"Thank you," he said, always a little uncomfortable when he had to field praise. She'd noticed it over the years, how he was always reluctant to come out of the kitchen and accept the coos and compliments from his patrons.
That being said, he had always loved watching her eat. Once, he even fed her dessert when they were naked in bed. Creme brulee with caramelized orange zest and the tiniest hint of nutmeg, and the second she was done, he'd shagged her so--
Ah. He was speaking.
"Congratulations, Jess. You got a promotion, I hear."
"I did. Thank you."
"How's your dinner?"
"It was excellent, as always." She couldn't remember what she'd ordered.
"Glad you liked it."
So pleasant. You'd never know her heart was shuddering in her chest.
This will be the last time you break up with me.
He couldn't really mean that.
It suddenly occurred to her that he could.
Then he looked at Marcy. "Hey. I'm Connor O'Rourke, the chef and half owner. I hear you're the new event planner."
"I am!" Marcy boomed. "We should get together and talk! I'd love to have you on my list of approved caterers! The Barn at Blue Heron can't be serving just any kind of food. I mean, I heard the last event served Kentucky Fried Chicken! That's so not the image we want to portray, right? It's much more upscale than that."
The event to which Marcy was referring was one Jess had arranged. And yes, they'd served fried chicken in buckets, but no, not from KFC. From The Chicken King, a small franchise owned by one of Manningsport's wealthiest residents (and Connor's mother's boyfriend). The event raised money for the animal shelter in town, and no one, including the Hollands, had worried about their image.
"You haven't had the Chicken King's Bacon Buttermilk Batter Bombs," Faith said to Marcy. "But Connor, we'd obviously love to have O'Rourke's on the list, if you guys are interested in doing catering."
"Probably not," he said. "We have our hands full here."
It flashed through Jessica's mind that he was saying no because of her, because she worked for Blue Heron, but that was stupid, because Colleen and Faith were best friends, and--
"Let's get together for a drink just the same," Marcy said. "I'd love to talk. You could recommend some local outfits, pastry chefs, whatever." Her eyes dropped to Connor's left hand. No ring, of course.
Well, shit.
Colleen walked behind her brother and smacked his head. He didn't look at her. "Sure," he said belatedly. "That'd be nice."
"It's a date, then. Here. Put your number in my phone." She handed over her enormous smartphone, the latest model, encased in a Burberry plaid case.
The rest of the table was talking about something else, and little Noah was being passed around. Smelling his head seemed to be a thing. Mrs. Holland was advising Faith on how to get him to sleep through the night, and Mrs. Johnson was asking for another pina colada, the only one of the group not to drink wine.
Yes. Look anywhere but at Connor, who was giving an age-appropriate, attractive and very confident woman his number. She twisted the ring she wore on her thumb--her mother's wedding ring. Look how much happiness marriage had brought her mother. None. Fights and drunkenness and poverty, though chances were, Jolene probably would've found those without marriage, too.
"You okay?" Levi asked, and Jess jumped a little.
"Yeah, I'm great. Thanks. Just a little headache."
"In this crowd? I can't imagine." He smiled, and she was grateful. Like her, Levi understood being a little...separate. But now he was securely in the Holland clan, having found his place with Faith.
Jess would never have that, and that was just fine. It was better to be on her own. She couldn't rely on someone else when Davey was at stake.
Besides, if she didn't count on anyone, no one could let her down.
She suddenly found herself with the baby in her arms. "Hey, Noah."
His head did smell so good. She gave Levi a smile. Her old friend deserved every happiness, but suddenly, that feeling of being left out gripped her throat in a fist.
And then the shit hit the fan.
"What are you doing here?" Davey was back, glaring at Connor, who didn't hear him, as Marcy was talking about the amazing apartment she'd left in Manhattan.
"Want to head home, Davey?" she said, passing the baby back to Levi.
"I hate you!" Davey barked, and Connor turned around. "You're not invited! You should go home! This is Jessica's party!"
Connor knew better than to answer. He'd been coached on it, in fact.
"Whoa," Marcy said. "Okay, this is a little awkward, isn't it? Is he all right?"
