Page 22 of Under Pink Skies

“I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that,” Connor said, reappearing in front of me, unclipping the broom handle from the cheap plastic dust pan it was attached to. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

I swallowed, averting my gaze to the freshly ground flour that now covered the wooden floor. Something ugly and raw cut through me at how casual he was. I snapped back to reality, giving my head a small shake.

“Where else would I have been?”

It was Connor’s turn to look uncomfortable as he returned his gaze to the floor, instead choosing to focus on sweeping up every small piece of glass rather than answer my question. Anger flared alongside my pounding heart.

My head and heart were both trying to catch up to the sight in front of me. Connor Harvey was in Watford. Inmystore. Connor was the opposite of the scrawny kid he’d been when he left. Connor was conversing with me as if nothing had ever happened between us. Connor washere.

“For a long time, I guessed you’d made it out of here by now. Even with what happened—”

I inhaled sharply, the noise cacophonous in the quiet space between us.

“You did enough leaving for the both of us, I’d say.”

Connor’s eyes flashed with a darkness I’d never seen in him before. That dark, twisted place in me felt a flash of satisfaction. That ugly part of me wanted him to hurt. I wanted him to feel the faintest sliver of what I felt all those years ago. I wanted him to know that I sat there at the edge of town, waiting to see his familiar truck cresting the horizon.

I waited for him to come back to me. For months, I’d waited, until John Ludgate had finally had the decency to tell me he wasn’t coming back. That he was gone for good.

Connor Harvey, once the star athlete on Watford High football team, deemed “most likely to inspire you to greatness” by the senior yearbook staff.

The man who left me behind mere weeks after my mother died of cancer. The man who stole the future I would have had. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t fair to blame him for everything that came after my mother died.

Connor said nothing, only offered a tight-lipped smile as he dumped the shattered glass and ruined flour into the nearby trash can. I’d cry over how much money my clumsiness had just wasted later—I refused to give him the satisfaction. I walked back over to the checkout counter. Connor stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Spit it out,” I said, grinding my teeth together. My emotions were a tidal wave that threatened to pull me under.

“I’m not here to fight,” Connor said, setting his jaw forward.

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” I yelled, slamming my palms down on the table. I couldn’t deny that it felt good to let my anger out. For so long, I had to be the one to keep it together. And I had kept it together. I had successfully managed to keep my business and what remained of my family afloat.

But now, my heart was tearing in two all over again. I couldn’t handle this.

Connor was the one thing I couldn’t handle losing again.

“I’m here for business. I’m with Winding Road Farms. Kameron is my business partner. I’m here with Lucas Morales. We’re here to get some preliminary information about the festival and how we can help as the main sponsors.”

“Oh, great,” I laughed, unable to stop the hysterical tone from slipping into my voice. “Of course it’s your farm that’s sponsoring the festival I got roped into organizing.”

Connor’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t come here to—”

“Oh, I know you didn’t,” I muttered, the hysterical laugh dying in my throat. “Did you know I was the coordinator?”

Connor swallowed, but he held my gaze. Damn him.

“Abbie—”

“Don’t—” I took in a sharp breath, trying to rein in my temper. I needed to let sleeping dogs lie, and I knew—God, help me, I knew fighting with Connor now wouldn’t change the past, but the ugly, dark part of me wanted to see him wounded. I wanted him to leave the store with his tail tucked between his legs.

I wanted him to bleed like I had.

“Don’t say my name.”

Connor pressed his lips into a thin line, and my skin flushed hot as I watched his eyes scan me. I could imagine what he was seeing—no doubt noticing the weight gain, the new acne scars, the long brown hair that desperately needed a cut. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable under his unabashed stare.

And because I wasn’t in the mood to let him win at anything, I decided that I’d look until I had my fill too, since he clearly had no problem doing so.

God, hehadchanged. The rational side of my brain knew that it had been over five years since I’d last seen him.

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