Page 39 of Under Pink Skies

I laughed incredulously. “There is something wrong with you.”

Abbie shrugged. “Maybe it’s best that you get the nails. I should probably keep my feet on the ground.”

I nodded once, and she finally released my arms. The fact she did it slowly, as if savoring the feeling of my muscles, had me smirking. I glanced behind me to make sure she was clear of the ladder before grabbing the box with ease, tucking it beneath my left arm.

“So, can I assume these nails are for the new stalls that need to be built?”

Abbie nodded, taking the box of nails from my outstretched hands. I climbed down and returned the ladder to its storage corner.

“The council gave us blueprints, measurements, and the money to buy supplies, but as you can probably tell, I’m not gifted in the building department.”

I shook my head, gesturing for us to head back onto the sales floor.

“Lucky for you, I’m a master builder.”

“I doubt that.”

“Ouch,” I said, smiling.

Abbie returned my smile, setting the large box of nails down on the checkout counter while waving to Kevin, who was restocking the chip bags.

“Imogen’s been storing most of the wooden planks on her homestead, and I’ve got the blueprints here.”

Abbie reached beneath the cash register and pulled out a manila folder. She briefly leafed through the paperwork until she found the stall blueprint. I glanced over it and shrugged. The stalls would be fairly simple to construct based on the schematic, but it had been a while since I'd built something. I had a feeling it would be time consuming.

“How many of these do you need?”

“Ten,” she said, a light blush heating her cheeks. “I know, I know. I completely dropped the ball on this. I kept saying I’d find a contractor to come build them, but the council wanted them to be ‘Watford made’ or whatever, and I—”

“It’s fine, Abs,” I said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I bet Kevin and I can get these done by the end of the week.”

“Hey!” Kevin shouted from behind me. “I didnotvolunteer for building duty.”

“I wasn’t asking,” I said, still looking down at the blueprint. Abbie slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and Kevin muttered what I could only assume was a string of cuss words and a comment about how Abbie doesn’t pay him enough to deal with this.

“Thank you, Connor. Seriously. This takes a load of stress off my plate.”

Against my better judgment, I reached a hand out to touch hers.

“I told you I’m here to help, Abbie. Whatever you need.”

Abbie’s lips parted slightly, as if she was thinking of saying something and then thought better of it. I said nothing, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I would tell Abbie everything about the last five years. If I told Abbie everything about the last five years, it would make me feel better, but it would also distract and confuse her just a few weeks before an incredibly important event she was already stressed about. I wouldn’t do that to her.

“If you two are done making cartoon heart eyes at each other, can I please take my lunch break?” Kevin’s voice rang out in the silence, and Abbie jerked her hand out from under mine like she’d been burned.

Her furious blush as she muttered for Kevin to ‘do whatever’ made my heart soar.

Chapter 13

Abbie

Saturdaysareforthegirls.

Imogen and I had an informal tradition of stress-baking cookies, pies, cakes, and whatever other sweet treats piqued our interest beginning back when we were in high school. After Imogen’s divorce and her subsequent move back to Watford, we started the tradition back up again. There’s something cathartic about rolling, punching, and mixing your tribulations and sorrows away. And despite what my grandmother would say about imbuing one’s emotions into one’s cooking, the cookies have always been pretty damn sweet.

“So,” Imogen said, pulling her stand mixer down from the counter. I stood a few feet away, sorting the freshly retrieved eggs and glass milk containers, labeling each container accordingly. “Let’s talk about Connor Harvey.”

I choked on my next inhale, almost dropping the egg I was holding.

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