Page 59 of Under Pink Skies

God, I wanted her.

I always wanted her, but looking at her like this, under the pale moonlight, her bare skin covered in a light sheen of sweat from dancing with Imogen, her long brown hair tousled lightly from the gentle breeze, my heart ached with the weight of that desire.

“Your place,” I said, and took her hand in mind. She shivered, and I smiled to myself, thinking it unlikely that reaction had anything to do with the autumn breeze drifting past us, and everything to do with the feeling of my hand against hers.

Chapter 22

Abbie

Asthedoortomy condo closed behind us, I pressed my back to it, letting the cool wood soothe my scorching skin. I leaned my head back against the door, watching Connor grab two glasses from the cabinet. Seeing him in my kitchen had become a regular occurrence. It feltright.

Connor sensed how quickly my thoughts were spiraling, filling the glasses with ice and then strawberry kiwi sparkling water.

“We can just go to sleep, Abbie,” Connor said, extending the glass to me. I walked forward to receive it. “Imogen kind of ambushed you back there. I’m not expecting anything.”

I took a long sip of my water.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Truthfully, I’m not either. As much as I enjoy spending time with you, and as attractive as you are, I’m exhausted.”

I let out a small laugh.

“Me too.”

I leaned against the counter; my eyes locked on the floor. A storm of emotions roiled inside me. The festival being an enormous success, having fun for the first time in years, all while being with Connor . . . overwhelmed me in the best possible way.

“Look at me.”

Against my better judgement, I did. Connor’s brown eyes met mine, and my world righted itself once more. He stepped closer to me, gripping either side of the countertop, effectively boxing me in.

“Truth?” I asked, breathless.

“Truth.”

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“Why?”

I inhaled deeply, taking this opportunity to step away and get some air. Connor gave me space as I walked around to the other side of the kitchen island and sat down on one of the bar stools.

“Things are too good right now,” I said. “The festival went off without a hitch. Even Imogen is happy hanging out with you and Kameron and Lucas, and I’ve never seen her this happy around people she barely knows or used to hate. You’re being kind and understanding and attentive, just like you always were, but this time it feels different. Better.”

Connor smiled slightly at that.

“And my father wassobertoday,“ I said. “In the five years since my mom died, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him sober. Today was good. It was agoodday.”

“But you’re scared,” Connor said. “I get it. Life has taught you that when things are really good, they get bad soon after.”

“Yes,” I said, grateful that he understood.

“I get it,” Connor said, shrugging. He pressed his palms to the countertop again, leaning over the island. I didn’t miss the way his shoulders stretched at the seams of his shirt, or his chest muscles flexing and moving underneath the fabric. “But in my experience, if you don’t acknowledge when things are good, you’ll get trapped in a never-ending cycle of good and bad. Sometimes things just are what they are. It doesn’t have to be good or bad all the time. Sometimes life is just life.”

I smiled at him.

“When did you get so poetic?”

Connor returned my smile. “When I got sober, I suddenly found myself with a lot of free time where I needed to not be inside my head. I started reading and researching. Hit the gym more often. Listened to inspirational podcasts, all that jazz. That’s actually how I stumbled across this thing called therapy.”

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