerted effort to focus my attention on the date, pushing away all of the other tumultuous thoughts in my head. I can worry about those tomorrow, if they’re even still there.

  “Where are we headed?” I ask, adjusting slightly in my seat so I’m facing Beckham.

  He glances over at me and my lips tilt upwards, reaching my arm out across the middle console. His face lights up as he takes my hand in his and interlaces our fingers, and I pretend not to notice the lack of tingles or any other physical response when our skin touches.

  Obviously I’m attracted to Beckham, or I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him in the first place. With his wavy blond hair, light blue eyes, and never-ending wardrobe of flannels and jeans, I realize he looks like an older version of my brother—and a lot like me—which is probably why I gravitated toward him at the beginning of the semester. He makes me feel secure and relaxed, like I’m at home. He’s comfortable.

  “I thought we’d see a movie and then go grab a couple of beers,” he replies with a squeeze of my hand.

  I shift nervously in my seat. “Umm, you are aware I’m not twenty-one, right?”

  “My cousin works at a little pub down the mountain. You’ll be served if you’re with me.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “You get stoned, but you don’t drink? That makes no sense whatsoever.” He scrunches his nose up in a not-so-flattering manner.

  I knew I shouldn’t have shared that joint with him a couple of weeks ago, but I wasn’t even thinking when I lit up in my car while we were hanging out, listening to music between classes. Pot is such a natural thing for me—a part of my everyday life in multiple ways—that I forget it’s not like that for everyone else.

  Of course, at that point, I couldn’t very well deny him a couple of hits off it, which subsequently led us to a spirited discussion debating joints versus vaporizers. I made it clear he wasn’t going to sway me on my old-school love of hand-rolled doobies, and apparently, he doesn’t seem to mind too much, because every day since then, he’s followed me out to my car to partake in my ‘archaic’ form of smoking weed.

  “It makes all kinds of sense. When I smoke, I do it to chill out and focus, not to act like a belligerent idiot who makes a bunch of bad decisions that I wouldn’t normally make. Plus, I kind of dig my liver. I want to keep it around for a while.”

  Chuckling, he shakes his head incredulously. “So you don’t dig your lungs?”

  “I do, and I’m not going to argue with you about this, but there have been absolutely zero cases of lung cancer attributable to smoking weed,” I retort as I attempt to pull my hand free from his, but he holds tight. “Anyway, the point was I’m down for the movie, but don’t want to go to the bar. It’s not my scene.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. We won’t go.” He kills the engine as we pull into a parking space outside the cinema. Lifting my hand to his mouth, he kisses the back of my knuckles and grins. “Tonight’s all about you, babe. Whatever you want to do.”

  I relax a little and return the smile, feeling bad for snapping at him. “’Kay, let’s get some popcorn and cokes and go watch the movie. I haven’t been to a theater in years.”

  Beckham continues to hold my hand throughout the night, and a couple of times during the chick flick—which I’m sure he chose specifically for me—he leans over and kisses my cheek or the corner of my mouth. The kisses are nice, sweet even, but that’s all they are…nice and sweet.

  When he drops me off at my house, he escorts me to the front door like a true gentleman, and finally gives me a real kiss, lips on lips with a hint of tongue action. Again, the kiss is just mediocre, nothing mind-blowing or even belly-fluttering, but enjoyable.

  Waiting on the porch, I watch as he gets back in his F-150 and pulls out of the drive with one last wave of the hand. Then, right before I turn to go inside, movement outside of cabin number eight catches my eye, and as I narrow my focus on the area, I think I spot a flash of brown hair on someone on the porch, but the figure disappears before I can tell for
sure.

  “Mom, you still up?” I whisper as I tiptoe back inside the cabin, hoping I don’t wake Caleb in the process.

  “In and out,” she mumbles groggily, cuddled up next to my younger brother. “I couldn’t go completely until I knew you were in. Is everything okay?”

  Hanging my jacket up in the closet, I quietly kick off my boots and pick up the TV remote to turn it off. “Yeah, I’m good,” I sigh, lying down on the other queen-sized bed without bothering to take my jeans off. “I just can’t believe we’re finally here. It’s been a long day…shit, it’s been a long year. And I really hope this works out.”

  I squeeze my eyelids together, holding back the emotional tears that threaten to escape. I am not going to cry. I refuse to give in to the exhaustion. Not after we’ve come this far.

  “I’ve got a good feeling about this place. There’s something magical here; I just know it. Now get some sleep, Crew boy, we can start to explore tomorrow. I love you.” Her soothing voice whispering the nickname she’s called me since I was a kid acts as a warm blanket, tucking me in for the night.

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  Lying awake in the darkness, I think about the whirlwind of activity over the last few months as Mom and I’ve been working, alternating shifts seven days a week in order to save up for our big move. After exhausting all the neurologists in the Dallas area—and trust me, that’s a lot of neurologists—and trying all the standard antiepileptic meds on the market, we had changed tactics, reading everything we could on the internet, agreeing to try anything that didn’t sound outright dangerous. Lifestyle changes, avoiding triggers, ketogenic diet—nothing helped. In fact, my little brother’s seizures have increased in frequency and the severe pain of his migraines has intensified.

  After hours upon hours of research, we decided to move to Colorado to see if a combination of medical marijuana, holistic healing, and an overall change of scenery and atmosphere will lead to an improvement…anything at all that enhances his quality of life. It’s not the most traditional approach for treatment, and I feel like we may be clutching at straws here, but it kills me to watch Caleb suffer. I’ll try anything at this point.