Follow Me- Tattered Veils by Jessica Donegan

Author:Jessica Donegan [Donegan, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781704526034
Published: 2020-02-29T05:00:00+00:00

18. May Flowers

They’re at the threshold of her home. The drive is just long enough for Roxi’s mind to catch up with her heart. Conor is a terrible idea. He will hurt her. All the different ways this—whatever it is—can end badly are stacked sky high.

There is no happily ever after with a smoking alcoholic who’s so hurt he prefers drinking to remembering.

Still, she wants him however she can get him.

Do others get this feeling of electric current connection? Do they go out night after night, knowing there will be a steep fine to pay, but so desperate for a momentary sense of belonging that they don’t care about the cost at a later date?

Sympathy pangs in Roxi for all the other lost souls. She sees how Christianity’s message could speak to many. We’re all so lost and wretched. But that God never reached down and transformed Roxi’s life. He never seems to do anything but sit on a lofty perch and judge.

The present warmth from Conor’s hand in hers is more important than some future date’s tragedy.

Conor smiles. He has a swing in his walk that in most men Roxi would call a swagger and find repugnant. In Conor, she sees it more as the beginning of a dance he knows too well. There is no doubt in her mind that this is how Conor tries to make all his nights end, even if it’s never been with her.

Roxi opens the door and waves for Conor to follow. He nods and closes the door behind him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Roxi asks as she steers Conor toward the couch. “I’ve got both vodka and tonic.”

Conor nods and sits. Roxi walks behind him and into the kitchen. She wonders what he thinks of her place, with its exotic artwork and little shrines to her various gods. Collections of antique keys and irons nails seem scattered across counters and in her hutch display. The fireplace has hearthstones that show use, though not recently in the balmy weather. One table has a small fountain with a stylized Zen garden.

Though paganism is so foreign a concept to most in the Bible Belt, polite folk may just take her interior to particular styling versus a religious dedication. They’ve covered family, home lives, and various interests. All the flowerpots and candles are no surprise to him.

Roxi hands him a drink, and he nods. She settles down next to him and leans against his side, testing the water.

“Like your home, darling,” Conor murmurs. He lifts his arm and tucks Roxi up against him. He gazes at her, trying to gauge the situation himself, and licks his lips before taking a sip of his drink.

Roxi smiles and leans in.

“Tell me a story,” she asks.

“A story, now? What of?” The tension in Conor’s muscles seeps away, and he grins.

“Yes, a story. You’re here looking at all my stories,” Roxi motions to her shrines and paintings, “and I want to hear one of yours. It’s only hospitable.”

Conor laughs.

“We’re in the South, darling.

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