The Spark (Carolina Connections Book 2)

by Sylvie Stewart

  Given all of that, coupled with the frightened rabbit impression Fiona had pulled again on Tuesday, I was letting that whole situation stew for a few days. But it looked like my time was up. I didn’t want her flipping out and dismissing me—I’d only meant to give her time to miss me a bit and get comfortable with the notion of having me around. Apparently, my plan had flaws. Now I had to figure out a new one. Fast.

  Mark: Hey Shortcake. You awake?

  Fiona: I am now, thanks to this annoying guy who just texted me.

  Mark: Aw, I love it when you get all sweet and charming.

  Fiona: Haha. Is there a point to this?

  Mark: You bet. Been swamped since we got back but I wanted to know if you were free for dinner tomorrow night. Sorry for the short notice.

  I was proud of myself for being all sensitive and shit and not allowing her to bait me.

  Mark: Fiona? You still awake?

  Perhaps my idea of sensitive and hers were slightly different.

  Fiona: Sorry—just checking my schedule and it turns out I need to wash my hair tomorrow night.

  What a little smartass.

  Mark: Look, I’m sorry it took me so long to contact you. If it helps, I’ve been thinking about that thing you did in the shower…

  Honestly, I just wanted to tell her I hadn’t stopped thinking about her at all—and not just the sex, although that was part of it. I am a guy. But if I told her I missed her or got overly attentive, I would definitely scare her away.

  Fiona: Well I should hope so—that was some of my best work.

  Mark: Yes, ma’am. So dinner?

  Fiona: You seriously want to go out on a date?

  Mark: Yeah.

  Nothing.

  Mark: Shortcake, I’ve already seen you naked and shared several meals with you. I think you can handle it.

  Fiona: Fine. What time and how should I dress?

  I was tempted to suggest getting take-out, but that wouldn’t go well with my new strategy. It would just turn into naked dinner and the plan was to woo her instead of just jumping her.

  I know. I’m just as surprised as you.

  Mark: 7:15 and wear whatever you want—we’re going to The Marshall Free House.

  Fiona: Okay. I’m going back to sleep now.

  I wanted to tell her I wished I were there.

  Mark: Sweet dreams, Shortcake.

  That would have to do for now.

  “I was gonna park and come up to get you!” I shouted out my window as I rolled up in front of Fiona’s building. She looked up, startled, as if she hadn’t been expecting me. There she was on the sidewalk, phone in hand, with her brow furrowed—though it loosened when she saw me. Huh, that felt pretty damn good. Then she smirked at me and the sass was back.

  “Hey there, He-Man. Thought I’d just meet you down here,” she said as she started toward the truck, tucking her phone back in her purse.

  She looked like a magazine ad—her hair was pulled back into some messy knot which I’m sure was intended to look casual but in fact required tons of time and precision. And she was wearing these pants that hung daringly low on her hips. The only words I possess in my vocabulary to describe them are M.C. Hammer pants—but totally kick-ass in a girlie kind of way.

  Okay, I’m just going to stop now because it’s beyond obvious I don’t know the first thing about fashion. And I am totally comfortable with that.

  Suffice it to say, my future girlfriend was all kinds of hot. She officially had permission to stick her nose into my business anytime she liked.

  I did wonder, though, if she had “people” or something to prepare her whenever she exited her condo and went out into the world. I’ve heard of that before, but I’m pretty sure that’s only for rich people who live in New York and L.A., not the great metropolis that is Greensboro, North Carolina. I was sensing I had a lot to learn.

  I stopped staring at her like an idiot long enough to shift into park and hop out to help her with her door. The Hammer pants looked just as good from behind. I shut her door and soon we were pulling away from the curb for the short drive to the restaurant.

  She opened her mouth to speak but I beat her to the punch, wanting to set the tone for the evening. “You look beautiful.”

  Her jaw snapped shut, stifling whatever she’d been about to say. Her cheeks turned a little pink and she finally said, “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  I regarded my cargo pants and plain cotton button-down. If she said so. “Thanks,” I replied.

  Just then her phone rang from inside her purse and I swear she growled at it.

  “You need to get that?” I asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Okay, then.” There really was no other possible reply.

  The ringing stopped as the call presumably went to voicemail and then a few seconds later it started again.

  This time, Fiona threw her purse on the floor of the passenger side only to change her mind and pick it up a couple seconds later, rifling through it for the offending device. She stabbed at the phone and put it to her ear.

  “I’m only answering to tell you that I’m turning my phone off so you may as well stop calling. I will not be answering for the rest of the night and I felt it only fair to tell you that because I don’t want you to jump to some insane conclusion that the reason your calls are going unanswered is because I’m languishing on the side of the road somewhere grasping in vain for my phone in one final attempt to speak with my beloved mother before I die under the heap of mangled steel that was once a car. I don’t need you and Dad trolling the sides of I-40 all night looking for my body. I’m not dying, I’m not answering my phone, and I’m not talking about this. Goodnight and I love you.” She started to pull the phone away from her face but brought it back up one more time. “Tell Dad I love him too.”

