Page 29 of Under Pink Skies

“That’s never worked out for you before.”

I shrugged and pulled the fridge door open.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

The alternative was allowing myself to feel it all, and with things the way they were with my father, I didn’t have the emotional capacity to allow myself to be hurt by him again.

As I poured my coffee the next morning, I tried to outline my day in my head. I’d tossed and turned the entire night, unable to settle my thoughts or racing heart. The knowledge that the many parts of my past were converging at the same moment, with Connor’s return and my father’s addiction turning a sharp, dangerous corner, had me on edge in a way that I hadn’t been in years.

I realized, as I locked the door to my apartment and tucked my key into my purse, that the last time I had been this anxious had been in the days after my mother’s death. In those days, I could barely get out of bed. As I walked to the store, I nodded politely at the passersby, but I mostly kept my gaze fixed on the ground at my feet. I didn’t know how long Connor could fly under the radar. In a small town like this, word traveled fast. And given that the word on the street was that Connor Harvey was back in town . . .

I sighed heavily as I unlocked Watford General’s door and flipped on the overhead lights. The minute the townsfolk found out that he was back in town, they would hit me with a million questions. I would return to that dark place, where everyone bombarded me with questions, and I had no answers to give them.

I could only pray that Connor would hold his own against the tirade this time.

I set my bag on the shelf beneath the cash register and grabbed my clipboard. I walked past the door, changing the sign to ‘open’ and texting Imogen to let her know she was good to bring the produce.

I’d inventoried recently, but it was monotonous enough that the actions of counting and tallying helped calm my racing mind. I barely heard the overhead bell chime to alert me to a customer. I tucked the clipboard under my arm and the pencil behind my ear—so I didn’t lose yet another one to my clumsiness. I adjusted my denim overalls and rounded the corner so I could greet them.

“Hi, welcome to—oh.”

Connor Harvey stood in the doorway to Watford General in all his glory. My throat tightened, my gaze briefly sweeping down his body. He wore a fresh set of jeans, the same brown boots from the day before, and a plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows. He smelled like pine and leather and spice. I stopped in my tracks, not daring to take a step closer. I trusted my judgment very little these days, and Connor’s closeness was a distraction I couldn’t afford.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey yourself.”

Connor gave me a friendly smile, and I was grateful for his willingness to forget my inability to speak like a normal human being.

“I’m here on official business, I promise. Kameron just sent me the graphics for Winding Road. Things like the logo and some copy text. Could you help me get the signage ordered?”

My heart sped up at the asinine request. Connor was more than capable of pulling up many signage vendors on the internet and placing the order himself. Asking me to place a special order was deliberate. Was it because he wanted to support the store? To support me? Or was it because he was still as ridiculously inept with technology as he’d been as a teenager? My gut told me it was a mix of all three.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, gesturing for him to follow me over to the counter. “Let me get my laptop out and we can get things ordered.”

I headed to the right of the counter while Connor came up to the opposite side. I pulled my tablet out from my laptop bag and set it up so we could both see the screen.

“What’s first?”

“Kam wants a huge banner that we can hang between buildings in the square on the weekend of the festival. What’s a good email to forward the graphics to?”

I rattled off the store email address. My personal email address was still the same one I had as a teenager, and I didn’t need to level up my embarrassment.

“Okay,” I said, biting on my bottom lip. I pulled up the same signage supplier I’d used for Watford General’s rebranding a few months earlier, logged in, and fiddled around with the banner settings until it looked right.

“How does this look?” I asked, flipping my tablet towards Connor so he could critique the mockup.

Connor squinted at the screen. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep my smile at bay and rocked forward on my heels.

“Looks good,” he said. I added the main banner to my cart. A flush broke out across my skin. Had Kevin messed with the air conditioning again, or was I simply unable to hold my own where Connor Harvey was involved?

I cleared my throat, pulling my shirt collar away from my skin so a sweet kiss of air-conditioned breeze would caress the flushed skin there.

“What else?”

“Kameron mentioned wanting some literature he could pass out at our booth. He’s designed a brochure that talks about the nonprofit side of Winding Road. Could we add 200 printed copies?”

I lifted an eyebrow.

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