That’s something Kiera would do and I have a moment of regret that I didn’t come better prepared with flowers, or candy, or jewelry… or an apology.
“Jesus Christ. Get a hold of yourself, Connor,” I mutter under my breath. But it’s not a secret mutter because the words come out in a small blast of steam.
I high-step my way towards the cottage and with each step more and more snow packs down into the crevice between my foot and my shoe. I carefully climb her porch steps, gripping the railing to pull myself through the snow, and stand in front of the door.
Music comes from within. Opera. Something I recognize, but can’t name. Something that takes me back to those days and confirms what I already knew the moment I saw that book.
She is stuck in the past.
I should’ve kept better track of her.
I raise my fist to bang on the door, but it opens a crack before I can do that.
And there she is. Kiera Bonnaire in the flesh. Long, unruly blonde hair still one of the most striking things about her. Eyes a color that cannot be described. Are they the lightest green? Or the lightest blue? Or the lightest yellow?
No one is sure.
No one is sure about anything when it comes to Kiera, except that they can be sure of nothing.
She is one of us, but not one of us.
She squints her eyes in recognition. Draws in a deep breath. Then says, “Connor Arlington. What brings you to my front door on this cold winter afternoon?”
The music is still playing. The title of the song comes to me now. Because I’m back. One look at her and I’ve been thrown back in the past. I am up in that tower. Playing those games. Watching her as she scribbles things down as fast as she can.
“Barbiere Di Siviglia,” I say, the name of the song coming to me now.
She huffs out what could be a laugh or could be contempt, then says, “That’s all we ever had between us, Con. Memories,” as she opens the door wider. “You must really have something to say to me if you walked all the way up here from the street.”
Oh, fuck, yeah, I have shit to say to you, Miss Bonnaire.
CHAPTER TWO – KIERA
I don’t normally look out the window. I’m not one of those writers who require inspiration. It’s a fucking job, OK? And besides, there are more words inside me begging to get out than I could ever hope to write down. I don’t need any prodding to put them down on paper. They flow out of me like water down a mountainside.
But I do have a nice forest view in the front of the house and a lake view out back, so every once in a while I’ll just enjoy it a little as I do my thing.
Tonight I was looking outside, wondering how bad this next storm is gonna get, when I saw a man doing his best to trudge through the almost impassable barrier of snow to reach my house.
I even heard him cursing a few times. Goddamn this. Goddamn her. Who the fuck lives in a forest and doesn’t plow their driveway? Why the hell am I doing this?
Never in a million years did I think the dumbass outside my cottage would be Connor Arlington.
He looks good though. His suit pants are covered in snow from the trek up to my door, but it’s not enough to mar the memory or the image he creates for me now. His hair isn’t as blond as it used to be back in college and his eyes looked dark when he was standing in the shadows under my porch, but now, under the soft light of my front room, they’re the same brown-green as always.
Even though our campus was tiny compared to state universities, and small even for a private liberal arts college, we didn’t travel in the same circles. Not until the night we both ended up in the tower, anyway.
Not that we didn’t have things in common. Obviously we did. But I came on scholarship and he didn’t. His great-grandfather’s name was on a plaque outside the theatre. His father went there. Hell, I’m pretty sure everyone who went to Essex College was a legacy.
Including me.
At least… everyone in our little group was like that. Sofia’s grandmother donated the eating hall. Camille’s great-grandmother donated the land surrounding the college. Bennett’s whole family took pre-law at Essex, so they regularly add to the library. Hayes’ family donated the health center, and Connor’s great-great-grandfather was the fucking founder. Some self-righteous pastor who owned the church next door and had a dream of elite education for a select few.
I got in because my grandmother applied for a scholarship the day I was born. She went there on scholarship, as did my mother. I don’t really understand that, and was never curious enough to ask, but I’m pretty sure it’s got something to do with sex.