  She stabbed the end button, threw the phone back in her purse and let out a giant sigh. Then she turned to me. “Do you think Kelly would adopt me?”

  “Shortcake, given that we’re currently on a date and I’ve seen every inch of your naked body, I’d say that question is a tad inappropriate.”

  Her mouth twisted to the side. “Hmm. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “I would ask if everything is okay but I think even the people in the next town over know it’s not.”

  “Ugh. It’s my mother.” She shook her head.

  “I gathered that.”

  She rolled her eyes at me. “I told her I had a date.”

  “And?” I didn’t see what the problem was. I switched my turn signal on and made my way toward Battleground Avenue.

  “I don’t exactly date much,” she confessed.

  “Me neither.” I glanced over and grinned—in a way I hoped came off as conspiratorial as opposed to, say, lascivious.

  “Yes, I know,” she muttered under her breath. Crap, somebody had been hearing stories about me. I knew it would happen but I had to nip this in the bud.

  “Until you,” I said, flat out. I looked over again to gauge her response.

  She squirmed in her seat. “This is a bad idea,” was all she said.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It just is,” she sighed. Well, that wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Give me one valid reason,” I challenged.

  She looked out the passenger window and I thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer me. Then she said, “It’s complicated.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Quit dancing around it and give me something solid, Shortcake.”

  She twisted her body toward me. “Fine. I don’t want our friends to have to choose sides when this is over. That right there is a damn good reason!”

  Yeah, she was still under the impression that this was going to be some kind of temporary friends-with-benefits thing. Granted, if we dated like I wanted to and then for some unforeseen reason did indeed break up down the road, her point would be valid. But who wants to dwell on that kind of depressin
g thought? So, I went with the best response I could come up with.

  “Fine. If things between us end, you can have them. Except Jake—that one would be a bit awkward at holidays and family reunions,” I attempted to joke.

  She scoffed. “Not ‘if,’ ‘when’ things end.”

  “Are you psychic or something? You carry around a crystal ball I don’t know about in one of your giant handbags?”

  “You know, Mark, normally I’m a huge fan of sarcasm but I’m being totally serious and you’re just making light of it.”

  I pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and put the truck in park. Turning to her I said, “If I can promise you one thing, Fiona, it’s that I’m not taking any of this lightly.” And with that, I released my seatbelt and got out to retrieve my girl. Because she was—she just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Worst Kind of Trouble

  FIONA

  What the hell was that supposed to mean?! Whatever it meant, I was definitely in trouble—double-dog-doo trouble, otherwise known as fucking trouble. It seemed perhaps Laney had been right—Mark wanted to date date.

  I didn’t know how to do that!

  I didn’t want to do that!

  I wasn’t capable of doing that!

  Pride cut in at this point. “For the love of God, please don’t hyperventilate and pass out in the parking lot of The Marshall Free House. We are getting those Scotch eggs if it’s the last thing we do! Get your shit together!”

  I was beginning to really dislike her, but she did have a point—the one about the Scotch eggs, not the panicking and hyperventilating. That was completely justified.

  Mark opened my door and put a hand out. I had no choice but to take it, noticing as always how warm and strong it was, but mine was shaking—although my breathing had miraculously calmed a bit.

  The motherfucker just smiled at me as if he knew just how panicked I was and couldn’t be happier about it.

  Those Scotch eggs better be worth the heartache that awaited.

  As we walked into the restaurant and the hostess led us to our table, I forced my mind away from the scary topic of dating. Unfortunately, that meant my brain decided to wander back to the phone conversation I’d had with my mother earlier in the evening.

  I’d been having a perfectly lovely day and was looking forward to seeing Mark, even if it did make me all sorts of anxious. I hadn’t messed up anything at work, an occurrence that had Jax and Ollie a bit flummoxed. They were already so used to me screwing stuff up that it was a wonder I hadn’t been fired yet.

  Ollie always assured me that Jax had seen my resume before he’d hired me, so he was aware of my job-hopping and knew there had to be a reason for it. Luckily Jax had been in such a bind when I’d sent my resume in, he’d had little choice but to at least interview me. That’s where I shine, I’ve been told. Ollie said Jax was under my spell and offering me the job before he even knew what had happened. I guess I am pretty charming.

  At any rate, I’d had a great day, and then my mom had called right after work.

  She began talking before I even had a chance to greet her. “Sweetheart, I know it’s really last minute, but is there any way you could pop over tonight and make an appearance at Barbara’s dinner party? She adores you and she said her grandson wants to know more about the LLS Regatta. He’s very involved in his sailing club and this could mean a big boost for the event. He’ll be at the dinner tonight—it’s at 8:00 so you have plenty of time. Is there any possible way you can make it? I’m sure he’d be much more interested in talking to you than all of us old folks.”

  “Hello, Mom,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know where my head is. How are you?” I could perfectly picture her standing in the kitchen poring over paperwork and trying to organize a hundred things at once.

  “I’m good,” I said, dropping my purse and flopping down on the couch. “Work is going great and I got to do girls’ night out with Laney last night.”

