Page 133 of Catching Sparks

“He’ll be insufferable.”

“It’s a good thing we have each other to get through it with, then.”

Garrison palms my hips and drops his head, his breath whispering across my mouth. “Thank fucking God.”

And then we’re kissing, dancing lessons completely forgotten.

46

POPPY

If horses could fall in love, I’d believe Honey and Kip have followed in Garrison’s and my footsteps.

As Kip nuzzles Honey’s muzzle with his, their big bodies creating a wall in front of us while the treeline watches our backs, it’s obvious they’ve bonded over the past two months. I swallow hard at the affection the intimidating beast offers her and inwardly scold myself at how emotional I am.

I can’t help it. Every day for the past two weeks, I’ve continued to spiral, becoming more sensitive and delicate to the point of tearing up at the slightest mention of what’s coming tomorrow. It feels like there’s a stack of bricks on my chest, and with each day that came and went, bringing me closer to saying goodbye to Garrison, another was added. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to get a single breath in today.

I did this to myself. Maybe that’s the worst part. I knew it would end this way, yet I didn’t walk away. Now, I’m left with a rawness in my chest that I fear will never heal. Anger is a ticking time bomb in my chest. Anger at myself and Garrison.

If he hadn’t made me fall in love with him, I wouldn’t currently feel like I’m withering away. Like I’m preparing to lose an entire fucking chunk of myself in the morning.

Honey, sensing the mess of emotions inside of me, turns from Kip and stares at me from my position on the grass. I offer her a pathetic smile and blow out a shaky breath that I know Garrison can feel from behind me.

I’m tucked between his legs and against his chest. He leans back against a tree trunk and has his knees bent, bracketing me while draping his arms over them and playing with the fingers on my right hand. His cheek is pressed to mine, his jaw no longer covered in the hair he’d let grow out. The absence of it curdles my stomach.

We’ve ridden to this spot every day, absorbing as much time together as possible.

“Talk to me,” he urges, voice low, gentle.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.”

“You don’t want to hear everything I’m thinking.”

My mouth feels full of cotton. Fear wraps my heart in iron shackles.

“I do,” he argues.

Tears blur my vision as I shake my head, my fingers clenching his. “No, you really don’t. And I don’t want to spill my heart to you only to have you break it early.”

The time we’ve spent together has been the highlight of my life. Waking up every morning beside him to the sound of birdsong and only a sliver of the sun on the horizon over the last two weeks was a gift. Every laugh and cry and smile that I thought would rip my cheeks led right here, to this moment. And the thought of giving him that final piece of myself, however small it is, and watching as he discards it would ruin me. There would be nothing left of me to use to pick myself back up with after.

Garrison dips his head and brushes his lips across the expanse of skin exposed between my neck and shoulder. The spaghetti strap of my dress is far too easy to tug to the side as he continues kissing me, leaving no inch of my skin cold without his touch.

I squeeze my eyes shut, the gentleness of his touch tugging at my restraint string by string until my grip on it begins to fray.

“Don’t close yourself off to me,” he pleads. “I’m right here.”

“Only until tomorrow.”

“I know.” He sounds as defeated as I feel. As vulnerable.

It’s a side of him that I doubt many have seen. His ability to show it to me right now means more than he knows. It tells me that this isn’t one-sided. He trusts me. But it still isn’t enough.

“I haven’t asked you if you’re excited to get back to work,” I say, desperate to fill the silence with something other than the words ripping me apart inside.

“It hasn’t registered yet that I’ll be in Toronto tomorrow, let alone in the office. If I even go in right away.”

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