by Jayne Denker
When Conn doesn't agree or fist bump him or whatever Jack's expecting, just stands there staring at the couple, Jack takes it as a sign that Conn is cool with everything. It's certainly not the case. The air seems to crackle between the men. It feels like Jack's admission made things more tense, not less.
"Really glad you're okay with this, man," Jack says, oblivious. "It could have been ugly, right? And hey, M? You were a great cover." He salutes me cockily. "You are relieved of your duties. Carry on." Then Jack lets out a huge, relieved breath and claps his hands together. "Phew, it feels so good to get it out in the open, doesn't it? I think it's time for another drink. Let's hit the bar."
He barely takes two steps before Conn's blocked him. He shoves Jack roughly then grabs his lapels and pulls him up on his toes. Party guests nearby, startled by the sudden commotion, freeze in their tracks and stare at the men.
"What did I tell you, Rossiter?" Conn growls, expression coldly livid.
Jack laughs again, but this time it's pretty shaky. "Hey, don't bend the suit. Tell me what? You know, you tell me a lot of things—"
"I made a special detour to the Hamptons last week for this very reason. I thought I'd gotten my point across, but apparently you don't get it. How many times do I have to say it? Don't—mess—with—her."
"Conn," Sasha breathes, blushing delicately, "that's so sweet—"
"I was talking about Melanie," Conn snaps at her, letting go of Jack. Then he says, almost conversationally, as he casually unbuttons his jacket, "Hey, M? I apologize in advance, but I'm going to have to disrupt your beautiful party."
He looks over at me and flashes a ghost of a smile. Then there's a sudden, startling blur of motion—Conn lunges forward, his arm flies out, and his fist connects with Jack's face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
"Don't ever make me hit you again," Conn snaps at Jack, who's on the floor, his hands to his face, Sasha kneeling over him. Then he turns his attention to his knuckles and mutters a calm, understated, "Ow."
Among the gasps and shrieks—I'm certain I can hear Constance exclaiming in the crowd—I demand, "Conn, what the hell?"
"Sorry, but he's had it coming for a long time."
"Of course he did. I'm not arguing that. I mean, what detour to the Hamptons?"
"It's why I was late getting back. I wanted to have a little talk with Jack," he says, glaring at his (former?) friend. "I didn't like the way he treated you at Triple N. I didn't like the way he was flirting with you over the summer. But apparently talking doesn't work with him. And now this, tonight…I got tired of talking." He turns to me with a sheepish look on his face. "Too caveman?"
I have to be honest. "Just caveman enough."
Jack says something, but it's muffled behind his hands.
"That had better be an apology," Conn snarls over his shoulder.
"I said," Jack emphasizes, sitting up and blinking, "I'm pulling my investment."
"Good. I don't want your money."
"Conn…no," I whisper. He can't lose his funding because of this…because of me.
"It'll be okay," he murmurs to me with a reassuring smile. "I'll figure something else out. I'm sorry about all this. You're his date, and he's off with Sasha…I couldn't stand to see him hurt you."
"Hurt me? He didn't hurt me. I'd have to care about him first."
Conn stares at me, a new light in his eye.
Before he can reply though, a nervous-sounding Rose Perdue says loudly into her mic, "Let's continue, shall we?"
"I agree," Conn calls to her. He shakes out his hand as if to get rid of the pain in his knuckles, squares his shoulders, and rebuttons his tux. All eyes are on him as he marches across the room and leaps up onto the stage. His words are picked up by Rose's microphone: "I'm sorry about the disturbance, Rose. I believe it's my turn next?"
Never underestimate an act of chivalry, even if it arrives wearing a caveman's loincloth. The hostess beams with relief, and suddenly the space at the foot of the stage is swarming with women poised to bid. I hate to break it to them, but they don't stand a chance.
Rose barely gets a word out before my hand is in the air and I'm shouting, "Five thousand dollars. Sold. Next bachelor."
