Page 70 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

“Please kiss me.”

I’ll die if he rejects me—the pain would be too great to survive. He has to feel the chemistry between us. I refuse to accept this pulsing need is one sided.

Doubt, my ever-present companion, creeps in reminding me if Connor had feelings for me, he’s had years to make his move.

Oh god. Is this all in my head?

I’ve ruined everything. Connor doesn’t want me. Why would he want me?

My panic is snuffed out. One second my heart is breaking, the next it stops all together.

Connor crashes his lips to mine.

It’s more than anything I’ve conjured in my wildest dreams. His mouth is plush and hot, firm and sure. Our lips move together in a dance they’ve always known but were never allowed to perform.

His hands slide up my arms and shoulders, one gripping the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head exactly where he wants me—the other pressing my sun pendant gently into my chest.

I’m floating—his grip the only thing tethering me to reality.

His tongue doesn’t request access to my mouth, his ironclad self-restraint doesn’t demand entry, but the kiss is perfection, forever imprinting on my DNA.

His lips stop and pull away from mine by a breath. Another soft kiss is pressed to my lips and the love of my life lifts his head to look into my eyes.

“Is this real?” Connor asks.

My brow furrows in confusion, silently asking him what he means.

“It’s impossible. Everything I’ve ever wanted is…” His words cut off and he clenches his jaw to stop them from tumbling out.

“Baby, I need you to hear me because I meant what I said.”

He pauses and the world stops spinning on its axis, my heart hangs by a thread, about to be cut by whatever he says next.

Leaving no room for interpretation, Connor vows, “Anything. You want. Is yours.”

I’m paralyzed by fear of losing him—I’ll lose everything if I’m misreading him. So, I say nothing.

A kind smile takes over his face. The same smile that’s always comforted me. The same smile he gave me that first day sitting beside me in the dirt.

“I’ve been yours since the day my bike led me to a fallen angel, and every moment since.” Calloused fingers brush my hair from my face.

“I was yours when I punched Danny Parker in the stomach for pushing you off the swings.” A gentle kiss to my forehead.

“I was yours every day I packed your favorite foods for lunch to share with you.” Lips trailing to my temple.

“I was yours when I went to the nurse’s office when you got your first period.” My face flames at the memory.

“I was yours when Roger fucking Mirowski stood you up for homecoming and I picked you up with split knuckles from bashing his face in.” His lips trail down to my hot cheek.

His hands were wrecked that night. When I asked what happened he said, “you should see the other guy,” and gave me a lopsided grin. I had no idea he was being literal.

“I was yours when I danced with you in the moonlight and kissed you for the first time under the stars.” He chuckles with mirth.

“I was so nervous I’d ruined everything. After I took you home, I puked in the bushes.”

There it is. The moment we’ve ignored for nearly a decade. Our first kiss.

I always assumed it meant nothing to him, and I was too embarrassed to bring it up.