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“I—” She sputtered for a second, not having thought about it that way, not even with Pat. “Of course not, he was a good man and—”
“He wanted to help you.” Connor lightly gripped her chin between thumb and forefinger.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Helovedyou.”
“Yes.”
“So I can’t imagine a good man, a man who loved you like he did, would regret spending that time with you.”
She shook her head. “But we were fighting. Our relationship had soured and—”
“You were young and couples fight—especially young couples.” Connor’s face softened, mouth turning up just at the edges. “And I bet the makeup sex was great.”
“I—” She froze.
Because God, yes, they’d fought.
But also,God yes, they’d made up. In bed.Allthe time.
And Connorwasright—ithadbeen great.
They’d fought. It hadn’t been perfect, but…so much of it had been wonderful.
“Crap,” she whispered as all of that settled deep, another piece of her past sliding into place—but not as a pain point. This was something to be treasured.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.”
She sniffed. “It’s really not.” She let out a breath. “Mostly because you’re giving me Aunt Pat vibes.”
He brushed back her hair, smiled. “Is it weird I’m jealous of this Aunt Pat woman?”
“Considering that you don’t know her?” she teased, finding the stranglehold of the past easing with his gentle words, his firm hold, his soft smile. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s weird.”
“Want to tell me about her?” he asked. “This woman who’s taken hold of your heart?”
Pat had.
She really had.
Connor tugged a strand of her hair. “I’m imagining a tough, old broad who carries a shotgun.”
Raven giggled. “Whelp,” she said. “I think I’ve found something you’re not good at.”
An offended gasp. “How dare you? I’m good at everything.”
She lifted a brow. “Pat wears pastel sweatshirts patterned with cartoon animals, lacy collars folded over the neckline and matching gemstone necklaces.”
His brows lifted.
“And earrings.”
He chuckled.
“And I never saw her without her lipstick, or her brows drawn in. And,” she added, hearing her love for Aunt Pat in her own voice, “she has a knack for finding sea glass amongst the sand. Like every single time she’s out on the beach, she finds a piece of glass. See?” She reached into her purse, tugged out the worn chunk of blue glass, rubbed opaque by the waves. “She found this, and I managed to con it off her.”
“Yeah?” he asked gently.
