Page 130 of When Love Found Us
And I’m never letting go.
What’s next in The Timberbridge Brothers Series?
Keir and Simone’s book
https://geni.us/MidnightBetweenUs
USA Today bestselling author Claudia Burgoa brings you a hauntingly-tender, slow-burn romance full of broken promises, buried secrets, and a love that always endures.
I thought I buried him with the rest of my past. The secrets. The ache. The night everything fell apart.
But now Keir Timberbridge—the traitor, the boy I once loved more than life—is back. Barely alive. In my care. With no memory of who I am or what he did to me.
I should walk away. Hell, Itried. But I’m the only one who can keep him hidden, keep him alive.
This town still thinks I’m the girl who let him go. No one knows the truth—about the letters or what it cost me to survive.
Now we’re playing house in the ruins of what we once were: me, a doctor with too many scars, and him, the man who vanished without a goodbye. We sleep in separate rooms. Share meals like strangers. And every time I look at him, I remember the boy who made promises at midnight... and the man who shattered them by morning.
Because loving Keir Timberbridge was always going to destroy me.
And I might let it again.
Midnight Between Us
Simone
Current Day . . .
There’s always that one summer night when Birchwood Springs feels almost magical.
It’s during the Moon & Maple Festival.
By late afternoon, the kite races have already painted streaks of color across the sky, and kids with balloon swords and smeared face paint tear through the crowds like sugar-fueled comets. Neon stars smudge against sticky cheeks, and their laughter clings to the thick, syrupy air like glitter someone forgot to sweep up.
It’s a night festival, of course. And when the paper lanterns begin to illuminate the town, Birchwood Springs seems to have forgotten every bad thing that ever happened here.
Lanterns sway from porch beams and lampposts, stitched together by strings of golden light, and for a minute—just a breath—you could almost believe this place is nothing but fairytales and second chances.
Not that I’m out there soaking in the view.
Nope.
I’m stuck in the first aid tent, drowning in humidity and other people’s questionable life choices. My scrubs are practically a wet towel at this point. The industrial fans feel like a cruel joke, and if one more guy staggers in asking if I have anything for ‘just being too high,’ I’m faking a seizure and medevacking myself out of here.
This isn’t how I envisioned my life, but here I am—trying to figure out when I can jump out of this town—again. There’s a small cut along my forearm I didn’t notice until just now—probably from the boy who stormed into the first-aid tent like he was on fire. Spoiler: he wasn’t. Just took a dramatic tumble off the inflatable slide. Left a trail of candy and tears behind him.
A band plays near the lake. The music drifts through the fabric walls of the tent, both upbeat and vaguely nostalgic. The fireworks haven’t started yet, but the air feels ready to split wide open.
I press a cold pack to a teenage girl’s ankle. She winces. Her boyfriend stands nearby, watching me like I might spontaneously unravel in front of him.
I won’t.
I’ve already done that years ago, quietly, when no one was looking.
“Keep this on until the swelling goes down,” I say, softer than I mean to.
She nods, biting the inside of her cheek, trying not to cry. He murmurs a thank you—but doesn’t quite meet my eyes. He probably knows about me or thinks he does. People around here always swear they know.
