“I’m glad to hear that, but if I can get them to reconsider, that would be awesome all the way around, right?”
“Of course. I really appreciate you trying.” I won’t hold my breath, but it’s nice that he’s willing to give it a shot since any attempt at communication on my part has been met with polite refusal to host a call.
I pull into the Spark House driveway and park in front of the main entrance. We both get out of the SUV, and Declan meets me at the center of the hood, pulling me in for a semi-chaste kiss before he gets back in the SUV to head to work.
Spark House is quiet this morning, the office empty, with only a couple of staff cleaning or prepping for the event this weekend. Today London has an off-site meeting and Harley is dealing with event setup, which I had been involved in until she noticed me limping around yesterday. It’s been damp the past few days, and the weather seems to affect my ankle, so I’m managing paperwork today, which isn’t my favorite part of the job, but still necessary.
I do a double take as a new email appears at the top of my Spark House inbox, the sender’s name catching me off guard. I click on it, sure it has to be some kind of odd coincidence, or a strange error, but it’s not. I haven’t heard from Sam in a long time. Not directly anyway.
Back when he broke things off, I had been gutted and hadn’t been able to handle any kind of communication. His cheating had been such a betrayal, and it wasn’t something I was able to really recover from. With time, I saw that his ending the relationship was the right thing to do, even if the execution wasn’t. The relationship lacked balance, and he had moved on, so I did too.
So much has changed since then. But it’s still a shock to see an email from him. Last I heard—through social media—he was married. He’d ended up with the woman he’d left me for, and I sincerely hoped he’d stayed faithful to her in a way he hadn’t with me.
I click on the email and read through the content. At the bottom is a contact number. I close the email and manage a few more, trying to decide what I should do about Sam’s email, if anything. The decision to meet with Sam is made for me, though, when I make a follow-up call to one of the potential sponsor leads and am told, for what seems to be the millionth time in a row that they don’t think we’re the right fit, and to try back in the spring.
Five minutes later I receive a message from London, her dour mood reflected in the sad face emojis because her meeting didn’t go as planned either.
* * *
Two hours and a phone call later I find myself behind the wheel of the old van we keep at Spark House. It’s mostly used to move stuff around the property, but it runs fine. It’s still a little overcast, but the sun keeps peeking through the clouds, alleviating some of my anxiety over the hour-long drive.
I’m still nervous, though, partly because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Sam face-to-face, and it’s also the first time I’ve driven this far on my own since the accident. I stop halfway for a bathroom break because I sucked back half a gallon of water due to a dry mouth.
I arrive at Beaver Woods, the adult adventure camp that Sam and his wife, Lisa, have been running for the past several years. I did some research after I read the email and went on a little social media creeping adventure. Sam and Lisa even had a little girl. Seeing them together didn’t hurt. So much time has passed since our tumultuous ending, and I’m in a much better place now.
Beaver Woods is set in the midst of a valley surrounded by forest and peaceful walking trails. But the best part is the amazing lake with the sandy beach and the adult-style waterpark. At least that’s what the videos on the website tout. It’s far too cold for watersport activities now, but in the summer months it is probably amazing. I’m about to find out for myself if it’s true. Knowing Sam, it’s 100 percent accurate.
I check my reflection in the visor mirror, apply another layer of lip balm—I don’t have gloss with me, and it’s not really something I’d wear anyway, apart from an event night or a date. If I had it with me, I might consider dabbing a little concealer under my eyes. Last night Declan and I stayed up later than we should have, enjoying each other a bit too much, based on the ache in my quads and the tightness in my calves.
I exhale a calming breath and remind myself that the past is in the past. I’m independent and self-sufficient and no longer reliant on someone else for my happiness. Sam and I have both moved on. And hopefully, if all goes well, we can start fresh, as business associates.
He’s married with a family, and I’m in a committed relationship. Declan and I are happy, even if we’re avoiding the difficult discussion about the future and what that might hold.
I shake my head, not wanting to go down that path right before I see my ex and the only person to have owned my heart completely until Declan. Ironically, I’m too afraid of what telling Declan might do to our relationship should I be inclined to admit the truth—that I’m in love with him. I don’t want to upset the fragile balance we have, and I’m very aware that in the past, any time he so much as had an inkling that one of his “girlfriends” was getting close to dropping the “I love you” bomb, it signaled the kiss of death for that relationship. I’d like to think we’re different, because our relationship is built on a strong foundation of friendship, but I don’t know for sure. So I’ve been holding on to those feelings, hoping that maybe he would come out and say it first.
I park in front of the main lodge. It’s a gorgeous, massive, rough-hewn log cabin with thick posts and Adirondack chairs lining the front deck. I barely have the car in park when the front door swings open and Sam comes down to meet me.
