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‘The only thing that tastes like rainbows, Annie, is you,’ Sketch says, his lips seeking out mine.
I close my eyes and drift into euphoria as Sketch Talbot kisses blissful daydreams into my mind.
SEVENTEEN
HOLLY
Nate rolls over and groans sleepily. ‘What time is it?’
‘Late.’ I shiver as the cold of the wrought-iron headboard drives into my back as I sit up in bed.
Nate and I are squashed into the single bed in the downstairs bedroom I always slept in as a kid. Nate said he was happy to sleep on the couch, but when I told him I wanted him beside me, he eagerly agreed to squeeze into the narrow bed together. I quickly shot down his enthusiasm and left him under no illusions that just because I offered him an olive branch didn’t mean we’re back together.
‘I don’t want my mother to worry about me,’ I said, sternly. ‘If you sleep on the sitting-room couch, she’ll suspect something’s not right. She can’t handle any more stress right now, okay?’
Nate nodded like an obedient schoolboy and accepted my terms. I didn’t admit to Nate that I really wanted him to sleep beside me because being alone right now would completely shatter my already breaking heart.
Nate and I haven’t slept beside each other in almost two weeks. It’s soothing to feel his warmth next to me even though two adults can’t fit comfortably in the cramped bed, especially as Nate’s broad shoulders take up the lion’s share.
‘You been asleep yet?’ he croaks, pulling himself up to sit beside me.
I shake my head.
A sliver of light from the hall creeps in under the bedroom door, and Nate twists his wrist, trying to catch the light against his watch.
‘It’s after midnight,’ I say, tilting the screen of my phone towards him so he can see the time in the corner of the screen.
‘Candy Crush?’ he snorts, scrunching his whole face as his eyes protest against the bright colours shining in his face.
‘Level one hundred and thirty-seven.’
‘Jesus. How long have you been playing?’
‘A while. I couldn’t sleep.’
Nate yawns and slides his arm between my neck and the icy headboard. I stiffen and close my eyes. Two weeks of pent-up anger and hurt bubble close to the surface, and a part of me wants to slap his hand away. The other part, the more dominant part, wants to thank him for walking out of work and driving across the country to be with me when I desperately need him. Nate’s hand strokes my back, warming me, and I stop fighting it and drop my head onto his shoulder.
‘You okay?’ Nate whispers, his warm breath dancing across the top of my head.
I sniffle and snuggle into him harder. ‘I wish we could find that painting for Nana,’ I say after a long, comfortable silence falls over us.
‘I know. I wish we could find it, too. But Ben and I searched everywhere. We even checked that old chicken shed. I can’t think of anywhere else it could be.’
‘It would make her so happy to see it,’ I say. ‘I know it would.’
‘I know.’ Nate squeezes my shoulder gently. ‘It would make you happy to see it, too, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yeah. So happy. I bet it’s really beautiful.’
‘How’s the book going?’ Nate continues. ‘Is Annie enjoying the memories?’
‘She’s a great writer,’ I gush. ‘I mean, she’s really, really good. I can’t believe she never told anyone about her story.’
‘Maybe she was waiting for the right time,’ Nate suggests.
‘Yeah. Maybe. I just wished I’d known about it sooner. Nana used to read bedtime stories to me all the time when I was a little girl,’ I explain. ‘It’s weird now to have the roles reversed.’
‘I think it’s supposed to go that way, you know. Circle of life and all that. Maybe someday our child will be reading stories to your Mam—’ Nate cuts himself off, realising he’s inadvertently brought up the baby. He drags his free hand across his forehead. ‘Ah shit, Hols, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…’