There's a dramatic pause, and I freeze for a moment. Then I climb the three steps to the stage, take hold of a highly amused Conn, and pull him down into the crowd. The women I've skunked give me dirty looks even as they clap politely, but I don't care. Everyone else is laughing. I don't care about that either.
Conn seems pleased, which is all that matters. "Very…uh…decisive on your part, Abbott. Pretty hot, in fact."
He's standing there, looking a little stunned and more handsome than I've ever seen him. I don't know what we are to each other at this point, whether we've sufficiently buried the hatchet, but I'm determined to find out. Ignoring the surge of fear in my belly at the thought that he might reject me, my arms go around his neck, and I pull him close. He lets me.
"It's been a rough month."
"It has."
"Forgive me?" I whisper.
"Already done," he whispers back. "And not just because you own me now."
Then I kiss him—and not chastely—in front of everyone we know.
"Did I say pretty hot? I meant very hot," he amends then goes back to kissing me in the middle of the crowd.
I practically faint with relief.
* * *
"I can't believe you punched Jack," I marvel as I gingerly place a cloth napkin with some ice in it on his hand resting on the bar. "It was pretty much exactly the way I pictured a fight with Jack would go too—one pop in the nose and it's over. Except…did he ever say 'Not the face'? I always figured he'd say that."
"Hey, I talked myself out of it for years. I couldn't anymore."
"Years? How many years?"
"About fifteen."
Keeping my eyes on the makeshift ice pack, I ask carefully, "So…you knew?"
"About him and Sasha? First I suspected; later I knew for sure."
"I…I…" I can't believe I'm about to tell him this. Suddenly, though, it's clear that I need to get this out in the open. "I knew."
"Sometimes I think everybody did."
"No, I mean…I knew before the wedding. And…and…I should have told you," I whisper. "I've always felt terrible about it. Instead, I talked her into going through with it, even though she was having doubts. Conn, I'm so sorry—"
"Hey. Don't. I figured it out before the wedding too."
I stare at him, horrified.
"I know. And I married her anyway. Naïve? Optimistic? Stupid? Maybe all three at once. She swore she only wanted me, and I chose to believe her. I thought we deserved a shot at making it work." He looks down at his hand as he flexes his fingers under the ice, and he's silent so long I start to worry. Then he squints up at me and says, "God, the wedding though. That was a weird day, wasn't it?"
I don't know what to say, so I just wait.
"For instance, you," he continues, gazing at me warmly, "you bled for me."
"That's a little exaggerated."
"No, you literally did. You fixed that…that weird twig on my lapel, remember?"
"Yes." Of course I do. I remember every moment.
"And you spent the rest of the day with a huge bandage on your thumb."
"I wanted to save the smaller ones for Sasha, in case she needed them."
"Every time I looked at you, all day, all I could see was that giant honkin' Band-Aid. It was a good look for you."
"I was trying to start a fashion trend. It didn't catch on."
"You were trying," he corrects me softly, "to make everything right. Like you always do." Conn abandons the ice pack, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me. "That's when I knew you'd grown up to become a good person, Melanie Abbott. And you have been ever since."
"Oh, I don't know about that—"
"I do. Want to get out of here?"
I'm all for that. "I'll get my purse."
Conn fills another napkin with ice and offers it to Jack, who's now in a chair, holding the bridge of his swelling nose. Jack takes it but shoots his friend a dark look. They don't exchange a word.
The minute Conn crosses the floor, folks from town converge on him, dying to know why Abbott's Bay's favorite son walloped someone in the middle of the country club. As if Conn wasn't enough of a legend already. A small smile steals across my lips as I scoop up my bag. Then there's a hand on my arm, holding me back. Sasha.
"Melanie. It seems congratulations are in order. You and Conn…that's amazing."
Good grief, she doesn't need to make it sound so unbelievable.
"Look, Sasha…"
"Oh, don't apologize."
