Page 68 of A Castle in the Sky: Fern & Connor
Every day after work, Connor appeared at Harlan's door, smelling like car oil and paint. Coral would squeal, "Park!" and he'd take her hand and off they went after a small detour to the pond.
The family next door had a daughter about Coral's age—a whirlwind of dark curls and chatter—named Maisie.
Maisie would talk a mile a minute, then pause and lean in expectantly, waiting for Coral to say even one word.
"Your turn," Maisie would whisper loudly.
Coral would blink, scrunch her face, think hard, and deliver something profound like, "Furry baby."
Maisie acted like Coral had recited Shakespeare.
"Yes! We can swap, but not today because I got mud on mine."
Fern could have kissed that child.
She'd watched Maisie pummel a boy who had tugged Coral's hair earlier that week—not maliciously, just to get her attention. Maisie had tackled him squarely, shouting, "No! We donotpull girls' hair!"
A fierce protector,Fern thought now as she and Connor stood by the park fence, watching Coral and Maisie dig a hole under the slide.
Fern murmured, "She'll have someone in school who won't let her get swallowed."
Connor chuckled softly. "Maisie could take down a small army."
The moment shaped into something gentle and familiar, the way it used to feel before secrets turned their lives inside-out. They hadn't talked about the divorce, but they hadn't moved toward reconciliation, either. They existed in this strange middle space, full of unsaid words and careful distance, both afraid to breach the fragile peace.
One day, three weeks after the move, Connor shifted from foot to foot, signalling the approach of something he didn’t want to say but had promised himself he would.
“I, uh... saw a clinical psychologist yesterday.”
Fern looked at him fully.
He swallowed. “It... it wasn’t great. First session made me want to throw up.”
She opened her mouth, but he lifted a hand to stop her.
“I’m going back,” he said firmly. “I get that I have to. If I ever want to feel less like shit. If I want to stop dragging everyone down with me.”
Fern looked back toward Coral, who was now showing Maisie how to pat the mud into “fish shapes.”
“I’m glad,” Fern said pointedly. “For you. You need to do this for yourself.”
He nodded, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
The wind lifted a few strands of Coral’s hair as she laughed with Maisie, the sound rising into the dusk like something new, something hopeful, and something Fern hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath for.
Chapter 31
Four months into the Manchester move…
Connor bent to tighten a bolt on Coral's play kitchen, and his torn up T-shirt parted just enough to reveal the deep lines of his lower abdomen. The muscles in his back shifted as he leaned, broad shoulders flexing under sun-worn skin. Ink climbed like vines up muscular arms, over a chest thick with muscle, only to disappear down the front of faded sweatpants.
Fern petered off mid-sentence before Coral demanded her attention again.
He was sweating lightly, the fabric clinging to the curve of his traps. His forearms were roped with muscle, and his thighs—tree trunks, solid and corded from years of manual work—shifted as he crouched.
He hadn't attended a gym day in his life, yet somehow, he had the body of someone who lived there.
Fern swallowed. Why was he flaunting his body like this? Her vibrator was just not doing it for her.
