But every once in a while, if he was having a particularly rough day for whatever reason, Jess would pop into the kitchen, that mysterious half smile on her face, and say something nice. Something like, “That crab-cake special...it was proof of God, Con.” Or she’d say, “Heard a joke the other day and thought of you.” It would be inevitably filthy and hilarious, and he’d crack a begrudging smile and shake his head, the wire warm with current and tangled around his heart.
Almost like she was checking up on him.
Then she’d go back to the bar and not finish her drink.
If she waited on him at Hugo’s, she’d drop a hand on his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. But she did that with Jeremy and Gerard, too, he’d observed, and did even more with Levi, like messing up his hair, which invariably made Connor stupidly jealous. Levi and Jess went way back, friends since they were toddlers, practically.
Being relegated to friend...it was discouraging to say the least.
So one day, when a gorgeous redhead came in, and Colleen was too busy flirting with Levi Cooper, who’d just been promoted to police chief, Connor came out and took her order. Started talking.
Kim Garvis was the town clerk in Bryer, the next town over. She was in Manningsport for a training session on new software and decided to get dinner before she headed for home; said she’d heard good things about O’Rourke’s.
She was smart. She was nice. She was gorgeous. She was interested.
There was absolutely no reason not to ask her out, so he did.
Connor had kind of forgotten how it was to date someone without sneaking around. They didn’t hang out at O’Rourke’s. The restaurant was closed on Mondays, and Connor’s day off was Tuesday, and he really didn’t feel like staying in the building where he lived and worked in his free time. Plus, there was the Colleen element—his sister loved nothing more than to get into his business and offer color commentary. So he’d get on his motorcycle and drive over to Bryer and hang out with Kim, or take her out to dinner or a movie.
And everything was very nice. Couldn’t ask for anything more. It was great.
So long as he didn’t think about Jessica Dunn. Whenever she did come into his head, he’d remind himself that she’d made herself clear, had other priorities, and he had to get that through his thick Irish head.
Then one night Kim surprised him by showing up at the restaurant. There’d been the spring biplane show on the lake, and O’Rourke’s was packed and loud and fun. Kim didn’t mind; she sat at the bar, chatted with Colleen, who’d guessed, using her psychic twin powers, that he was seeing someone. Kim seemed completely at ease, laughing with some of the regulars, and Connor, glancing out, smiled, seeing his girlfriend there.
“Rafe, you have the conn,” he said. Though Rafe was not a Navy man, he did love submarine movies, especially those starring Matthew McConnaughey or Denzel Washington.
“I have you, Con, and aye aye, skipper,” Rafe said, taking over the grill.
Connor washed his hands and went out, weaving through the crowd till he got to Kim. “Hey, you,” he said, and gave her a casual kiss on the lips.
“Hey, back,” she said, grinning. “Thought I’d come see you in your element.”
“His element is lead,” Colleen shot back. “The densest element. Oh, snap!” She high-fived Gerard and pulled a Guinness.
“The densest element is osmium, idiot,” Connor said. “Though a good case can be made for iridium, too.”
“No one cares,” she said. “It was a great joke. Kim, you know you can do better than this guy, don’t you?”
“I see you’ve met my irritating twin,” he said. “And clearly, I got her through chemistry. She’s quite slow.”
“And yet he works for me,” Colleen said. “Kim, ignore him. I’m much more interesting.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not a lesbian,” Kim said. “But if I were, you’d totally be my type.”
“I’ll take that as a moral victory,” Colleen said, sliding a beer down the bar.
“I have to get back in the kitchen,” Connor told Kim. “You need anything?”
“What time will you be done?” she asked.
“Kitchen closes at ten.”
“Then I’ll need you at 10:02.” She smiled. Colleen made a gagging noise.
Kim stood up, gave him a kiss—a real one, getting some cheers from the gang—and then sat back down.
Connor grinned and turned to go.
Jessica was looking right at him, looking as if he’d just shot her in the heart, and Con’s own chest felt like the good old broomstick had just skewered him, hard and dull, splintering bone and tearing organs.
Then she blinked, and there was the three feet away face. She turned away and laughed at something Theresa DeFilio was saying.
Connor turned back to Kim. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“Great,” she said. “Colleen was telling me about the time you hit her in the eye with a potato.”
“Happy times,” he said, then went back into the kitchen.
But something was wrong.
Hannah and Monica, his cousins and waitstaff, kept passing in the orders, but Connor’s rhythm was off. He put sweet potato fries on one instead of the truffle-oil potatoes, cooked a tuna steak instead of the swordfish. After the fourth mistake, Rafe gave him a look.
“Sorry. My girlfriend’s out there. I’m distracted.” Except it wasn’t Kim he was thinking of.
“Well, then, get out there, big man,” Rafe said. “Any cute gays for your lonely sous-chef?”
“Jeremy Lyon.”
“Yeah, but he’s fresh out of the closet, and celibate or something. Creepy. Be on the lookout. I’ll finish up.”
So Connor went out. Got a table with Kim. Had Monica freshen her drink, asked about work. Showed her a picture of Savannah. They talked about movies.
It was very nice.
Except Kim seemed to be mad. And getting madder.
“Everything okay?” Connor asked.
“Yep.”
“You sure?”
“I’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow.
Oh, shit. The F word. “What’s wrong, Kim?”
“Nothing.”
“I have a twin sister. I know what that means.”
“What does it mean, then?” she asked.
“It means I’ve fucked up somehow.”
“Then you’re not as dumb as you look.”
“Okay, if we’re fighting, can I at least be told why?” he asked.
Kim stood up. “I’m leaving.”
“What? Why? Uh... I’ll walk you to your car. Kim, what—” She was really leaving. He had to hand it to her. Indecision was not one of her flaws.
He followed her into the back parking lot. “Kim, please tell me why you’re mad.”
“Who’s the blonde?” she asked, whirling on him.
Holy Mary. Kim missed her calling. Should’ve been with the FBI. “What blonde?” he said, hoping to play the men are thick card.
“Don’t play obtuse with me. The blonde you won’t look at.”
To bullshit, or not to bullshit? “We’re pretty crowded here, Kim. Can you be more specific?”