Two years after a horrible accident, Kinsley's determined to make it through vet school, but she didn't expect to meet country boy Noel McLean who's just as mysterious as he is charming.
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Kinsley Hastings suffers from PTSD. After surviving a fata...
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Noel
As winter fades into spring, the snow melts. The grass turns green and buttercups sprout from the damp earth. At first, it feels slow. You see these flashes of green or hear the birds chirping in the morning. Then, all at once, spring arrives. Tulips and an assortment of flowers poke through the dirt, accompanied by green grass. Leaves return to the trees. And the sun feels warm on your face.
The brutal despair of winter withers from your bones, and you look forward to the oncoming summer. To the correlation between country music and the farm and sunshine. Those mornings where you wake at dawn and watch the sun rise over the fields of wheat while the roosters pierce the silence.
That's what love is like.
You see the signs. You experience them.
The first time you catch yourself staring. Or when they touch your hand and you feel an electric shock. Jokes are exchanged. Memories are made. You kiss with passion and tell secrets only the night sky knows about.
Then, with no warning, you're looking at the masterpiece. It's an intricate design of different components. Happiness, longing, lust, passion. Melancholy and pain. Regrets and wishes.
Each aspect is woven into life so precariously, it almost breaks your heart. But it also heals the damage the past has done.
When you learn to love yourself, imperfections and all, you're granted to opportunity to share that love with another person.
That's how I felt when Kinsley and I reunited.
Although I needed counselling, time felt incomplete without her. When I saw her sitting at the booth, sipping her strawberry milkshake, I knew.
Seeing her made me feel like I was home.
Which is exactly why I haven't left the bed yet. There are lots of chores that need to be done, but all I want to do is lay beside Kinsley. Watch as her chest rises and falls in harmony with her soft breaths. Her loose blonde curls are splayed across the crisp white pillow and the sheets are tucked beneath her arm, giving me a view of her bare shoulders and slender neck. The shadows of her chest. I tighten my arm around her waist, keeping her body close to mine. My hand rests against the scars on her lower back.
The texture is uneven, but soft, and it doesn't trigger any effects of post-traumatic stress disorder. Nor do I feel any sadness or guilt. Instead, I feel sympathy for both of us.
Kinsley stirs in her sleep, nestling closer to me. The sheets loosen around her upper body, enhancing the skin-on-skin contact. Her breasts are pressed against my chest and our legs are tangled beneath the sheets.
Yeah, the chores can wait.
Although I'm wide awake, I close my eyes and focus on the rhythm of her breathing. After today's chores are complete, I'm taking Kinsley on the date we should've had. We're giving horseback riding another shot. Once we arrive at the lake, we'll spend the day there. Neither of us has been to the lake yet.