"I wasn't going to."
"I'm happy for you. Really."
"Wasn't asking for your approval either."
"You finally got what you wanted," she says softly. "It's commendable."
"And you got yours."
"I admire your fortitude," she continues as though I haven't spoken. "And your patience. It just goes to show, if you wait long enough, sometimes you get your chance. This time it really paid off." She tilts her head gracefully, studying me like a specimen in a lab. "It makes sense though. Both of you tied to Abbott's Bay for the rest of your lives. You might as well be tied to each other at the same time."
"You make Abbott's Bay sound like a death sentence."
"No, no, it's fine. Some people prefer being big fish in small ponds."
"You can't mean Conn," I say, stunned. "He's meant for big things, whether or not you and your boyfriend are backing him. I assume you're pulling your funds as well."
She shrugs. "He did punch Jack."
"Which was fabulous. But I thought you, of all people, would want to help him. After everything you put him through, don't you think you owe him at least that much?"
Two tiny spots of pink appear on her prominent cheekbones. "You know, when Conn and I were married, I kept encouraging him to dream bigger, do greater things. He rejected all my suggestions, all my plans. He doesn't want real success. It's what ended our marriage."
"Funny, I thought your obsession with Jack Rossiter ended your marriage."
"Jack chooses success—real success, not little nickel-and-dime ideas. Conn doesn't. I had to give up on him."
"Apparently you didn't give up completely, considering you were trying to get him back over the summer."
"Oh, Melanie." She's got that infernal condescending tone in her voice, implying I don't understand how grownups think. It makes me hate her—completely—for the first time in my life. "I wasn't trying to get him back. When Conn invited me to Abbott's Bay to talk about the restaurant, I thought it was the perfect time to try to make amends between us. To smooth the way between Jack and Conn…for the future." She puts her hand on her belly and gives me a superior little smile. "I want us all to act like mature adults."
"You're…?"
"Due in January. A boy, we hope. We're finding out next week. We'll get married after that. When I'm less of a whale."
Do I need to point out at this moment that there isn't even the slightest hint of a bump? No, I do not.
I hide my fingers behind my purse and count quickly. Due in January means conceived in April. She might not have known she was pregnant right away, but as a doctor, she probably figured it out earlier than the rest of us would. By the end of July, when she and Jack visited Abbott's Bay? She had to know then.
"But you haven't told Conn yet."
"There never seems to be the right moment. Oh, I tried. Believe me. I had him alone, the night of the festival, on the beach, and then there you were, dropping your cell phone and looking adorably disheveled in the moonlight. I tried to get him up to the house, but he stayed behind, because he'd always rather be arguing with you about God knows what. I tried to get him away from the hospital, but he wanted to stay and be a hero for you to lean on. You're just…always in the way, Melanie."
I ignore her jabs. It never had anything to do with me. I know she could have found a time to tell him if she really wanted to. No, there never seemed to be a "right moment" because, even though Sasha's acting pretty happy with the way her life has turned out, it's obvious that in addition to the future Rossiter in her belly, she's also carrying a hefty dose of guilt that's keeping her from confessing everything to Conn. And there's a tight set to her mouth that makes me think she's not entirely over the moon about this turn of events.
But all I say is, "You'll want to see to your fiancé. Don't let me keep you."
I disengage from Sasha and catch up with Conn. When I reach him, he draws me to his side.
"What was all that about?"
"I found someone else besides your mom who doesn't approve of us," I murmur, taking his arm.
"Who cares what she thinks?"
"She's sure got a mean streak."
"I told you she wasn't perfect. So can you get that out of your head, finally?"
"Done and done. But…there's something else." If Sasha isn't going to tell him, I have to. I refuse to repeat my mistakes from a dozen years ago and keep any more secrets. "About her and Jack."
"Well, if they're together—again, yet, whatever—I'd assume they're planning on getting married?"
"Yes. And sometimes things happen in a different order."
