Page 48 of Under Pink Skies

“I brought you some water, in case you were thirsty,” I said a few moments later, setting the glass on the coffee table and taking a seat next to Connor. To my surprise, he scooted back on the couch so he could lay his head in my lap. I laid back in the cushions, my hands finding his head and threading my fingers through the soft blond locks.

“Thank you,” Connor said, his breath hot against my thighs. I shivered at the nearness of him. “Thank you for not turning away from me.”

I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, tracing the lines of his jaw with my fingertips. If we were going to blur the lines, I wanted it to be worthwhile.

“Truth?”

Connor nodded.

“I know that everyone in your life has left you. I know that it’s really hard to trust that people have good intentions, and that you’re always waiting for things to get bad again. I know you are, because I am too.” I took a calming breath. “Things are unstable. They have been for years, and that scares the shit out of me. But I hate the idea of you pulling away from me because you think I can’t handle hard things. I need you to promise me you will let me decide what hard things I can handle.”

“Truth,” Connor said. “I’m scared to tell you everything. I’m nervous about screwing up whatever new friendship is growing between us. Having you back in my life has been so nice, and I’m worried that if I dump all of my childhood issues on you, you’ll get spooked.”

The word ‘friendship’ was like a bucket of ice water dumped over me. My fingers hesitated briefly, but I continued stroking his hair. Of course, we were friends. Of course, we couldn’t have what we did before.

“With all that said,” he gave a breathy laugh, “I promise to let you decide what you can and can’t handle. My only request is that you let me decide when I’m ready to share those things.”

I smiled at the ceiling.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Founder’s Day was less than five days away, and I was drowning.

The last three weeks had been a flurry of Zoom meetings with the Watford Town Council (which had mostly been a conversation between Trent, Kameron, and me) and returning phone calls regarding the vendor fair. After Kameron and Lucas had posted about the Founder’s Day festival on Winding Road’s social media, the festival email blew up, with local influencers and businesses wanting to know how they could get involved.

We organized a considerable list of vendors, which included a handful of nonprofits, and also arranged for two influencers with sizable social media followings to take part. In exchange for a free cabin rental, they would promote the festival to their followers and shout out many of the small businesses at the vendor fair.

The store rarely saw such a large amount of activity, and I found myself overwhelmed with the workload. Kelly Sakis had called in with another bulk flour order on Monday. Sourcing everything locally sounded like an amazing opportunity until Kelly had stepped up three weeks ago to suggest everyone use her freshly made sourdough bread loaves for all the burgers and sandwiches.

Things had gone downhill since Kelly’s announcement. It was as if a switch had flipped and everyone around me was in panic mode. I was now stationed in the back of the store, trying to figure out where in the hell I was going to find the space to put said flour until Kay could come pick it up. Imogen had stepped in to assist Kelly with her other baking ingredient needs, namely eggs, but I handled the bulk of the dry goods.

I simply didn’t have enough space. Between storing supplies and equipment for other Founder’s Day projects and back stock of goods we sold in the store, I was at my wit’s end. I kept reminding myself to breathe, just like Imogen did, but I was already at the point of pulling my hair out.

To top everything off, I’d barely seen my father the last few days. He’d gone on a huge binge at the tail end of last week, and I only went upstairs a handful of times to check he hadn’t choked to death on his own vomit. I told him about the festival, about how I’d been asked to coordinate, but he didn’t cared. Being the petty individual that I am, I took that as a signal that my father didn’t need checking up on. I simply didn’t have the time to handle his shit, too.

The front doorbell jingled, and I groaned.

“What else could you people need?” I whispered, wiping my hands on my apron as I practically sprinted to the storefront, grabbing my inventory clipboard from the shelf and kicking the storeroom door shut behind me.

“Hello,” I called. I nearly went to my knees with relief when I saw it was just Imogen.

“I am drowning,” Imogen said, wiping sweat from her brow. “Kelly Sakis is going to kill me.”

“She’s going to kill all of her yeast if she keeps running that thing like she is.”

“Poor Stella, indeed,” Imogen said, referencing Kelly’s decade-old starter.

I grabbed an ice-cold water bottle from the refrigerator and handed it to Imogen, who nodded her gratitude. We both took a seat with our backs against the checkout counter, legs outstretched on the floor as we took turns sipping the water.

“Why did we even have this celebration every year?” Imogen groaned. “And why in God’s name did they decide to bring it back?”

I smiled. “So we can celebrate the incredibly upstanding men that established this fine town.”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s just more work for us women.”

I laughed as the overhead bell rang again. Connor stepped through the threshold and my mouth went dry, despite having just taken a sip of water. Sweat soaked through the front and back of his blue cotton shirt, leaving nothing to my imagination. Imogen nudged my foot with hers, startling me from my ogling session. I smiled sheepishly, my cheeks flaming.

“Hi, Connor. Can we help you with something?”

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