Now, leaning against the doorframe, he gave Fern a nod and a stiff smile. He vacillated there, as if hoping she would ask him to stay. Wondering if she'd step back or come closer.
But she didn't move, and he didn't push.
As he left, his fingers brushed hers in a feather-light touch, barely there, but lingering long after the door clicked shut.
He stood there on the step for a second, breathing in the cool evening air. Then he zipped his bomber jacket and pulled his cap down over his ears. He waited just a moment before heading to the gate. It felt stupid, but he didn't want her to notice how he dragged his feet, leaving. Didn't want her to see how embarrassingly needy he was, even when every part of him wanted to cling to her. She drew him in like his own personal true north.
He slid through the gate, his hip brushing the low wooden frame, and walked down the road to where he'd parked. The street was quiet, and the moon was shining high in the sky. Somewhere, a dog barked a warning before settling.
He unlocked the car and sat inside without turning on the engine. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel, gripping it like it might silence the storm raging inside him. After a minute or two, he let out a breath and stepped back out.
He wasn't ready to leave yet.
Connor walked the long way, skirting around Harlan's property, where there was a gap in the hedges and the back garden opened into shadow. Fern was sleeping in the old guest room now—the one with the window that faced the back. He knew that window like he knew the rhythm of her heartbeat.
He stood a few metres away in the dark, half-hidden under the branches.
Through the curtains, he could see her silhouette—the shape of her shoulders, the way she moved around the room, slow and tired.Therewas no one to lift her feet onto his lap and massage her instep just the way she liked it.
He imagined her sitting cross-legged on the bed and brushing her hair, and his throat felt dry at that intimate memory.Her routine was as familiar as the palm of his hand.
He watched her distorted shadow through the curtains as she changed into her pyjamas.
He looked away, then back, then away again.He felt like a bloody stalker, which he was—especially since this wasn't his first time.A stalker watching hiswifeundress.Yes—still his wife.
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
He missed her warm body and tender smile; her wild curls and the dimple that cut into her left cheek as she invited him closer.Missed those soft cotton shorts, her strutting around in his favourite T-shirts, the way she'd pad around the house with her hair in a messy bun and let him tug her into his lap while she rolled her eyes and pretended she wasn't secretly melting into a puddle. He missed the moment he bit into that perfect spot on her neck and the breathy noises she would make because she liked it.
He missed the ease and the freedom to touch his wife.Now, he hoarded every brush of skin, every accidental graze of fingers, every shared smile like a dragon counting his gold. He had all that and he threw it all away.
"What are you doing?"
He nearly leapt out of his skin.
"Jaysus!"
His eyes flew wide open, the whites of his eyes showing. Gracie stood on the other side of the low wall between the houses, armscrossed, her silhouette backlit by her porch light, while her tone was as dry as tinder.
"What areyoudoing?" he hissed back.
He was lucky it was dark.Because his body was betraying him in ways he couldn't possibly explain to Fern's friend.
Gracie raised one brow. "Don't bloody flip it on me;I live here. You're the one lurking like a backyard poltergeist."
He cleared his throat. "I-I couldn't sleep."
Her massive dog—a hulking creature of indeterminate parentage and the patience of a monk—sat beside her, tail thumping as if this was all perfectly normal night-time entertainment.
"You couldn't sleep," Gracie repeated slowly, unimpressed.
"I'm struggling without Fern," he muttered like a little boy caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.
Gracie blinked before sighing like a woman carrying the emotional secrets of the entire street. "Men," she said. "The problem with you lot is you never know what women want."
Connor straightened. "I'm trying to understand."
"Are you?" she asked, folding her arms tighter. “I heard there was an issue with you staring at your ex.”
