"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?"
"The gorgeous one," she said sharply.
Busted.
"Oh. That's Jessica. We went to school together."
"You slept together, too."
"Uh...yes. A while ago."
"And you're in love with her."
"Look, I don't--"
"Don't bother, Connor," she snapped, flicking back her beautiful hair. "You've never not looked at me the way you wouldn't look at her."
"Uh...how am I supposed to respond to that?"
"You saw her, and my God, the air just changed, Connor. So don't bullshit me."
He held up his hands in surrender. "She and I dated very briefly, and that was... I don't know. Two years ago." Twenty-seven months ago. "It didn't work out."
"Why?"
He wasn't about to spill Jessica's personal issues or family history. "She just didn't think it was working."
"Well, it's clear you want to be with her, so good luck." With that, Kim opened her car door and got in. "Nice knowing you."
"How am I the bad guy here?"
"You just are. Deal with it." She slammed the door, backed out of her spot, then rolled down her window. "You have no right dating someone when you're in love with someone else."
Then she gunned the motor, ran over his foot and was gone, tires screeching at the corner.
"Ouch," Connor said.
He tried his foot. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. With a sigh and a curse, he went back inside, limping a little.
"Another one bites the dust, huh?" Colleen called.
"I hate women. Especially you, Dog-Face."
"They hate you back, Troll Boy."
Rafe was finishing up the last order. "I'll clean up," Connor said.
"I thought you were with your woman."
"She dumped me. Get out, go home, have fun."
"If you were gay, I think we'd make a really nice couple. Just putting that out there."
"Don't make me fire you."
"That's what I get for trying to be nice. Ciao, boss."
Connor grunted. Got to work. Cleaned the mess from the entire night, shooed off the cousins, ignored Colleen.
When the place was empty, he started cooking. Lasagna. Vegetarian lasagna with sauteed red onions, portobello mushrooms and fresh baby spinach. Made a thick white sauce with whole milk, flour, ground pepper and lots of butter. He made the dough, cranked it through the press--pasta from a box tasted about as good as the box, whereas Connor's could make an Italian grandmother weep. Ladled out the sauce, gently layered in the noodles, vegetables, sauce and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, not the fake American stuff, that he special-ordered a few times a year from the Italian market in Philly.
Jessica had no right to look at him like that, like she'd just been mown down. Two frickin' years--twenty-seven months--and she hadn't once indicated the wish to get back together. And then, with one look, she blew a perfectly nice relationship with a very nice woman.
"So, brother mine, you want to talk?" Colleen asked, coming into the kitchen from where she'd been stacking chairs in the restaurant.
"Nope."
Colleen didn't say anything for a minute. Then, because it was physically impossible for her not to speak, she said. "I'm sorry about Kim. She seemed nice."
"Yep." But he looked up. "Thanks."
"See you tomorrow." She punched him on the shoulder, just hard enough to hurt a little, and he flicked some white sauce into her hair. Then she left, and the quiet of the empty restaurant settled around him.
Cooking always grounded him. To be a good chef, you had to understand food, let it speak to you, inhale its scents, watch it cook. You had to feel the pasta, assess its stick against the wooden spoon, taste it, to know when it was done. You couldn't just look at a clock. You just had to know when it was right.
Cooking was a way to stop time. To make a family take a half an hour and sit, relax, eat and taste. There was a Zen sense to it, a way of making a dozen separate ingredients into something transformative and new and special, something that would sustain and nourish and bring happiness to those who experienced it, at least for a little while.
Small wonder he'd started cooking when his parents' marriage began to crumble, years before his mother knew anything was wrong.
He put the lasagnas in the oven and got to work cleaning the kitchen until every surface gleamed.
He loved this place. It was his true home.
And he didn't like getting slammed in the chest at home.
By the time the six lasagnas were done, it was 1:00 a.m. He loaded them into his truck, drove to the soup kitchen--they'd given him a key when he opened O'Rourke's, and he dropped by about once a week with this kind of take--and left five of the lasagnas in the fridge with a note on heating. Then he got back in his truck and drove to Jessica's.
She answered faster than he would've expected. "Connor," she said. "Is everything okay?"
"I brought you a lasagna."
She frowned. "Uh...thanks. Why?"
