TWENTY-FIVE
Music spilled down the hallway, making Mellie clench her jaw, the throbbing at her temple keeping time with the racket. She was surprised there wasn’t a nasty note on her door from an irate neighbor. What on earth was Connor listening to? Some kind of heavy metal?
When she pushed the door open, he looked up, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Ye can feel it. Here, on the inside.” He thumped his chest.
“Yes, I think the entire building can feel it.”
It was Friday night. For dinner they had hamburgers, potato salad, and baked beans. He helped her make the potato salad and her grandmother’s famous baked beans. Connor said cooking was women’s work, but he enjoyed making food with her. He insisted on cutting the potatoes so she wouldn’t cut her finger. But the grilling? Mellie had a small blue grill on the terrace, and Connor was a natural. What was it with men and grills?
The burgers were done perfectly, and she laughed as he piled his bun high with lettuce, tomato, onion, and so many bread and butter pickles that she was surprised he could fit the thing in his mouth. Mellie had introduced him to pepper jack cheese and steak sauce on his burger. She was envious he could eat so much and never gain an ounce. If anything, since he’d been teaching his weapons classes, he looked even more defined. His forearms were tan, except for the fine lines from old scars and the newer ones he had from the museum.
She’d finally decided he wasn’t a thief, that his story was the truth. Mellie didn’t think she could handle him lying to her after what had happened with Greg. It would be a deal-breaker.
The new dishwasher was quiet, and Connor patted it as he loaded the dishes.
“Eat the dishes, beast.” He closed the door and started the machine, winking at her. “Aye, I know ’tis a machine and not a beast.”
“It would be far more interesting if the dishwasher was a beast that cleaned our dishes.” Mellie refilled their wine glasses and they settled on the sofa. For once, he handed her the remote.
“Really?”
He grinned.
“I get it. All these channels and there’s nothing on you want to watch, so I get the remote for a change. That it?”
“Mayhap I wish to be gallant.”
Mellie laughed. “Works for me, but no complaining when I pick a girly show.”
He held his hands up. “The night is yours, my lady.”
As she flipped through the channels, she stopped, catching sight of the very wedding dress she had picked for herself. A woman complained as she modeled it for her friends and mom, and the comments weren’t very flattering. The thought of Mellie’s brothers’ wives judging her dress choice made her grimace. They’d tell her about the latest cleanse or fad diet guaranteed to drop those extra pounds before the big day. After all, her sister-in-law would say, pictures last forever.
Connor roared with laughter. “She’s a bridezilla.”
“How do you know what a bridezilla is?” Mellie blinked at him, for a moment picturing him in a tux. He’d look like a model.
“’Tis a lass about to be married who is awful to all around her. Sounds like most of the lasses I’ve known, even before they’re married. I heard about this kind of woman from the wife of a friend.”
She nodded, but the feeling was back that he was hiding something from her. Please don’t let it be another woman.
“Bloody English,” he muttered.
The rest of the night she didn’t say much, and when he asked her what was wrong, she lied and said she thought she was coming down with something.
The next morning, Mellie woke to a burned bagel with grape jam and a glass of iced tea.
“You look verra beautiful today,” he said, making her blush.
Mellie smoothed her hands over the long, off-the-shoulder dress. It was striped and as comfortable as pajamas. She’d have to go back and buy the same dress in the other two patterns. It would be something she’d wear all summer. Even her hair cooperated today, so she’d left it loose, the curls in perfect loose corkscrews, a once-a-year occurrence.
“Thank you.”
Connor had made her breakfast after she’d been a brat last night. “I had a bit of trouble with the toaster.”
She vowed to be nicer. It wasn’t his fault she kept comparing him to Greg, kept thinking it should have been her marrying Greg, not Melinda. She cared for Connor, but the feelings he brought out in her scared her at times, the emotions so dizzying she wanted to hide in her room and make clay houses until it passed.
“It’s nice. No one’s ever made me breakfast.”
“Do we see the flying contraptions today?”
“We do. I think you’ll like them.”
Every year the hot air balloon festival drew people from all over. It marked the end of summer, taking place the weekend before Labor Day. The big family reunion was next week, and she was nervous about passing Connor off as her boyfriend. He acted like he was, but he tended to say what was on his mind—and that made her nervous.
They arrived early to beat the traffic and the crowds, Mellie had worn canvas sneakers with her dress, knowing they’d be doing a lot of walking. She’d given in and let Connor wear his sword. The man always had the daggers, and now he passed out business cards, his phone always ringing with new clients. He’d paid for a new phone and she added him to her plan. It was slow going to get him new identification. She’d wanted to talk to Peter, the doctor who used to date Amy and had treated Connor back in early May, but something held her back. Maybe because she didn’t want to admit she was seeing him after the way Peter had reacted.
As they walked amongst the colorful balloons, Connor acted like he’d never seen a hot air balloon before. Mr. Social Butterfly was already chatting up a man working on a bright blue-and-white balloon. She heard him ask how the balloon stayed in the air and shook her head. It was going to be a long day.
Instead of interrupting him, she sent Connor a text telling him she was going to check out the crafts. He took the phone from his shorts pockets, checked the phone, and looked to her, smiling. Connor sent back an OK with an emoji of a balloon and wine. Mellie had to admit, he looked almost as good in shorts as he did in jeans and a t-shirt.
Three women walked by, swinging their hips and tossing their hair as they passed Connor. To his credit, he was deep in conversation with the guy who owned the balloon, but Mellie knew without a doubt that she didn’t want a guy that good-looking.
She’d always be worrying he’d leave her for someone more. Prettier. Thinner. And more ambitious. But it was too nice a day to worry over, so she adjusted the strap of her cross-body bag and hit the craft vendors, determined to enjoy the day.