  “Oh, how is she? I still can’t believe I haven’t met the famous Nate yet! Although from the pictures she’s posted I’d say she caught herself a live one.” She chuckled.

  “Nah, she keeps him in line,” I joked. “And she’s great—Nate is officially moving in next month.”

  “Aw. I’m so happy for her!”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Silence.

  Crap. I knew she was thinking about how she wished the exact same thing for me.

  I took a deep breath and, for some godforsaken reason, decided to share. “So, listen. About tonight, I actually have a date so I won’t be able to make it.”

  More silence.

  “Mom?”

  “You have a date,” she stated more than asked.

  “Yes. I have a date.”

  “With a man.” Again, more statement than question.

  “No, with a small child. Of course with a man!”

  “I…I don’t…you really have a date?” This time it was a definite question.

  “Yes, Mother. You make it sound as if I have a giant goiter or an issue with body odor. I’ve actually been told I’m kind of adorable, you know. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that a man would want to take me out and share a meal.”

  “Of course not! I was just so surprised. I mean, not surprised, just taken off guard. Of course someone would want to take you out—what man in his right mind wouldn’t find you wonderful and precious?”

  Oh lord, here we go.

  “All right. You don’t have to oversell it. Besides, it’s just dinner. It’s not a big deal.”

  At this point, I actually heard her whimper a little in her attempt to hold back her hopefulness. I had to cut this thing off—now.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it, but tell Mrs. Rogers I’d be happy to talk to her grandson any other time about the regatta.”

  “Oh, right. Of course, the regatta. Don’t worry yourself over it one bit. You focus on your evening out.”

  God, I hoped she wasn’t drawing blood with how firmly she was biting her tongue. The call simply had to end before she injured herself.

  “I’m going to run to the store and then get ready for dinner, but have a nice time tonight and I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Have fun! I love you!”

  “Love you too. Bye.”

  I was willing to wager she didn’t even set the phone down before dialing my dad.

  After my quick run to the drug store for my prescriptions, and a short but fruitful detour to a tiny boutique on the way home, I carefully chose an outfit for the night. Mark had said to dress however I wanted so I decided to go for casual to communicate that I wasn’t trying too hard. I went with my D&G harem pants, a cotton tank, and my favorite True Religion denim jacket since it was a bit cooler tonight. I left my make-up as it was, threw my hair up into a top-knot and brushed my teeth.

  Now, if you’re not in the habit of saying a daily prayer, then might I suggest taking advantage of teeth-brushing time for any necessary spiritual connection. You are unable to engage in anything but free thought or self-contemplation, therefore making it a great time to chat with the man upstairs.

  Hey God, how’s it going? I’m feeling pretty okay but I’m a bit confused about the sexy man who seems to want to claim me or something. Also, my hair is weird this week—what’s up with that? Oh, thanks for that awesome parking spot yesterday. And, lastly, as always, please let me live. Thanks, God!

  Spit and rinse.

  I know it’s a bit untraditional but we all have to make it work any way we can, right?

  Anyway, it didn’t take me long to get ready so by the time 7:00 rolled around I was super restless and decided to throw on my wedges and meet Mark downstairs. I was just locking my door when my phone rang again.

  “Hey, Mom, did you forget something?” I asked.

  “No, not exactly,” my mother replied. “It just
occurred to me that you never said who this date was with.”

  Good God.

  “That’s because you don’t know him. Did you think I was making up an imaginary date?” I decided teasing might do the trick and get her to stop snooping.

  “Don’t be silly.” She forced a casual laugh. “So, it’s not someone we know?”

  I rolled my eyes as the elevator doors opened. “No, Mom, it’s just this guy named Mark and, like I said, it’s just a date—no big deal. I’m getting on the elevator now so I’m going to lose my signal. Have a great night!” I hung up the phone as the doors closed, freeing me from the painfully awkward conversation.

  As I stepped from the building to wait on the sidewalk, my damn phone rang again. Dammit, woman, I love you dearly but stop calling me! I checked just to make sure it was indeed the woman who’d given birth to me whom I was sending to voicemail—and not, say, some friendly customer service rep from India—when I heard Mark’s voice calling from his truck.

  At the time, I’d been so relieved to have a distraction from Miss All-up-in-my-business that I’d let my guard down for a moment and had literally gazed at him. Luckily, I’d quickly remembered my mission to keep this shit casual and brought out the smirky face I reserve specifically for Mark.

  Not that it had done any good. Here I was sitting across the table from the mouth-watering man who’d just thrown down and announced his “intentions” or something.

  Eek!

  I opened my mouth to say … something, when he beat me to it again.

  “Okay with you if we order the Scotch eggs as an appetizer?” he asked.

  Pride chimed in again, telling me what I already knew. “Fiona, girl, you are in fucking trouble.”

  Dinner was awesome, as was the whole freaking date if I’m being honest. In addition to the perfection of the aforementioned Scotch eggs, Mark was an outstanding dinner companion. Not only did he look hot in his casual button-down, but he was funny and smart and considerate without laying it on thick at all. He maintained the same sarcastic charm that was quickly catching me up in his web, and I almost forgot I was supposed to be resisting this dating thing.