"I'm mad at you."
"No, I get that. The lasagna tells the whole story."
Okay, sure, it was dumb. "My girlfriend didn't like the way I didn't look at you. So she broke up with me."
"And clearly a lasagna...does what, exactly?" There was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and Connor felt an answering tug in his chest.
"I don't know."
Her smile grew. "Would you like to come in?"
He followed her inside the house. The kitchen, though plain, was immaculate. On the table were an open textbook and a notebook. She closed both and put them on the chair. Message received: whatever I'm studying is none of your business.
He put the pan on the stovetop, turned and leaned against the counter.
Jessica Dunn looked beautiful in pajamas, even if the bottoms were green plaid and the top was a T-shirt that showed a cat wrapped in a tortilla. Purritto, it said. Funny.
"So why are you here, Connor?" she asked.
"My now ex-girlfriend pointed out that I'm still hung up on you."
"Did she now." Jess swallowed and looked at the table. Straightened the napkin holder.
And that, friends, made Connor very happy. She was nervous. For some reason, he knew that was a good thing.
"You ruined a perfectly good relationship." He bit down on a smile.
"By existing?"
"Yep." He let his gaze wander over her. Her hair was down, and he loved her hair, the cool, smooth texture of it, the graceful swing. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was now fiddling with the drawstring of her pajamas. Double-knotting it, in fact.
Connor had always been good with knots.
"Do you want me to stop coming to O'Rourke's?" she asked.
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
"You."
She went to put her hands in her pockets, then discovered she didn't have any. Folded her arms, instead. "So you're bribing me with lasagna?"
"Yes. Is it working?"
She shrugged. "A little. It smells fantastic."
"Jess," he said quietly, "you didn't like seeing me with someone else. So be with me."
She huffed. "I have no problem with you being with someone else, Connor. If you like her, that's great. I'm glad."
"You almost sound sincere."
"I am," she said.
"Liar."
The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. He kept looking at her. The pulse in her neck was visible. And fast.
"She was right, you know," he murmured. "I am still hung up on you."
"Sorry to hear it."
"No, you're not." He went toward her and took each of her hands in his. She swallowed again, her cheeks pinkening. "Jessica," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She shivered. Didn't pull away. "Be my girlfriend." Kissed her jaw, then just below her ear. "You have to. I made you lasagna." Her skin smelled like lemons and vanilla.
"I can't... You shouldn't..."
"Lasagna, Jess. All those layers. Homemade pasta."
She laughed a little. "Connor, I'm sorry. I wish I could... I wish you were still with her. Your girlfriend."
"I don't."
The comment seemed to hit her where she lived, because her beautiful green eyes softened, and her gaze fell to his mouth.
Connor didn't wait for more of an invitation. He kissed her, slid his arms around her to keep her close, and there it was again, that locked-in perfection, like they were made to kiss each other...and only each other. Her mouth was soft and giving, and a small sigh came from her and he couldn't wait any longer, because for crying out loud, they hadn't been together for twenty-seven months, and he missed her, he ached for her, and no one else would do.
They ended up making love right there, Jess on the counter, her legs wrapped around his waist, long, hot kisses and long, half-clothed foreplay, until she couldn't wait anymore, ordered him to do her in a breathy, urgent voice.
And Connor was not about to disobey a direct order. No, sir.
*
AFTER THEY'D EATEN a hearty serving of lasagna, they went into the living room and talked, whispering so they wouldn't wake Davey, and kissed and made love again. This time was slow and sweet, and afterward, they lay on the couch, wrapped around each other, a soft green blanket to keep off the cold.
He watched her as she slept, the long lashes brushing her cheek, her hand curled around his.
This was all he wanted. The circumstances didn't matter.
He could win Davey over. He'd buy a two-family house and Davey could live with them, and they'd have a couple of kids, and she could quit her job and get her degree in whatever it was she wanted, and every night could be like this one, them together, naked and warm under the quilt, the wind gusting at the windows, the two of them safe inside.
At an hour so early the birds weren't even singing, she woke him and told him he had to leave before Davey woke up.
He looked at her a long time, then smoothed her hair back. "This time, we're in a relationship, Jess. This is not just sleeping together. Okay?"
"I--I have to think about my brother."
