That’s when I hear footsteps coming around the side of the house.
My heart leaps into my throat. I grab the nearest object—a ceramic vase from the hallway shelf—and raise it over my head as a figure appears at the corner of the building.
Connor holds up both hands. “Whoa. It’s me.”
I lower the vase with a shaky exhale. “Jesus Christ. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry. I was checking the perimeter. Making sure everything looked secure after the break-in.” He comes up the porch steps and stops a few feet away. “Old habit.”
“You’re early.”
“Figured I’d scope things out first. You okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine. Just jumpy.” I set the vase back on the shelf and step aside to let him in. “Come on. I’ll make coffee.”
He follows me into the kitchen, and I busy myself with the coffee maker to avoid having to look at him. The silence between us feels heavy and awkward, nothing like the charged momentswe’ve shared before. This is the silence of two people who hurt each other and don’t know how to move forward.
“So,” I begin as I measure grounds into the filter, “how have you been?”
“Fine.”
“Busy with pack stuff?”
“Something like that.”
I pour water into the reservoir and hit the button to start brewing. “Connor, I didn’t ask you here to make small talk.”
“Then what did you ask me here for?”
I turn to face him and lean back against the counter. He’s standing by the kitchen table with his arms crossed, and he looks guarded in a way I’ve never seen before. Like he’s bracing himself for another blow.
“I wanted to apologize,” I admit. “For what I said that morning. About us being a mistake.”
He blinks a few times before he asks, “Did you mean it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. At the moment, I was scared and overwhelmed, and I said the first thing that would push you away. That’s what I do when things get too real. I run. I push. I sabotage.”
“I noticed.”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s just… an explanation, I guess.” The coffee maker gurgles behind me. “The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to convince myself this is wrong, you’re always there. In my head. Under my skin. I don’t know how to make it stop.”
Connor uncrosses his arms, and I watch him process my words. Then a slow smile spreads across his face.
“So what you’re saying is you can’t resist me.”
“That’s not—I didn’t say—”
“Sounds like that’s exactly what you said.” He takes a step toward me. “You think about me all the time. I’m under your skin. You can’t make it stop.”
“Don’t twist my words around.”
“I’m not twisting anything. I’m just repeating what you told me.” Another step closer. “Face it, Fern. You want me.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here we are.”
I shove at his chest with both hands, and he doesn’t budge an inch. The playful resistance infuriates me even more, and I shove again, harder this time.