He hasn’t changed much over the years, same short hair covered in a ball cap, same blue eyes, and wide smile—although currently there’s a little strain behind it. He’s dressed in a pair of khaki cargo pants, a long-sleeved Henley, and a vest. Memories of our time together—nearly two years of love that ended in bitter regrets and my broken heart—clog my throat and make my palms damp.
“Hey. Hi.” I wipe my hands on my pants and hold one out, feeling ridiculously awkward. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
He regards my outstretched hand for a moment before he engulfs it in his. I’m relieved that the contact is met with benign curiosity on my part and nothing more. There aren’t any lingering feelings of sadness, all I have left is the disappointment over the way he managed our ending.
He releases my hand and steps back, giving me personal space. “You look great, Ave. How are you? When I saw you were in an accident, I nearly called, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear from me.”
I don’t comment on not wanting to hear from him. Honestly, the only reason I’m here at all is because I feel like I owe London. “I’m good, thanks.”
He hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “That’s good. I’m glad. I, uh … I reached out to Mark a while back, just to check in. He said you were tough and recovering well. It looks like that’s true.” He bites at the corner of his mouth.
This is so awkward. “Mark never mentioned that.”
Sam rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not really surprised. He wasn’t all that excited to hear from me. He, uh, mentioned that you and Declan were living together.”
“We are. We have been for a couple of years, now.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s, uh … he didn’t seem like he was ever going to settle down.” He chuckles awkwardly.
“People change. He’s invested in making it work.” At least I hope he is.
“That’s good. I’m glad. He always had a thing for you, even though he didn’t want to acknowledge it.” His smile is rueful. “And maybe neither did you, at the time.”
“I was already in a committed relationship, at the time.” I arch a brow.
Sam nods and looks away as he spins his wedding band around his finger. “I’m sorry about the way things ended. I could’ve handled things better. It was unfair and not at all a testament to what we had. I should have broken things off before I started anything with Lisa, but
I had my head in the sand and I honestly didn’t want to hurt you.” When his gaze shifts back to me, it’s full of sadness and regret. “I know I betrayed your trust, I betrayed you. I would go back and handle things differently if I could. I don’t expect it to make any of how I dealt with our breakup better, but I didn’t mean to fall in love with Lisa.”
I feel the weight of those words in my heart. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, Sam, or when it happens. Would it have been better for both of us to have parted ways before you moved? Of course, but I know why you didn’t, and I recognize my own role in that decision. I was holding on to something that was never going to work. I was clingy and insecure for a reason, because even though I didn’t want to face it, the truth was we weren’t meant to be together the way you and Lisa are. You needed to be there, and that’s where you met the love of your life. So I appreciate your apology and taking responsibility for your actions, but we were both young and figuring life out.”
“It doesn’t excuse my actions, though.”
“I’ve moved on with my life, and so have you. The past is in the past. Let’s leave it there.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
It’s been years without real closure, so it’s nice to finally have it, especially at this moment, where I’m trying to navigate my way through a new relationship with someone I already have a history with.
It feels like a weight I’ve been carrying with me has finally lifted. I switch gears, wanting to move the conversation in a new direction. “You mentioned wanting to collaborate on some winter adventure camps. Do you want to show me around? I’ve seen a few of your videos, but it would be good to see how things operate here so I can get a better feel for what you want and how we might be able to partner with you.”
His email today took me by surprise, but it came at the perfect time, especially on the heels of London’s financial review. Beaver Woods is well known and working with them could help broaden our scope and give us some new, valuable opportunities.
“Of course, let’s take a tour of the grounds, and we can toss around some ideas for our winter program. We’re trying to balance the hard-core outdoorsy vibe with some team building and some slightly less severe camping options.”
As Sam shows me around the campground, I consider how our breakup all those years ago was inevitable. It takes seeing him again to realize I’d been in love with the idea of us, not the reality.
I’d been dependent on him in ways I hadn’t realized until our relationship was over. I had been looking for someone to fill the holes in my heart after my parents’ death, and unfortunately I learned the hard way that dependence wasn’t a good way to achieve that.
We’re both in much better places now than we were back then. At least it seems that way.
The campground is freaking amazing. There are platforms with massive tents that sleep six comfortably, and a handful of cabins for couples’ retreats.
“As you can see, the one thing we struggle with is heating in the winter. We can keep things warm and we’re looking at the possibility of yurts, but they’re an expensive investment, and it’ll be a couple of years before we have the capital to make those purchases. I don’t mind that it slows down in the winter, but there have been some requests from campers and companies for winter retreats. I’m not sure how you would feel about pooling resources to develop a winter adventurer program.”
“Are you thinking a couple of nights in tents? Then a bus trip out our way for a few days of snow adventure with the comfort of bedrooms and indoor plumbing that doesn’t require snowshoes to get to?”
“Exactly. I think most people can handle a day or two in tents, but a weeklong team-building camp spent freezing your ass off is only something that really appeals to the hard-core campers.”
“This glamper can totally relate.” I point to myself and we both laugh. “I definitely think this could work. How many weeks are you thinking?”
