The Spark

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she said. “I imagine it won’t be easy doing things with that cast on his arm. Maybe I can make him a few meals and bring them over?”

“If the rest of your cooking is anything like that broccoli salad, I’m sure he’d love it. To be honest…” My eyes shifted to Autumn and then back to the road. “When you said broccoli salad, I was thinking that might not go over too well. The crowd that comes in is more meat-and-potatoes than salad, but that stuff was damn good.”

“Thank you. It’s my mom’s recipe.” She looked out the window for a moment. “She and my dad didn’t tell me Mom’s cancer was back until a few months before she died. She had an inoperable brain tumor. She’d undergone chemotherapy and radiation years earlier, which slowed the growth, but a second tumor developed in a place they couldn’t even really treat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. They didn’t tell me what was going on because I was twelve and busy with my friends, and they wanted my life to continue to be as normal as possible. But my mom decided she would teach me how to cook. I guess it was her way of spending time with me. So most of what I remember about the last months with her is being in the kitchen and laughing. I think it’s one of the reasons I love to cook.”

“Those are nice memories.”

She nodded. “I was angry when she died that they hadn’t told me. But in hindsight, it might have been for the best. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have been able to relax and enjoy that time with her. I would’ve been scared.”

“Makes sense.”

“Anyway.” She shrugged. “I’ll make Bud some meals to freeze and drop them off after he gets home from the hospital, if you think that’s okay.”

“I’ll let him know.” We’d never really spoken about what had happened at the barbecue, or after, so I wondered what the state of her relationship with Blake was. I figured this might be as good a time as any to poke around. “Will it be interrupting plans you have for Friday night?”

She smiled. “No.”

I tapped the steering wheel, debating whether I should keep asking questions I might not want the answers to. Eventually, curiosity won. “What about the rest of the weekend? Any interesting plans?”

“Just Sunday night. My friend Skye is coming over. We were supposed to get caught up on The Bachelor last time we hung out, but we only got through two episodes and both conked out.”

“Shocker,” I said. “Since the show is so riveting.”

“It was the wine, not the show being boring.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How about you? Any plans this weekend?”

“Work. Bud. Di

“I can also help with di

Like hell I’d be letting her drive to an abandoned building to serve people who were too down on their luck to afford a meal. But I knew if I said that, I’d wind up in some sort of an equal-rights argument. So instead, I used the opportunity to poke around some more.

“No date Saturday night?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I might ask you the same thing. Why don’t you have a hot date Saturday night?”

“I’m not the one dating someone.”

Autumn’s mouth spread to a grim line. She looked out the window and spoke softly. “Neither am I.”

“Come again?” I leaned toward her. Could I have heard that wrong?

She sighed. “I’m not seeing Blake anymore.”

“When did that happen?”

“The day after the barbecue.”

A smile spread across my face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, you look really sorry.”

“What happened?”

Autumn’s head whipped in my direction, and I glanced over at her and back to the road. “What?”

“You don’t know what happened?”

I stopped at the light at the corner of her street. “Well, obviously I know what happened at the barbecue, but I meant what made you decide to call it quits.”

“That, Donovan. Blake was very nice to me, and I wasn’t being very nice to him.”

The light changed, so I turned the corner and started to look for a spot. Luckily, there was too much for her to carry inside by herself. As we passed her building, Autumn turned her head, studying a car double-parked outside.

“Shoot.” She groaned.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s my father’s car.”

“The yellow Porsche?”

“It’s one of his many midlife-crisis purchases.”

“Why would he be here?”

“He’s done this on occasion when I don’t answer his calls.”

“You want me to drive around the block a few times to see if he leaves?”

She frowned. “While I would love that, I probably should just deal with it and get it over with.”

There was an open spot a few buildings down, so I parked. “Do you want me to wait here while you talk to him? Then I’ll carry up the coolers?”

“No.” She shook her head. “If you don’t mind, it might make it easier if I have a buffer.”

I shrugged. “No problem.”

I piled the empty coolers one on top of another and carried them, while Autumn brought the bag of containers and serving utensils. As we neared the double-parked Porsche, the driver’s side door opened, and a man I assumed was her father got out. He looked between us.

“It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for almost three hours.”

“You wouldn’t have had to wait if you’d called me to tell me you were coming. I could’ve told you I wasn’t going to be home.”

Her father looked like he was still dressed from work, sans the suit jacket. Did that mean he sat in the car for three hours and never thought to take his damn tie off?

“Well, I need to speak to you.” He glanced at me again and then his daughter. “Preferably alone.”

I looked at Autumn, and she shook her head. When I turned back to her father, he was looking at me expectantly. “Sorry, sir. If Autumn doesn’t want me to leave, I’m staying.” I set the coolers on the ground, figuring it best to make peace. I extended my hand, stepping forward. “Donovan Decker. Nice to meet you.”

Her father looked at my hand like he was considering not shaking it. But eventually he clasped it and grumbled something.

When I moved back beside Autumn, her shoulders slumped. “What do you want, Dad?”

“I’m getting married in two weeks.”

“I’m aware. I received the fancy invitation in the mail.”

“Well, then, why didn’t you respond?”

“Because I figured if I responded the way I wanted to respond, you’d show up at my door.”

“How many years are you going to be upset about me moving on? Your mother would want me to be happy.”

“This has nothing to do with Mom. Don’t drag her into this. And you’ve moved on seven times in the last fifteen years.” She turned to me and tapped her pointer to her lips. “Or maybe it’s eight times. I haven’t seen him in a few months. A lot can happen…”

“Don’t be disrespectful,” her father barked.

Autumn shook her head. “Go home, Dad.”

“Will you be at the wedding?” He took a deep breath and reined in the attitude, speaking with a softer, gentler voice. “It would mean a lot to me.”

Autumn frowned. “Will Silas be there?”

“Of course not. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“No, I don’t know that.”

“Autumn, please come.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it, okay?”

Her father pursed his lips, but said nothing more. He walked over to Autumn and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”