When Sparks Fly by Kristine Raymond, Andrea Michelle, Grace Augustine, Maryann Jordan, B. Maddox, J. M. Nash, Anne L. Parks Read Free Book Online

love like that. She’d never had anything close with Phillip.
    “Are you finished, honey?” she asked Kimber, who had made short work of her stack of hotcakes. At her nod, Monica said, “Then go wash up, okay? I’ll be there in a minute to braid your hair. We don’t want to keep Grandma Fran waiting.” Chuckling to herself over the use of the nickname, she picked up the little girl’s plate and fork, stacking them on her own, and brought them over to the sink. Turning on the water, she began to wash only to have Fran take the dish cloth out of her hand.
    “I can do that. You go take care of that precious child of yours.”
    “I don’t mind,” Monica protested. “I want to help out. I don’t want us to be extra work for you.” Attempting to take the cloth, she pulled but the older woman held on, and for a brief moment they had a bizarre game of tug-of-war.
    “You’d do well to give up,” Bill counseled from the sidelines. “My Frannie always gets her way.”
    Recognizing the futility of her efforts, she released her grip and relinquished the dish cloth. Laughing at the victorious smile on Fran’s face, she shook her head and went in search of her daughter. Ten minutes later they reappeared, Kimber’s hair in pigtails as promised. The kitchen was sparkling clean, Fran was nowhere to be seen, and Bill had taken up residence on the porch swing to read the newspaper.
    Spotting him through the glass on the French doors, Kimber ran out and scrambled up next to him, wasting little time in convincing him to turn to the funny pages. Snuggling into the crook of his arm, the little girl listened with rapt attention while he entertained her with the antics of a bald-headed boy and his beagle. Leaving the pair to the comics, Monica walked down the steps and into the yard, intent on exploring the grounds.
    Various flowerbeds dotted the landscape, masses of blooms generating an explosion of color. One bed held nothing but Gerbera daisies, her favorite, while others showcased zinnias, cosmos, and different varieties of roses. Obvious thought had gone into the placement of shade trees on the property; wrought iron garden benches and wooden lounge chairs set under the sprawling branches beckoned visitors to sit a spell. Pink, red, and white impatiens grew at the bases, and she could picture herself on a hot summer afternoon, curled up on one of those chairs sipping iced tea and reading a book.
    Stone pathways winding through the lush lawn invited further investigation, and she followed one that led behind the house. It ended at a brick fire pit, charred logs in the center an indication of recent use. Hand hewn logs carved into chairs provided seating, and tiki torches were spaced evenly around the perimeter, serving as both a light source and bug repellent. She could imagine a family gathered here at night, toasting marshmallows for s’mores, laughing and telling stories, children chasing fireflies to keep in Mason jars beside their beds. There weren’t many fireflies in the city, and it saddened her that Kimber had never taken part in what she considered to be a timeless childhood tradition.
    Noticing how close she was to the garage, Monica couldn’t resist snooping. Shading her eyes against the glare, she peered through the window. The Excursion was parked in the right space; the left one was empty and she ventured a guess that was where Joe parked his truck. The rest of the garage appeared tidy, tools hanging neatly from a pegboard on the wall.
    Roaming around to the side of the building she saw a set of stairs leading to the apartment above. She placed her hand on the railing, feeling a little wicked, like she was about to do something forbidden. Up there was where Joe lived; where he ate and slept and watched TV. Where he cooked and cleaned and entertained women. Frowning at this last thought, she shook her head to erase the image from her mind. Hearing voices, she turned to see Kimber and Fran walking hand in hand