“One point for us.” She looked at Lily and Deacon. Stumping them was too easy. “Sushi or Italian.”
Lily rolled her eyes. “That’s so unfair. No more food questions from you. You know us too well.”
“Fine, fine,” Dahlia said.
“Who likes what?” Connor said, leaning close enough that his breath tickled her neck.
She swallowed. “Lily loves sushi. Deacon hates it.”
“How do you feel about sushi?” Connor asked.
Dahlia looked up and met his gaze. “Love it. You?”
“Definitely. Seafood?”
“All kinds,” Dahlia said. “Scallops are my favorite.”
Connor smiled. “Mine, too. But you didn’t order them tonight.”
“No. The pecan crust on the mahi-mahi sounded too good to pass up.”
“I ordered them. I’ll share.”
There was an intensity to Connor’s gaze that shifted Dahlia’s awareness of him into hyperdrive. His every move, his every breath, she saw it all. Felt it all. Never had a random conversation about seafood ever felt so intimate.
“Hey. No collaborating over there,” Lily said across the table.
“Mountains or beach?” Deacon asked.
“Beach.” They answered in unison for a second time.
“We’re toast, Lils,” Deacon said, though his grin said he wasn’t minding too much.
The questions bounced back and forth across the table for several more rounds.
Yahtzee or Connect Four?
Poker or Monopoly?
Sleep in or wake early?
Sailing or surfing?
The game ended with laughter all around when Deacon and Lily couldn’t stop arguing about Lily’s assertion that she’d rather take a walk than take a nap.
By the end of the main course, Dahlia couldn’t decide how she felt about having dinner with Connor. In one respect, it was pure bliss. Connor was charming and attentive and a great conversationalist. He was interesting too, full of random information that kept their conversation lively and engaging. But he was still humble about it. He never seemed like he was sharing stuff just to look smart. It was more like he just genuinely liked talking to people. Just after their food had arrived, when he and Deacon fell into a particularly lengthy conversation about college football statistics—they were both dedicated Clemson fans—Lily looked across the table at Dahlia.
“He’s amazing,” she mouthed, giving Connor a sideways glance.
Dahlia sighed. That was why she couldn’t decide how she felt. Because he was amazing. And spending time with him when he’d made it very clear he wouldn’t ever want to be more than friends was pure torture. The longer she was around him, the worse it got.
But then, there were moments when he almost seemed flirty. Her pride told her it didn’t matter. She resented Connor’s judgement of her and wouldn’t pander to earn his favor. It was his loss that he didn’t want to give her a chance. She wouldn’t beg for one.
But he was wrong about her. And she couldn’t help but wish that he would just hurry up and realize as much.
“I’ve got another one for you,” Connor said while they studied the dessert menu.
Dahlia looked up. “Another what?”
He gave her a long, pointed look. “Books. Read them? Or listen to them?”
She took a breath, wondering why he looked so intense about it. “Um, listen to them, I think. I like listening while I’m walking. What about you?”
“I prefer reading. Nothing beats the feel of a solid book in my hands.”
Dahlia narrowed her eyes. She’d heard someone else say the same thing.
“I actually just finished a really great book that someone recommended to me. The Other Side of Thinking. Have you heard of it?”
Dahlia stilled. Surely it was just a coincidence. He couldn’t be . . .
“I loved that book,” Lily said. “So great. And so thought-provoking.”
Dahlia stared at the menu in front of her, the words blurring together as she thought back through every letter C.M. had ever sent her. She had recommended the book, and he’d read it.
She glanced sideways at Connor, but Deacon had asked him something else about football.
He’d asked her about olives on her pizza the night before, though he hadn’t admitted whether he liked them or not.
It really could just be a coincidence.
It suddenly occurred to her that she didn’t know Connor’s last name. Would it be weird to just randomly ask him? She opened her mouth to do just that but stopped when a man and woman stopped at the edge of their table.
“Connor,” the woman said.
Dahlia looked over in time to catch Connor’s smile. It seemed genuine enough, but there was also an air of . . . something between them. Not quite tension. Maybe just history?
“Peyton,” he said. He looked to the man standing next to her. “Will. Nice to see you both.” Connor looked around the table. “Guys, this is Peyton, an old friend of mine, and her husband, Will. Will owns the place.” He quickly finished the introductions.
Dahlia studied Connor’s face, looking for any sign of how he was feeling. Peyton was the ex-girlfriend, which meant Will was the guy who had given her world-tilting love. He was definitely nice to look at, in a polished kind of way, though she’d take Connor’s dressed-down understated good looks any day.
Connor looked mostly at ease, though Dahlia could practically see the thoughts spiraling through his brain. He wasn’t tense. But she wouldn’t guess he was completely comfortable either.
“How was dinner?” Will asked. “I hope everything was good.”
“We’ve recently hired a new chef,” Peyton added.
“Everything was great,” Connor said. “The scallops were perfect.”
Dahlia studied Peyton’s face, something vaguely familiar about her, until suddenly it clicked. “Wait, you’re a Shellhouse.”
Peyton swung her gaze Dahlia’s direction.