"Let's go, Davey," Jess said. "We can watch The Avengers if you want."
"I'm going, too," Ned said, standing up. "Got to get my beauty sleep, right, Davey?"
Davey's eyes flickered to Ned. "Right. I--I have to get my beauty sleep, too."
Ned tossed her a wink. She forced a smile back.
Gratitude could be wearying sometimes. Jess appreciated the people who understood her brother, but it was tiring, always hoping people would understand, always going into the most ordinary situations having to wonder if her brother's temper would flare, if he'd be scared, if something would trigger a rage.
Ned walked Davey up front, and Jessica got out of her chair, then stood there, looking around the table. "Thank you all so much for tonight." She paused. "For everything." Thank you for giving me my first real job. Thank you for your faith in me. Thank you for accepting my brother. Thank you for making me feel normal.
For a second, she almost thought she might cry.
"We're lucky to have you, Jessica," the younger Mr. Holland said.
"I can't believe I ever managed without you," Honor added, and Jack agreed, and before Clan Holland could stand up and start hugging, which they did a lot, Jessica gave a quick wave and made her way to the front of the bar.
Marcy didn't acknowledge her, just leaned back in her chair and laughed at something she said, then laid a hand on Faith's shoulder and laughed again.
The Hollands liked Jess, she knew that. But she couldn't help feeling a little uncomfortable that Marcy would be staying when she would not.
Near the front door, Ned was checking his phone. Davey was talking to someone. Jess pulled on her jacket--it was still chilly at night, April or not--then froze.
Davey was hugging the person he was talking to. And Davey didn't hug many people.
Someone short. Someone skinny. Someone with reddish-blond hair.
"Jess, look!" Davey said, turning. "He's here!"
The floor dropped out beneath her, and she took an involuntary step back.
There he was, his nose crooked from so many fights, hair shaggy as ever, half his face taken up by his big blue eyes, same as Davey.
Keith Dunn. Their father.
He smiled hugely. "Jessica," he said, and those eyes filled up with tears. "How's my baby girl?"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"ABSOLUTELY NOT."
"Connor! You said you'd do whatever I ordered." Colleen huffed mightily and folded her arms on her watermelon of a belly. "You said you'd go out with her!"
"I was being polite. Now move, because I have to cook."
"Give me five minutes, for God's sake." She turned to the sous-chef. "Rafe, tell him to listen to me."
"What's the harm?" Rafe asked, leaning against the stainless-steel counter. "Expand your horizons. Get laid. Smile a little."
"She's really not my type."
"We talked about this," Colleen said. "You have to be willing to try or you'll just be at home, brooding and sulking. Like always."
Connor sighed.
"Don't you Catholic sigh at me," Colleen added.
They were talking about what's-her-name. The new person at Blue Heron who'd been in the other night. Marie or Marsha or whatever.
"You said you'd listen to me," Colleen reminded him. "I'm pregnant, and if you upset me,
Lucas will stab you." She folded her arms on her stomach. "Besides, you'll never get--"
"Fine. I'll do it."
Because she was just about to say You'll never get over Jess if you don't start trying.
Jessica had made herself crystal clear. And maybe Colleen was right. There was a first time for everything.
"Good," Colleen said. "I texted Marcy from your phone and told her you'd meet her for a drink. Of course, I pretended to be you and was very charming, so don't be surprised if she expects a little fun."
He closed his eyes. "You're such a hemorrhoid."
"You want to be godfather to this baby or what? I can always ask Rafe here."
"I think it's clear who'd buy the best presents, especially if it's a girl," Rafe said. "A gay faux uncle versus your hetero brother. No contest."
"It's a girl," Connor said. Colleen and Lucas had decided not to find out, but Connor knew already.
Colleen raised an eyebrow, one of her better tricks. "That's a good point, Rafe. Connor, can't you just stop whining and man up and go on this date, damn it?" She burped. "Do you have any Tums? God, this heartburn is murder."
"When will this baby be born? Seems like you've been pregnant for two years."