"Oh." Conn goes very still, and my stomach twists. "Baby?"
"Right."
Then he shrugs. Not in an uncaring way, but as a gesture of acceptance. "She did say she was ready to settle down. You got that part right when you speculated about what she said to me this summer."
"Somehow I get the feeling she might be having second thoughts about who she settles down with."
"If they haven't been able to stay away from each other all these years, maybe they're inevitable."
I laugh a little. "They can be together to protect two other people from their…imperfections."
"They sure can leave scars on us unsuspecting folk."
"Oh, I don't know. I think you've recovered pretty well."
"Thanks to you."
Conn smiles down at me, and I swear, the rest of the world really does go away. My heart blooms in my chest and a warmth fills me from head to toe. I've never been happier.
My dad passes us on his way back into the ballroom. "There's my little girl."
"Honestly, Dad…"
"Take good care of this one, all right?" he says to Conn.
"Yes, sir—don't have to tell me twice."
Charles kisses me on the cheek, claps Conn on the back, and says to him, "Don't forget—call me Monday," before moving past us.
"What are you two plotting?" I ask Conn.
He sighs—happily—and kisses the top of my head. "Who needs Jack's money anyway? Looks like I have new investors."
"My dad?"
"Your dad…and, when your dad told them about the Deep Brew C franchise, about a dozen more of our neighbors."
I glance over my shoulder at the full ballroom, which is finally back to normal after Conn and Jack's little dustup. The band has even started playing again. "Gotta love Abbott's Bay."
"Oh, I do. Now…how about giving me some orders, since you paid for me fair and square?"
I pretend to think for a moment. "You can make me some coffee."
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Deep Brew C is dark and chilly this late at night. Despite the restaurant's generous space, it feels intimate, especially when Conn closes the door soundly behind us. A single lamp burns beside the cash register, along with some subdued track lighting highlighting some new decorative additions to the place: Hannah's paintings. When Conn found out she'd been painting dreamy watercolors of Abbott's Bay landmarks, he invited her to display them at DBC. It turns out the restaurant is the perfect gallery space for them. She's sold quite a few to the natives, and she'll definitely sell even more when the tourists return.
Conn also added Hannah's boyfriend to the DBC family. A regular bromance has
sprung up between Conn and Marty based on their common interests of compost, heirloom vegetables, and free-range chickens, so when Hannah and Marty decided to stay in town, Conn happily gave him a part-time job. It's been working out fabulously—Marty's a natural, and he and Conn are of the same mind regarding the mission of the place.
"Sit down. I'll be back in a minute."
Conn disappears into the back hallway, and I sit at the bar. When he comes back, he says nothing, just slips behind the bar and falls into his usual rhythm, setting cups in saucers, leaning down to get the milk jug out of the mini fridge under the counter, grinding the beans. I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching him work.
He makes me a cappuccino then goes back into the fridge, fussing with something behind his back so I can't see. I sip my coffee and wait. In a moment or two he turns around with a small plate in his hand, the other shielding the flicker of a candle flame from random drafts. It's a cupcake. Chocolate cake, white frosting, with curlicue chocolate shavings.
"Happy birthday."
"That's two weeks from now," I chide him, trying to hide my smile. I fail.
"I was planning on waiting, but suddenly I don't feel like it."
"I'm not going to argue when there's a cupcake involved."
He slips a rectangular, flat gift-wrapped box onto the bar next to it. "And a present."
"Well, now you're talking." I tear off the wrapping. The box contains a plain key, one I recognize, and I'm puzzled.
"I already know where to find a key to your place."
"This is the one I hid outside. I'm not leaving it out for anyone to let themselves in anymore. It's now yours. Plus, it's symbolic: I'm taking the house off the market for a while."
I'm more than a little surprised. "Why?" It's true he hasn't had any offers yet, but it hasn't been on the market that long. "It'll sell. Let it sit for a while longer—"