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His tone was both a warning and a plea not to press further. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. He was the same age I had been when I lost my mother. The weight of my own loss bore down on me. I felt terrible. Connor wouldn’t look at me, busying himself with the bike, rubbing down the tank with hard, angry strokes.
I touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Connor. I didn’t know.”
His face softened, and he finally looked at me. “It’s alright. It’s just...not something I like talking about, you know?”
I did know. All too well. An invisible string looped around my middle and tied me to Connor, a silent acknowledgement of our shared bond. I took a step towards him, but the low rumble of thunder caught our attention just as the sky opened up outside.
“Bloody hell.” Connor peered out the open barn door. “We’re going to have to run for it. Here—take this.” Before I could protest, he’d pulled off his jacket, draped it over my head, and grabbed my hand. “Ready?”
We sprinted through the driving rain, wind tearing at our clothes, and arrived at the house breathless and soaked.
“Christ, it’s really pissing down out there.” The way he said it sounded likepishin doon ought ‘ere. I bit back a giggle, reluctantly charmed by his accent and his irritation. Connor mopped his face with the hem of his shirt, a futile gesture given that the fabric was sopping wet.
I stared at the bare skin revealed. The washboard abs I had guessed at during the ride were on full display, leading down to a narrow waist. The barest dusting of hair trailed down from his navel, framed by a deep vee that tucked sinfully beneath jeans riding low on his hips. Muscles shifted as he moved with lethal grace. His skin had pebbled with the cold, and I unconsciously took a step towards him, wanting to warm his skin with my hands. My body. My tongue.
“Cass?” His voice held a rougher edge, the vowel in my name drawn out like the way you heard some Irishmen pronouncelass, rich and velvety on the back of the tongue. It sounded like a caress.
My eyes met his. Connor was staring at me, too. His jacket had protected my head, but not my sweater, which clung to me like a second skin. He’d definitely noticed.
Connor took a step towards me. I stiffened, but I didn’t retreat. I didn’t know why. My heart was skipping in my chest. I was on the verge of trembling. Connor’s hands reached towards my waist like he was about to pull me towards him, but at the last second, they aborted their course, settling instead on the jacket.
“Keep it,” he said, drawing the fabric around me. “At least until you have a hot bath. You’re freezing.”
“So are you.” Somehow, I’d taken another step towards him. Connor’s mouth was now inches from mine, and my stomach tightened when he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.
He swallowed thickly. “I’ll be alright. You’re the one that’s trembling. Can’t have you catching your death.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen.”
“Not while I’m responsible for you.” For some reason, Connor said it like it was less of a burden and more of a privilege.
His hands slid up to my jaw. Heat blossomed in the wake of his touch, and my eyes fluttered closed, the air heavy between us. Time stilled, balanced on the precipice for a beat. Then another. Warm breath caressed my lips, coming faster than normal as his fists tightened around the jacket, and I tilted my face towards him, waiting for what, I wasn’t sure.
No, I was sure. Because when Connor’s lips ghosted down the corner of my mouth and settled on my cheek instead, there was a surprising ping of disappointment.
“Goodnight, Cass,” he whispered, instead.
10
Cassidy
"Favoritemovie."
Connor tossed a pebble into the ocean. “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You?”
“Horrible Bosses”. That was a lie. It was actuallyWhen Harry Met Sally, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.
He squinted at me like he knew I was lying, and tossed another pebble. “Favorite color.”
“Grey.”
“Nobody’s favorite color is grey.”
“Mine is.”
He scoffed. “Explain.”
The storm had finally cleared for good, and we’d taken advantage of the warm spring day by taking the bike down to Long Sands Beach in York to work on our prep for the INS interview. Connor said it was his favorite beach, especially in the offseason. I could see why. The sea was angry, flexing its might with the dregs of the storm and pushing mammoth waves towards the shore. Long expanses of smooth sand were broken by the rocky shoreline, gaining inch by inch as the tide crept in.
