THIRTY-NINE | MARROWS AND BUTTERNUT SQUASH

Kathrena was holding her books and binders close to her chest, and tapping her foot irritably when I reached my truck. The day had warmed, the autumnal chill receding for a few hours, but as the afternoon sky cleared there was a bite to the air that nipped at my fingers.

I wished that I could feel it; really feel it, rather than being able to process the temperature change like an analyst. I wanted to shiver, to shove my hands deep into my pockets, and then, later, for Skye to coo over my cold hands, to pull them into his own and blow on them, rubbing them together with determination etched into the handsome lines of his face.

I sighed, and Kathrena’s slack-jawed, anxious expression snapped into a frown. “You’re sighing?” She sniped. “You’re the one making me late. Again.”

“Woah, Kath,” I said, holding my hands up. “Sorry. I got held up.”

Her face softened, ever so slightly, and she shifted the weight of the folders in her arms. “I guess it’s only been a few minutes.”

I narrowed my eye