"I know. We can go slow, but this is happening. Okay?"
She bit a fingernail, then put her hand in her lap. "Okay." A muscle in her jaw flexed.
"It'll be fine," he said, kneeling down in front of her. "You'll see."
"Sure," she whispered.
She was terrified. Could hardly look at him, and it made Connor all the more determined to make her see this could work.
And it did work. For months. Were they still sneaking around? Absolutely. But he'd take it. He'd do anything for her. He was completely, utterly smitten, and happier than he'd ever been in his life.
Getting close to her wasn't going to be easy, he recognized. A lot of people had let Jessica down over the years, and it would take time to make her see he wasn't one of them.
But she was giving him a chance.
What he saw--and what he was pretty sure she didn't know--was that he was the lucky one here. Jessica was hands down the best person he knew. Taking such good care of her brother, working so hard at two or sometimes three jobs. She didn't mention her parents, but he'd heard things... She gave them money, paid off her father's gambling debt. Levi had to arrest Keith Dunn one night for drunk driving, and she had to leave Connor's to take care of things.
He didn't complain about their erratic time spent together. Just asked if he could do anything. Made chili for her to bring to Davey when she told him it was his favorite. Waited for her to call, accepted her cancellations. He tried to pay Gerard for watching Davey, but Jess would never let him.
For a good long stretch, they were getting somewhere. Colleen gave him an inscrutable look at work and left him alone, possibly sensing that this time was different.
And then one day, Jessica came to O'Rourke's in the middle of the day, her face white. "Can I see you for a second?" she asked.
She had never asked to speak to him alone in a public place before. He knew it would be bad.
"Clear the kitchen, guys," he said. Rafe and Omar, the dishwasher, went out obediently.
"My mother died," she said. "Last night."
"Oh, honey," he said, taking her in his arms. But she just stood there, stiff as a statue.
"I... It was sudden, but I guess it was a long time coming. Liver failure."
&nbs
p; "I'm so sorry."
She stepped back, and he knew what was coming. "Davey's wrecked."
"And how are you, Jess?" he asked.
"I'm...okay," she murmured. She wasn't. She was far from okay. "But I...I have to put things on hold with us."
"You don't, Jess. Let me help."
"Help with what? With Davey? I don't think that would work."
"With you. Let me help you."
"I don't need your help," she said, and holy crap, there it was again, the broomstick through the sternum.
"You don't need anyone? Even when your mom just died?"
"I'm fine. But thank you."
She was already gone. This talk was just a formality. He wanted to be mad, to tell her for God's sake, just let him in and let him take care of her.
Except he knew that she'd hate that.
And he also knew she had loved her mother.
"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"I'll wait."
"You don't have to."
"I will."
"Well, I don't want you to, Connor," she said, her voice ragged. "I don't need that guilt trip. Just...go find some nice, normal person and marry her, okay?" The broom handle twisted, just in case there was still any living tissue that needed killing.
"Guess I can't win for losing here," he said.
"I need to focus on Davey and get through this. My father-- You know what? I have to go."
"Okay." Her mother just died, he reminded himself. Be a prince. He hated that his conscience sounded like Colleen. "If there's anything you need, call me, okay?"
Her eyes filled.
That was the thing. Jessica Dunn did a tough-girl act like no one else. And act was the key word.
He hugged her again, and this time, she let him. He stroked her hair, and then she stepped back. "Take care," she said.
"You, too."
He went to Mrs. Dunn's funeral with Colleen. Actually, most of the town went, which was a tribute to Jess more than Jolene Dunn, the sloppy drunk who never could break free from the bottle.
After the service, Connor kissed Jess on the cheek, tried not to take it personally when Davey shrank from him and wailed a little louder and buried his face in Jess's chest. He shook Mr. Dunn's hand. The man smelled like cheap beer and body odor, and Connor had to fight the urge to punch him. Take care of your daughter, goddammit.
Through Gerard, Connor heard that Davey had to sleep with Jess every night, that he'd had some outbursts of the heart-wrenching kind, some of the fist-through-the-wall kind, and sometimes he even forgot that their mother had died.
The poor kid.
Jessica never did call or green-light their relationship or do anything toward him at all. Connor gave her all the space she needed, watched her for signs that the time was right.
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