Page 114 of Never Let You Go

“Oh—Yes.” I hastily wipe away my tears. “I’m okay, now.” I hug her, needing comfort, despite my assurances. She pulls the picture I’ve been holding between my fingers.

“Who’s that?”

“The little girl is me. And this is—was my mother.”

“She’s very pretty. Just like you.”

A chuckle makes it through my throat. “Yes, she was very pretty.”

“I don’t have a mother,” she says matter-of-factly. “Come, let’s go make pancakes.”

She pulls on my hand to get me to stand. I slide the picture back in the envelope, grab my childhood recipe book, and follow her down the stairs.

I manage to read the recipe in Mom’s handwriting without bawling again—Skye’s constant chatter a welcome distraction. And, here it is, at the bottom: Enjoy with VT maple syrup. And a little heart.

Tonight, it feels like she’s here with me.

And it feels good. It feels like I’m going to be okay.

“How did you know that was exactly what I needed?” Christopher asks much later that night, after Skye is asleep and he’s spread eagle naked on my bed, sheet up to his hips, my head on his chest and his hand threading through my hair.

I love the way he plays with my hair when he’s thinking through stuff after sex.

I’m still trying to catch my breath.

“You mean when I licked your balls?” That’s not what he means.

He chuckles softly. “Beautiful, you’re incredible in bed.”

My belly does somersaults.

“But I meant breakfast for dinner on my birthday.”

Warmth spreads all over my body. “That was Skye’s idea.”

His chest does a jerky motion to move my face sideways and meet his gaze. “Really?” A big smile brightens his features, and he sets my head back comfortably on his chest. “Thank you for making it happen.” He kisses my head, and I feel panic taking over.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

God. Why can he read me so well?

“Yup,” I squeal.

His hand strokes my arm, soothing.

“I’m glad Grace and Justin came too,” he says. “I liked sharing this,” he says.

I nod in understanding. “I love dinners at the farm.”

His body shifts, and something passes between us. “It’s—that’s what… Oh well, whatever.” He stops stroking my hair. I know what he means.

Lynn and Craig sharing their home. Their love for each other. These big family reunions. These are the things people like us yearn for.

I clasp his hand in mine and look up at him, bliss and pain fighting for control over my emotions. “We’ll take what we can, right? Misfits can’t be too demanding.”

He shifts us so we’re now lying on our sides, looking at each other. “I tend to want a lot of things I shouldn’t have.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “And I always find a way to get them.”

Is he talking about us? His intense gaze tells me he is, but maybe that’s just me fantasizing. Letting myself go down the slippery slope again.

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