Page 63 of Where Broken Wings Fly

I look around the well-stocked space. It’s full of children’s clothing in all manner of garish colours, including a great deal of pink. Arianna would love it in here. She’s a real unicorns, rainbows and glitter kind of girl.

“Need help picking stuff?” Zach asks.

“You know much about girls’ clothing?”

“I’m a fast learner.”

Giving him a basic list of clothing and Arianna’s sizes, I watch him head for the nearest employee, plastering a charming smile on his face. Those damned adorable dimples are back out. My hands clench into fists by my sides before I realise what I’m doing.

The thump of footsteps betrays Killian’s presence before he halts at my side, his carefully blank facial expression back in place. Whoever the man that touched me so reverently outside was, he’s long gone back into his hiding place.

“I got a basket.” Killian spares me a look. “Why the long face?”

Is he serious right now?

“Nothing. Let’s get this over and done with.”

“Willow, wait.”

A lump gathered in my throat, I peer up at his overwhelming height. An almost indecipherable emotion flits through his eyes before it dissipates, swallowed again by darkness. I can’t decide if I want to kiss him or punch his lights out.

“Yeah?” I hum impatiently.

Killian falters. “About what I said.”

“What about it?”

Waiting for an apology that doesn’t come, I watch him deliberate for several excruciating seconds before I give up and abandon him amongst the clothing. He’s literally incapable of vulnerability. Part of me feels sad for him.

I’ve lost a lot of people in my life. Family. Friends. Myself, even. But I never want to allow that grief to consume me or take away my ability to connect with others. Then, I’ll be the monster in my own story. What’s there left to fight for then?

Throwing myself into the task, within half an hour I have several baskets full of clothing. Long-sleeved t-shirts, leggings, two pairs of jeans, a couple of floaty dresses and skirts in every shade of pink and yellow. Arianna’s favourite colours.

She even has a new coat for the rainy weather, pyjamas covered in tiny little giraffes, and an extra pair of shoes. Zach has excelled himself. It will cost pretty much my whole budget, but I can’t wait to see the look on her face.

Finding Killian standing at the check-out counter, I catch him shoving a giant stuffed elephant into a plastic bag. He clears his throat when he sees me, caught red-handed.

“There’s a new family coming. They have nothing.”

“How is that possible?” I wonder.

“The two kids didn’t come to the country with any toys. They were fleeing a warzone.” Killian’s visible rage could cut down whole armies with a single glance. “Every kid should have a toy.”

And that right there is exactly what’s so infuriating about this man. He’s riddled with contradictions—caring and kind, hateful and possessive. Cold in one instant and fuelled by the fires of passion in the next. His entire presence is dizzying.

Killian packs the rest of my clothing into several bags before flourishing a shiny bank card. I attempt to grab it from his hands, but he’s so much taller than me and holds it out of reach, until I’m jumping up and down like a lunatic.

“Stop it! You’re not paying for this. I won’t let you.”

“Lola already gave me the funds,” he cuts my protests off. “She knew you wouldn’t touch her credit card. This isn’t up for discussion.”

“I have my own money.”

“Well, it’s no good here.”

“Killian!” I bark at him.

All he can do is offer me a smug grin, far too satisfied with my inability to snatch the card from his hands. He swipes it so fast, the payment is done and dusted before I can mount another attack.

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