Dahlia smiled. “Cotillion. We debuted the same year.”
Peyton’s eyes lit up and they quickly fell into a conversation about the experiences they’d shared. Cotillion was a Southern tradition that made a lot of people roll their eyes, with the debutante balls and big white dresses. Dahlia herself had been one of those people—she’d only done it because her mother had insisted.
After a minute or two of chatting, Will whispered something in Peyton’s ear and excused himself from the table. “I’ve got a few things to take care of tonight, but I’m glad you’re all here. Dinner’s on me tonight, so enjoy dessert as well.”
Connor made to stand up. “No, that’s not—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Deacon stood, silencing Connor with an outstretched hand. “No, no, Connor, no, man. I told you this was on me.” He looked at Will. “That’s not necessary. I’m happy to support your establishment.”
Will smiled. “It’s already taken care of.”
Connor settled back into his seat, a new tension radiating off him. Something had just happened.
What had just happened?
“She’s really nice,” Dahlia said after Peyton said her goodbyes.
Connor smiled tightly. “Yeah. She’s great. And Will, too.”
Dahlia nudged him with her elbow. “You going to get dessert?”
“Actually, I think I’m going to head out. It’s getting late, and since I’m on the island, I’d like to stop by and check on my grandmother on my way home.”
“Your grandma lives on Sweetgrass?”
He held her gaze a long moment before answering. “Yeah. It’s where I grew up. Mostly, anyway.”
Dahlia froze. There were too many coincidences. Too many similarities for Connor not to be the C in C.M. “Connor?”
He shook his head the tiniest bit as if he knew what she was going to ask and didn’t want her to ask it. Whether it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in present company, or it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to hav
e at all, she couldn’t know.
“Take care, Dahlia,” he said softly. After a hasty goodbye to Deacon and Lily, he darted out of the restaurant and was gone.
“What just happened?” Lily said, staring at the door Connor had disappeared through.
Dahlia shook her head. “I have no idea. But . . .” She looked around the dining room suddenly desperate to know for certain. She needed to know Connor’s last name and Peyton was the one person in the building guaranteed to know it.
She wasn’t in the dining room though, not anymore. “What’s Connor’s last name?” she asked Deacon, hoping he’d managed to learn as much in their many conversations.
His eyebrows went up. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he mentioned it when he introduced himself yesterday, but I can’t remember.” He looked at Lily. “Do you?”
Lily shook her head no.
“Did he give you his number?” Dahlia asked, an urgency to her tone. “Did you save it in your phone?”
Deacon pulled out his phone. “Yeah, but only as Connor. I didn’t ask his last name.”
“What, is this the third grade? Didn’t you think a last name would be relevant?”
“Wow, slow down,” Lily said. “Why are you freaking out right now?”
Dahlia shook her head. “Sorry. That was mean. I’m . . . I think it’s him.”
“You think who is him?” Lily said, obviously still confused.
“C.M.,” Dahlia said forcefully. “The guy writing the letters. I think it’s Connor.”
“No way,” Deacon said.
“It fits,” Dahlia said. “Connor lost his parents when he was young. He told me that the first day we met. So did C.M. That’s why he wrote to Santa in the first place, to ask if Santa could bring his parents back. And C.M. grew up on Sweetgrass Island and Connor just told me he’s going to see his grandma, who lives on Sweetgrass.”
“Honey, those could all just be coincidences,” Lily said.
“No, I know. But it’s more than that. He asked me about olives on my pizza last night. And tonight he told me about reading The Other Side of Thinking, a book that I recommended in one of my letters. It’s him. It has to be him.”
“It could be him,” Lily said, her tone gentle. “But it might not be.”
“It just seems too weird to all be coincidence,” Dahlia said.
“Weirder than the massive coincidence it would be if you found a letter written fifteen years ago by the very paramedic who rescued you from a bathroom stall, on the very day it happened?”
Dahlia’s shoulders slumped. Deacon and his stupid attorney brain.
“The Other Side of Thinking is all over everywhere right now,” Lily said. “On the news, all over Goodreads and Facebook. A lot of people have read it.”
“And a lot of people live on Sweetgrass Island,” Deacon added. “Even if his last name does start with an M, I doubt he’s the only one. I don’t think that’s enough evidence for you to make an assumption.”
“He might not be the only one with the initials C.M. who grew up on Sweetgrass, but surely he’s the only one who lost both his parents as a kid. That’s not the kind of thing that happens every day. Not in a community this small.”
“Is that something you could look up?” Lily asked.
Deacon scratched his chin. “Probably. In the newspaper archives, maybe. Or in probate records at the courthouse. I could make a call.”
Lily looked at Dahlia, hope in her eyes. But it wasn’t enough to hide what was also heavy in Lily’s gaze. Pity. Dahlia hated being pitied.
She shook her head. “Either way it doesn’t matter. If it is him, as soon as he figures out it’s me, everything will end.”
Chapter 14
Connor
Connor couldn’t get out of the Coral Monarch fast enough.
