One Autumn Night

Prologue

I ought to go upright and vital,

And speak the rude truth in all ways.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

We loved with a love that was more than love.

—Edgar Allan Poe

Prologue

Bright white blossoms, tickled by the breeze and blades of sharp green grass, fluttered around Abigail Roberts. Summer was on its way, then after that autumn, then winter, spring, then summer all over again. Seasons swirled, time ticked, and she wondered what the point was to all of it.

Still clad in her royal blue graduation gown, her gold eyes stared into the obscure distance as bees investigated fields of arrowhead flowers around her. The sweet white petals fanned around a cheerful burst of yellow, contrasting the prickly pit in the center of her stomach.

This field of wildflowers and tufts of green on the frittered edge of the small Connecticut town she called home, Stonebridge, was her place of peace. It was where she escaped to think, to consider and pause from life as she knew it.

And she knew a hell of a lot for an eighteen-year-old. Some days she wished she hadn't gotten the crash course of life so early, but those were wasted wishes. It was what it was, she reminded herself. There was no use wishing she'd been dealt other cards; these were her cards to play in the game of life.

"You took off fast after the ceremony."

Abigail and her long, dark ponytail whipped toward the masculine voice and found Declan Fitzgerald approaching, his strong strides eating the ground through dainty flowers.

His presence always caused little beads of sweat to form, and under her gown she felt a good dousing of familiar wetness glaze the surface of her skin. "Not much reason to stick around," she told him then turned back to the meadow surrounded by a smattering of shady oaks and haunting bald cypresses. "Your father slipped me a card after the ceremony. Inside it said 'The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.' It also had American Express gift checks in it. He shouldn't have given me money."

"An Eleanor Roosevelt quote. Sounds like something my father would do. It's nice."

"It's too much. I barely know him. I should give it back."

"He's a man of few words, but a gift from him is his way of acknowledging you. It's a nice thing he did. Keep it." Declan plucked a flower from its thin stem, handed it to her. "You worried about your mom? No leads on finding her yet, right?"

Unsure how to answer, Abigail fiddled with the wildflower and stayed quiet as Declan sat beside her.

"That must be hard."

She lifted her heavy shoulders, shrugging them. "It is what it is. At least I'm legally old enough to take care of Ben and Beckett, I guess. Otherwise they'd have to go into foster care. That's what the police and the child welfare woman told me."

"That would suck."

"Yeah."

"Will they go with you to UConn?"

She shook her head, the silky mane of hair shaking with it, then crossed her legs in front of her, glancing at her one pair of heels that had collected gruff brown soil from the trek across the field. This soil, this field, this town, it held her life for the foreseeable future. "Change of plans."

Without saying anything further, he slid a strong hand along her back, soothing. And with every stroke, tingles of desire pricked just under her skin.

She knew Declan had grand life plans ahead of him—he'd be off to Columbia University, then law school after that. He had those dreams Eleanor Roosevelt spoke about. Being a Fitzgerald, he had little to worry about. She, on the other hand, wondered what she would feed her brothers for dinner since she'd spent what she had in the bank on the mandatory cap and gown rental.

But in that moment, surrounded by nothing but perky flowers, overgrown green, and puffy white clouds meandering through bold blue, they were together, just her and Declan. Maybe after she got a job and had a sturdy income to stand on, she could take the train to visit him in Manhattan. And he'd be back to visit his family, of course. Maybe they could make it work, seeing each other on weekends, holidays.

Maybe.

She sighed as she leaned into him, letting him hold her. Even the smell of him—that rich scent of cool cologne, the clean wafts of Tide detergent—gave her bursts of excitement. Her body responded to him in ways she couldn't begin to understand; it had a life of its own around Declan.

His hand traced along her jawline as he tilted her face to look at him. It was a tender movement that brought a heated flutter to her belly. Then his eyes focused, taking only traces of that tenderness with them as they speared into her, studying.

She glanced down at his lips, not only because they made her buzz with desire, but because she didn't want him to see too far into her. Not today, she thought. The undercurrent was too strong and she wasn't sure what it all meant or how she was going to stay afloat. She certainly didn't want a pitied toss of a life preserver from the guy who had it all. It was too lowering to need, and she was already well underwater, gasping for air on the buoyed bounces of thrill she got just being with Declan.

His lips, those potent lips, met hers, flooding her senses that sought solace. Taking, sampling, giving. Abandoning the future for that one moment, their kiss was one of longing, a deep desire she couldn't begin to verbalize, and, she knew, it was also a form of goodbye.

Wanting to feel, to explore, to meld, she broke the kiss only to stand and tug off her graduation gown and simple cotton dress while he rose and pushed away his black Armani dress pants. Then they fell onto each other, a tumble of carefree laughter and intense yearning, onto the tickling grass, each diving into the wonder.

When he slid into her, she went from desperation to demand. Her body arched, feeling him move inside of her, and she let out a brief murmur. It was his name that she'd said, she knew that much, but everything else was a haze—graduation, impending goodbyes, and the promise of a rocky path before her.

Pressing, riding, joining, they gave each other what they most wanted in that moment—to hold on, to feel, and not let go.

Maybe they could stay together, she thought as her hips moved faster and faster with his. She couldn't imagine ever feeling this alive, this much desire for anyone else. It was always Declan she yearned for with that inward shiver that longed to connect.

And with a final thrust, she wrapped her arms around him, connecting, and held him close as she soared, purely, simply, above the webbed sky of complexity into utter freedom.

It would all work out. It had to.