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Back Heart of the Sun
Chapters (56)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for the novels of Mia Sheridan
  3. About the Author
  4. NOTE TO READERS
  5. Dedication
  6. prologue
  7. chapter one
  8. chapter two
  9. chapter three
  10. chapter four
  11. chapter five
  12. chapter six
  13. chapter seven
  14. chapter eight
  15. chapter nine
  16. chapter ten
  17. chapter eleven
  18. chapter twelve
  19. chapter thirteen
  20. chapter fourteen
  21. chapter fifteen
  22. chapter sixteen
  23. chapter seventeen
  24. chapter eighteen
  25. chapter nineteen
  26. chapter twenty
  27. chapter twenty-one
  28. chapter twenty-two
  29. chapter twenty-three
  30. chapter twenty-four
  31. chapter twenty-five
  32. chapter twenty-six
  33. chapter twenty-seven
  34. chapter twenty-eight
  35. chapter twenty-nine
  36. chapter thirty
  37. chapter thirty-one
  38. chapter thirty-two
  39. chapter thirty-three
  40. chapter thirty-four
  41. chapter thirty-five
  42. chapter thirty-six
  43. chapter thirty-seven
  44. chapter thirty-eight
  45. chapter thirty-nine
  46. chapter forty
  47. chapter forty-one
  48. chapter forty-two
  49. chapter forty-three
  50. chapter forty-four
  51. chapter forty-five
  52. chapter forty-six
  53. chapter forty-seven
  54. chapter forty-eight
  55. epilogue
  56. acknowledgments

She gave me a confused smile and rolled to the side so I could get up. I pulled on my jeans and shirt and headed to the living room.

It only took me a minute to light the room’s array of candles that had been arranged on every surface. From the brief walk-through of the house that I’d done, I’d seen that the family who lived here—the Garcias—had set a candle or two in every room. But this was obviously the one they’d spent the most time in before leaving. This was where the majority of the candles were, and also where I’d found the item I wanted Emily to see. Or…experience.

I heard her soft footsteps descending the stairs and pushed a button. The soft strains of Edwin McCain began playing just as Emily rounded the corner, her eyes lighting up. “Oh my gosh,” she said. “You found a CD player.”

I glanced at the small battery-operated piece of equipment. “They must have dug it out of storage,” I said. “There’s dust in the crevices. And the most recent CD is from 2003.”

She smiled as she approached, candlelight flickering over her expression as the singer sang about who he’d be for the woman he loved. “I haven’t heard this one in a while,” she said.

“It’s from a collection of love songs from the nineties. Not exactly our decade but I thought maybe we could have that dance.”

Her eyes met mine. “The dance,” she whispered. “The one that will make everything right.”

“Maybe even temporarily,” I said. “Even that.” The dance that should have been but never was.

She took a step toward me, and I offered her my hand, both of us watching as our fingers laced together slowly. I pulled her close and she tipped her head back to look at me. “Even that,” she agreed.

I brought her body flush with mine, so much more familiar even in the last hour, though I’d known her all my life. We swayed in the candlelight, and the dance felt beautiful and somehow sad too, both a reclaiming and a reminder that time was so fleeting and that all too soon, this moment would be a memory. But I was determined to gather as many as possible, fleeting though they might be, because deep in my heart I had this feeling that I’d need to cling to them later.