Anything for You

Her face didn’t change, didn’t move, but her eyes flickered. There were a hundred stories there, and none that he’d get to hear. She’d told him all she was going to.

She nodded. “Thank you.” Her voice was low.

“I just don’t want to... I mean, it’d be nice if we could...”

He hated talking.

“I know. Me, too.” She gave him a little smile. Words had never really been their thing, anyway.

“Is everything okay with you?” he asked, because there were shadows under her eyes, and he wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d caused them.

She picked up the pen again. “My father’s back in town.”

A hot, slow wave of anger flooded Connor’s chest. Keith Dunn had screwed his family over more times than anyone could count. Left Jessica completely in charge of Davey after her mother died.

“Want me to get rid of him for you?” he asked before he remembered that wasn’t his job anymore.

She shook her head. “Thanks for the thought. I’ll take care of it.”

Or Levi would. After all, he was a cop and could actually do something other than threaten. As ever, the old pang of jealousy sounded.

It wouldn’t be smart to ask her to help him with the brewery. She didn’t want to marry him; he should give her, and himself, some space.

“I was wondering if you might be available for some freelance work,” he said, because why not? It’s not like he was emotionally intelligent. He’d proven that more than once.

And being around Jessica, in any way, was preferable to the alternative.

“Bartending? Colleen already asked me.”

“No. Marketing.”

She raised her eyebrows. “O’Rourke’s needs help?”

“No. The brewery. You know.”

“Um...no, I don’t.”

Right. It was quite possible that Connor had never told her, since they’d never had a normal relationship with talking and meals and all that. “Well, I’ve been working with Tim Parsons about opening a brewery, and it seems like a good time.” Because now that you left me, I have quite a bit of time on my hands. “I figured it could be...you know. Good.” Captain Eloquence, that was him.

“Connor, that’s great,” she said. “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Who better than you, right? You know food, so you’d know what to drink with it.”

“Yeah. That’s what I had in mind. You know how restaurants always recommend a wine pairing. No one recommends beer, and why not? So I’d consult, basically, and Tim would do the real work, but I’d tell him what flavors I wanted to go with different kinds of food, and serve them at O’Rourke’s, and kind of...go from there.”

She was smiling. Just a little, but he felt it in his blood cells, all of which were marching south, whistling happily.

Get up, doofus. Her answer to his proposal echoed in his mind.

The whistling stopped.

“Let me check with the Hollands and see if they’d mind,” Jessica said. “If they say it’s okay, I’d love to help.”

Connor stood up. “Great. Work me up an estimate if they say yes.”

“You don’t have to pay me.”

“Yes. I do.”

Those words shut down the warm light in her eyes. But he did have to. They could be friendly, and maybe they could work together, but he couldn’t go back to begging for scraps from her table.

A door opened, and the hallway was suddenly filled with chatter. “You’re going to love it, it’ll be so fab! And I love your idea of having people arrive by horse and carriage! Oh, my God! Connor! Hi! Are you looking for me?”

It was what’s-her-name. His date. “Hey,” he said, standing up. “How are you?” Molly? Mary? Maybe? No, not Maybe. Marcy, that was it.

“Elizabeth, this gorgeous guy is Connor O’Rourke,” Marcy continued, stepping aside so another woman could peek in. “He owns the cutest little tavern in the Village here. You should book him for your rehearsal dinner! Seriously. The food is ah-mazing!”

“Hi,” said a smiling woman. “If Marcy recommends you, it must be great.”

“Thanks.” Maybe he should say something else. “You’re getting married at the Barn?”

“I am,” she said. “Totally fell in love with it when I saw it online. And Marcy is so helpful.”

Connor glanced at Jessica, who hadn’t yet been acknowledged, then back at the bride. “Good.”

“By the way, Connor, I got your text,” Marcy said, leaning in Jessica’s doorway. “I totally can’t wait. Where should we meet?”

“Uh, your choice,” he said.

“Okey-dokey,” she said. “I’ll text you later. Come on, Elizabeth, we have tons to go over! This will be the most special day of your entire life! I promise you! That’s what every one of my brides says to me. Without fail. I kid you not.”

They went into her office and closed the door.

That had been fairly exhausting. Marcy was very cute, if you somehow silence that voice and cut her energy level by, oh, ninety-eight percent.

And now Jessica knew he had a date with her. She sure didn’t seem to care. He looked at her another minute. She returned his look, calm as Buddha. Three feet away, pal.

“Send me that estimate,” he said. “And thank you, Jessica.”

With that, he went back out, waved to his mom again and turned his five-mile run into ten.

Maybe exhaustion would get Jess out of his head.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JESSICA’S HANDS WERE shaking as she got out of her car in front of Hugo’s. She took a calming breath, looked out over Keuka Lake, and took another.

When her father had just appeared like that, Jessica thought that maybe, for the first time in her life, she might pass out. Her skin crawled in a massive, wriggling wave, and her heart started thudding so hard she could feel it in her eyes.

Davey, the traitor, hugging him.

And then Keith called her his baby girl.

She’d grabbed Davey by the arm and dragged him to the car. “I want to see Dad!” he said, and she could feel his anger building up and knew she’d be faced with a huge rage storm back home, and she didn’t care.

“Get in the car. Now,” she ordered.

“But it’s Dad! He came back for us!”

“Get in the car, Davey! Right now!” Right now was their code for emergency, and Davey’s eyes widened. He did as he was told, shoulders bent, and Jess felt two inches tall.

Their father was running down the street to catch up. “Jessica, honey, I know I have a lot to make up to you—”

“Shut up.” She turned to her father, her fingernails digging into her palms, her fists were clenched so hard. “You don’t get to do this,” she hissed. “You don’t just pop in and start hugging. You stay away from my brother or I will kill you.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. It felt true, nonetheless. And it felt evil and powerful and good.

“You have every right to be mad,” he said. “I accept that, and I take full responsibility.”

“So what?” She got into the car, shoved the key in the ignition and peeled away from the curb.