“Maybe four to start? We could break them up depending on your schedule. I figure if we can reserve a few weeks during the coldest months of the year, then we can start planning the programs now. That way we’ll have time to get the marketing up and running to pull in interested parties. As long as your sisters are okay with it, and Declan, of course.”
“I think London and Harley are going to love this idea.”
“Neither of them had a lot of love for me after the breakup.” Sam rubs the back of his neck. “And the last words Declan and I had weren’t all that pleasant. I don’t want to rock the boat.”
I don’t know all the details, but from the little Mark and Jerome said, Declan had lost his shit on Sam when he found out he’d been cheating on me. There had been harsh words and some punches thrown.
“It’s been the better part of a decade, I’m sure if I’m over it, they should be over it too.” At least I hope so. “Let me pitch the idea to my sisters and talk to Declan.”
“I think that’s probably a good idea. Thank you for coming here. I know it’s been years and that I should’ve reached out long ago, but I just … didn’t know how.”
“It’s okay. I could’ve reached out too. It wasn’t the right time.”
24
ALL THE WAYS TO MAKE A MESS
DECLAN
“What’s the balance owed on the wedding and bachelorette party combo?” I flip my pen between my fingers and scan the spreadsheets for Spark House.
“Forty thousand, but most of that has already been spent, so it’ll have to go right into paying for the next event and hopefully I can put back what I had to use from the fountain fund.” London’s on speakerphone and her frustration bleeds through in her tone.
“And if you’re able to do that, will we be within five grand of being able to make that happen?” I keep trying to find creative ways to make the fountain happen, but it’s proving impossible without pulling from their slush fund. While that account seems flush with cash, it’s fluid, money coming in and leaving just as quickly for the next event they’re setting up.
Avery had hoped to be able to have the fountain restored before her grandmother returned from Italy, just before her seventy-fifth birthday. And London, being London, doesn’t want to disappoint her sister. And I would like to move myself all the way back to London’s good side by making it happen.
“If we don’t have to pull from it again, yes. But we have two more weddings coming up this fall and we’ll have to make deposits, so there’s a good chance we’ll have to dip back in.”
I shift in my chair and flip through some spreadsheets, trying to find money that just isn’t there. “So unless you can secure a sponsor or pull in a client who is going to spend a lot on multiple events, then I’m not sure you’re going to be able to get the fountain restored before Gran gets back.”
London sighs. “That’s what I figured. I’m not looking forward to telling Avery we have to put it off.”
I’ve had a few calls over the past several days with Go Green, and I’m making some headway, but I don’t want to say anything to London or Avery about it until I have something concrete. It seems the CEO needs to sign off on the sponsorship and he hasn’t had time to take a look at it. “Okay, let me go over the numbers again and see if there’s any short-term investments we can get into. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days.”
“Okay. Sounds good. I appreciate you trying to help find a solution.”
“It’s the least I can do, London.”
“Thank you.” She ends the call. I run my hands through my hair and lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling.
My phone rings and I check the caller ID before I answer. “What’s up, J?”
“Hey, man, are you still at work?”
“Yeah. Just wrapping up, what’s up?” Things with the guys were tense at first after the whole me and Avery thing came out, but we talked it out over a game of squash—during which Mark and Jerome took cheap shots at my balls—and since then, things have been back to normal.
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“Want to go for a beer? We’re down the street at Phinn McCool’s.”
“What are you doing there?”
“I had a lunch meeting that turned into an all afternoon meeting and Mark stopped by on his way home from work.”
I check my messages. I have one from Avery saying she’s going to be late on account of work and not to worry about dinner for her. I haven’t hung out with just the guys since our squash talk. “Yeah, sure, I should be there in, like, fifteen.”
I finish up my emails and head down the street to the bar. Jerome and Mark are in a booth, game highlights playing on the wall of TVs across from them. I slide in beside Jerome and we exchange a round of props, and I order a beer from the server.
“How’s it going?” Jerome asks.
“Good. It’s an adjustment being back in the office every day. I was getting used to my sweats and T-shirt uniform.”
“I bet. How’s Avery dealing with full time back at Spark House?” Mark swirls his beer around in his pint glass.
“You know Ave, she likes to do everything at Mach 10, so by the time she gets home, she’s beat.” Lately she’s been passing out in front of the TV by eight. “Otherwise she’s doing well.”
“And the two of you? How’s that?”
“Good. We’re good. It’s uh…”
“Good?” Jerome supplies.
Mark and Jerome exchange a look and Mark chuckles, but it sounds a little tense.
“Is there something going on?”
“Nah, man. We’re glad things are good.” Jerome glances at the TV across the room.
“Sounds like there’s a but in there.”
“No but,” Mark says. “It’s more that this whole shift has to be kind of hard. Avery going back to work full-time, you doing the same. New stresses, new dynamic to the relationship, that’s all.”
When Sparks Fly Page 21
