Anything for You

Ah. He was speaking.

“Congratulations, Jess. You got a promotion, I hear.”

“I did. Thank you.”

“How’s your dinner?”

“It was excellent, as always.” She couldn’t remember what she’d ordered.

“Glad you liked it.”

So pleasant. You’d never know her heart was shuddering in her chest.

This will be the last time you break up with me.

He couldn’t really mean that.

It suddenly occurred to her that he could.

Then he looked at Marcy. “Hey. I’m Connor O’Rourke, the chef and half owner. I hear you’re the new event planner.”

“I am!” Marcy boomed. “We should get together and talk! I’d love to have you on my list of approved caterers! The Barn at Blue Heron can’t be serving just any kind of food. I mean, I heard the last event served Kentucky Fried Chicken! That’s so not the image we want to portray, right? It’s much more upscale than that.”

The event to which Marcy was referring was one Jess had arranged. And yes, they’d served fried chicken in buckets, but no, not from KFC. From The Chicken King, a small franchise owned by one of Manningsport’s wealthiest residents (and Connor’s mother’s boyfriend). The event raised money for the animal shelter in town, and no one, including the Hollands, had worried about their image.

“You haven’t had the Chicken King’s Bacon Buttermilk Batter Bombs,” Faith said to Marcy. “But Connor, we’d obviously love to have O’Rourke’s on the list, if you guys are interested in doing catering.”

“Probably not,” he said. “We have our hands full here.”

It flashed through Jessica’s mind that he was saying no because of her, because she worked for Blue Heron, but that was stupid, because Colleen and Faith were best friends, and—

“Let’s get together for a drink just the same,” Marcy said. “I’d love to talk. You could recommend some local outfits, pastry chefs, whatever.” Her eyes dropped to Connor’s left hand. No ring, of course.

Well, shit.

Colleen walked behind her brother and smacked his head. He didn’t look at her. “Sure,” he said belatedly. “That’d be nice.”

“It’s a date, then. Here. Put your number in my phone.” She handed over her enormous smartphone, the latest model, encased in a Burberry plaid case.

The rest of the table was talking about something else, and little Noah was being passed around. Smelling his head seemed to be a thing. Mrs. Holland was advising Faith on how to get him to sleep through the night, and Mrs. Johnson was asking for another piña colada, the only one of the group not to drink wine.

Yes. Look anywhere but at Connor, who was giving an age-appropriate, attractive and very confident woman his number. She twisted the ring she wore on her thumb—her mother’s wedding ring. Look how much happiness marriage had brought her mother. None. Fights and drunkenness and poverty, though chances were, Jolene probably would’ve found those without marriage, too.

“You okay?” Levi asked, and Jess jumped a little.

“Yeah, I’m great. Thanks. Just a little headache.”

“In this crowd? I can’t imagine.” He smiled, and she was grateful. Like her, Levi understood being a little...separate. But now he was securely in the Holland clan, having found his place with Faith.

Jess would never have that, and that was just fine. It was better to be on her own. She couldn’t rely on someone else when Davey was at stake.

Besides, if she didn’t count on anyone, no one could let her down.

She suddenly found herself with the baby in her arms. “Hey, Noah.”

His head did smell so good. She gave Levi a smile. Her old friend deserved every happiness, but suddenly, that feeling of being left out gripped her throat in a fist.

And then the shit hit the fan.

“What are you doing here?” Davey was back, glaring at Connor, who didn’t hear him, as Marcy was talking about the amazing apartment she’d left in Manhattan.

“Want to head home, Davey?” she said, passing the baby back to Levi.

“I hate you!” Davey barked, and Connor turned around. “You’re not invited! You should go home! This is Jessica’s party!”

Connor knew better than to answer. He’d been coached on it, in fact.

“Whoa,” Marcy said. “Okay, this is a little awkward, isn’t it? Is he all right?”

“Let’s go, Davey,” Jess said. “We can watch The Avengers if you want.”

“I’m going, too,” Ned said, standing up. “Got to get my beauty sleep, right, Davey?”

Davey’s eyes flickered to Ned. “Right. I—I have to get my beauty sleep, too.”

Ned tossed her a wink. She forced a smile back.

Gratitude could be wearying sometimes. Jess appreciated the people who understood her brother, but it was tiring, always hoping people would understand, always going into the most ordinary situations having to wonder if her brother’s temper would flare, if he’d be scared, if something would trigger a rage.

Ned walked Davey up front, and Jessica got out of her chair, then stood there, looking around the table. “Thank you all so much for tonight.” She paused. “For everything.” Thank you for giving me my first real job. Thank you for your faith in me. Thank you for accepting my brother. Thank you for making me feel normal.

For a second, she almost thought she might cry.

“We’re lucky to have you, Jessica,” the younger Mr. Holland said.

“I can’t believe I ever managed without you,” Honor added, and Jack agreed, and before Clan Holland could stand up and start hugging, which they did a lot, Jessica gave a quick wave and made her way to the front of the bar.

Marcy didn’t acknowledge her, just leaned back in her chair and laughed at something she said, then laid a hand on Faith’s shoulder and laughed again.

The Hollands liked Jess, she knew that. But she couldn’t help feeling a little uncomfortable that Marcy would be staying when she would not.

Near the front door, Ned was checking his phone. Davey was talking to someone. Jess pulled on her jacket—it was still chilly at night, April or not—then froze.

Davey was hugging the person he was talking to. And Davey didn’t hug many people.

Someone short. Someone skinny. Someone with reddish-blond hair.

“Jess, look!” Davey said, turning. “He’s here!”

The floor dropped out beneath her, and she took an involuntary step back.

There he was, his nose crooked from so many fights, hair shaggy as ever, half his face taken up by his big blue eyes, same as Davey.

Keith Dunn. Their father.

He smiled hugely. “Jessica,” he said, and those eyes filled up with tears. “How’s my baby girl?”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“Connor! You said you’d do whatever I ordered.” Colleen huffed mightily and folded her arms on her watermelon of a belly. “You said you’d go out with her!”

“I was being polite. Now move, because I have to cook.”

“Give me five minutes, for God’s sake.” She turned to the sous-chef. “Rafe, tell him to listen to me.”