Page 69 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
Her brain immediately let her into a lucid dream of his hands pinning her wrists above her head and kissing her breathless before lifting her effortlessly and tossing her onto the bed like she weighed nothing. She could almost hear his laugh in the dark against her shoulder as his body covered hers, warm and heavy and safe.
She blinked hard and nearly dropped the book in her hands.
A wicked voice whispered from behind her said, "Girl. You're drooling."
Fern jumped and whirled around.
Chiara raised one brow, arms crossed, her grin lethal as she sat cross-legged next to her.
"I'm not," Fern hissed.
"You absolutely are," Chiara said, flicking her eyes toward Connor. "God, look at him. If he bends over one more time, I might need a sanity filter. He might have rocks for brains, but boy, that body… "
"Chiara," Fern whispered, horrified and not quite liking her looking at her husband like that. Yes, her husband still.
"What?" Chiara shrugged. "Your husband is hot. Those thighs could crush a walnut… "
Fern tried—tried—to force her gaze away. But Connor stood and wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt, revealing more.
Chiara fanned herself dramatically. "I see the Lord has blessed us this fine day."
"Stop," Fern whispered, her face burning.
Chiara smirked. "Sweetheart, if you don't climb that man like a tree when you two get your lives sorted, I will judge you. Look at the rest of us losers."
Fern stared at the book in her hands as if it might burst into flames before flicking her gaze to Coral, who was talking to a butterfly in the front garden.
"He's... he's not mine right now."
Chiara's voice softened. "Who are you trying to fool, girlie? He's still in love with you, you know. He looks for you as soon as he steps into a room. I'm not telling you to forgive him; I'm just saying, don't pretend you don't feel something, too. Or just have revenge sex withhim. Have sex and then leave him with no cuddles. Then he will walk around like someone pissed in his beer."
Fern sighed.
Because she did feel something.This unwanted chemistry that refused to die down. Something she didn't trust. It felt a lot like that old feeling she had when he had walked up to her in that garage six years ago.
Connor hadn't just changed; he'd grown up. That was the first thing Fern noticed in the weeks since the move.
He was at her doorstep like clockwork, ready to spend time with Coral. When she refused to let him do the school runs without her, Connor knew she didn't trust him yet. He looked wounded but resigned, the stubborn line of his mouth conveying, "I will keep doing this until I get it right". He kept at it until six weeks into their return to Manchester, when Fern took that first step. She was helping Coral put her backpack on while Connor was on his knees buckling her shoes while she held on to his hair.
"Let's go, then," said Connor gesturing for Fern to precede him. And Fern had mumbled that she had a meeting, and why didn't he take her. His eyes had gone wide with shock but then gratitude filled his eyes in a way that it almost made her tear up. It took everything in her to stop herself from calling the school to make sure Coral had arrived safely. Connor somehow knew this, and he sent her a photo of Maisie dragging Coral through the gate while her teacher looked on, amused. It was the first stone of the new bridge of trust they were building.
Every few days, he turned up with groceries, despite her protests. He brought Harlan's favourite ale, the good coffee beans Fern pretended not to be addicted to, and Coral's yoghurt pouches—theexpensive ones he knew she loved. He'd change the subject when Fern brought up sharing the cost with the stubbornness of a man who'd made up his mind.
"Please don't deny me this, Fern," he begged earnestly, then turned and hurried away before she could change her mind.
Harlan looked on with amusement as he took a sip of his ale while ignoring Fern's grumpy comment about it being too early in the day for drinking.
Connor didn't force conversations or hover. But he refused to not see them, even for a day. He was reliable in a way she had hoped for years ago.
And the reverse trivia game—that ridiculous, private thing from early days—had returned. Connor didn't know this, but Fern had devised it once she learned about his dyslexia. A friend suggested it, and Connor was naturally competitive, researching and coming up with stranger and weirder stuff. All that had stopped when they moved to Whitley Bay.
But now, it was another way for Connor to bridge the gap.
At first, he sent answers and questions together, because he knew she wouldn't reply.
Lollygag.
Name a single word which means to spend time aimlessly, to dawdle or waste time doing nothing?