Dinner had been great. The food was amazing. And the company even better. But then Will and Peyton had shown up and Will had graciously comped their dinner. That part might have been just fine. But then Deacon had scrambled to keep it from happening, insisting he pay for the meal. Even worse, the look in Deacon’s eyes had made it perfectly clear he had zero expectations that Connor would be able to do the same.
Deacon had mentioned it would be his treat when he’d extended the invitation. But sitting there, seeing Will and Deacon in a friendly debate over who would cover the check, it had been perfectly clear to Connor. He would never play in the same financial league as Will and Deacon.
Connor wasn’t so shallow to really care about stuff like that. At least, he didn’t think he was. But his insecurities had flared in the moment and prompted him to make a hasty retreat.
Is that what Dahlia would expect if they were to actually start dating? Would she care that he couldn’t treat her to the fanciest restaurants with frequency? Or afford a membership at the yacht club? If they ended up getting married, would she be okay settling in the outskirts of town, in a house a lot smaller and simpler than what she was used to? Of course, she could very well contribute. And work herself.
Would Connor’s pride be okay with that? He wanted to think he would be, that he was progressive enough not to care if he wasn’t the main breadwinner. But would she care?
That was what made Connor feel the most uneasy. It was easy to say neither of them cared now, but would Dahlia care in six months? A year?
Thoughts swirled in his brain as Connor drove the short distance to his grandmother’s house. Her lights were still on, so he parked in her driveway and let himself in, calling a hello so as not to startle her.
He found her in the living room like always, Roxie at her feet and the TV on in the background playing another movie, this one Christmas themed, with a book in her lap.
“Reading and watching movies, huh? I’m impressed with your multitasking.”
“I read during the commercials,” she said.
He bent down and kissed her cheek then dropped onto the sofa beside her.
“I don’t realize how spoiled I am by Netflix until I try and watch regular television and have to sit through commercials every three minutes. It’s exhausting.”
“True enough,” Connor said. “How are you? Good day?”
“Excellent day,” she said. “I went to see my doctor and he says I’m as healthy as someone twenty years my junior.”
“Hey, look at you! That’s amazing.”
“How are you?” His grandmother looked at him pointedly. “You seem tense.”
Connor sighed and leaned back against the couch cushions. “I’m fine, I guess. I just had dinner with some friends.”
“Friends?” she asked. “What sort of friends?”
Connor suddenly felt an all-possessing desire to tell his grandmother everything, right down to his suspicions that his Christmas pen pal and Dahlia were the same woman. And why that was suddenly so problematic.
“With all those clues, it does sound like she’s the same person,” Grandma June said after he’d finished his explanation. “But I don’t understand why that’s a problem. If you felt a connection through your letters, and you feel chemistry in person, it feels like fate has led you to something really wonderful.”
“But you’re forgetting the most important part,” Connor said. “We come from different worlds. I’m not ever going to be the guy that can just swoop in and buy everyone’s dinner.”
“How do you even know that’s what she wants? That it matters to her? You’re being awfully narrowminded about this, Connor.”
He looked at his grandmother. “It’s what she’s always known. Whatever she says now, how long will that last?”
Grandmother scoffed. “If you’re that worried about this, do something about it. You can’t sit here and pretend like you couldn’t be that man if you wanted to. You have your parents’ fortune at your disposal. Use the money, Connor. It’s yours. And with the interest it’s likely been collecting, you could buy that woman dinner at every restaurant in Charleston a thousand times over, plus anything else she co
uld ever want.”
Connor shook his head. “I don’t want the money.”
She sighed, likely frustrated that they were having the argument again. It’s not like they hadn’t long since exhausted the topic. “Why? Would you just tell me? I understand a man’s desire to make his own way in the world. But you’re taking this to an extreme. That I don’t understand.”
She couldn’t understand because Connor had never admitted his reasons out loud. Not to anyone. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands.
His grandmother reached over and placed a comforting hand on his back. “Tell me,” she said softly.
Connor shrugged. “It’s the money that killed them. I know it isn’t, not exactly, but in a way, it feels like blood money.”
His grandmother’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“They died sailing, Grandma. Sailing. Why did they need a sailboat? Why did they suddenly need to learn if not to impress all their stupid new friends at the sailing club? Our life was fine before they made all that money. We were happy doing normal stuff on the weekends. Going to the beach. Paddle boarding. Catching crabs. Fishing off the pier. Everything changed when Dad sold his business. The little stuff didn’t matter anymore. They were too busy hobnobbing with important people and shopping for boats.”
Grandma June was silent for a long moment before she finally spoke. “I don’t know if I ever thought about what it must have looked like to you kids. The way your lives changed so quickly. I think I just assumed you’d be excited to have so much . . . more.”
Connor stifled a derisive laugh. “We got more stuff, sure. But way less time with our parents.”
“Yeah. I do remember noticing that, at least. And it’s probably true that your parents did get a little too caught up in the whirlwind of suddenly having so much wealth. But you’re wrong if you want to blame their deaths on the money. Your mother had always wanted to learn to sail. Since she was a tiny thing. We’d never had the means for her to learn when she was growing up. Buying that boat with your father was a dream come true for her.”
The Christmas Letters: A Magnolia Bay Romantic Comedy Page 11