"Oh, is it hard on you? Do you think you should say stuff like that when we're in a room full of sharp objects? Huh?" Rafe handed her a roll of antacids, and she scarfed down two.
Okay, so she was really uncomfortable. Her back hurt; he knew that without her saying anything. Irritatingly, he had a sympathy backache. And she was scared. Lots of things could go wrong. He felt a flash of fear himself, and before he could stop himself, he found that he had his arm around her shoulders. "You'll be fine, Dog-Face. And hopefully the baby will look like me."
"Will you please go out with Marcy? Have I ever been wrong in my entire life?"
"Yes, and yes. I'll go, but only because you threatened me with a knife."
"Now see? Was that so hard? I can already see the write-up in the Vows section. 'They went on a date after Connor's beloved twin threatened to stab him.' Oh, and I'm interviewing a temporary bartender, so don't growl and scare her away."
"Get out of my kitchen, both of you," Rafe said, flapping his hands. Connor gave him a look but obeyed. It was Rafe's kitchen on Tuesdays and on Friday nights, when Connor and Colleen had dinner with Savannah.
While Colleen fussed around behind the bar, Connor got his laptop from the office, sat down at a booth and focused on his project of the last fifteen months.
O'Rourke's Brewing.
In the land of small vineyards, there was also a fair number of microbreweries popping up here and there. Some were quite good; some were mediocre. But who better to be an owner of one than Connor himself? He knew flavors. O'Rourke's had the best beer list in the Finger Lakes, or so said the New York Times, thank you very much. Why not branch out into something a little different?
He didn't want to be a brewer himself per se; his true love was food. But he'd always done some home brewing, though he really didn't drink too much; one beer on an empty stomach was enough to give him a buzz. But Connor knew a guy, Tim Parsons, who'd jump at the chance to be a brewer and do the actual work, almost like a sous-chef. He was just waiting for Connor to get things in place, content with his day job as a schoolteacher.
The restaurant was his first priority, but Connor wanted something a little more to his name. He and Colleen had owned O'Rourke's for almost ten years now, and they were both incredibly proud of it.
Problem was, it ticked along like clockwork. They had a great staff; Rafe was almost as good a chef as Connor, and a little better with desserts. Colleen ran the bar perfectly, Hannah and Monica were excellent servers. In tourist season, they hired a couple more kids to bus tables and wash dishes. They got stellar reviews and were featured in virtually every article that mentioned Manningsport.
So that goal had been met. The other goal--marry Jess--had gone down in flames.
It hadn't been easy to see her the other night with the Hollands. But she played it cool, that much-hated three feet away face on in full force. It was her specialty, after all. So he played it cool, too, even if he did burn the next order he'd cooked.
Time to focus on the microbrewery. He and Tim had already developed seven varieties of beer in Tim's garage, and they were utterly fantastic, in his humble opinion. But the first step to creating an actual brewery would be to find funding. He had a chunk saved, as well as a bank loan, but he'd still need investors, people who wouldn't mind being silent partners and ponying up the cash. Connor had a successful business to his name; he already had an in with distributors as the co-owner of the bar; and he was a professional chef. He was keeping an eye out for some real estate that would house the business.
All he needed was about half a million dollars more, and he'd be all set.
"Daydreaming about your brewery?" Colleen asked.
"Yeah." He turned the folder so she could see his notes.
"Dogface Ale? Aw! Thanks, brother mine." She smiled, rubbing her belly. "You know, Dad would be--"
"I'm not going to ask Dad to be an investor."
She sighed. "He's not Satan, you know."
"I know. But this is going to be mine. Not ours, and certainly not his."
"Well, our high school reunion is coming up. You could tap some of our old classmates. You should start with Jeremy. He's richer than God."
He hadn't thought of that. It might be uncomfortable, casually asking Jer if he had a few hundred thousand dollars lying around. Then again, why not? Jeremy might get a real kick out of it.
"Do you have any plans at all?" Colleen said.
"I have this spreadsheet," he said.
"That's just money. What's your vision?"
"Um...what?"
"You need to pedal vision. Why would I buy O'Rourke's beer instead of anyone else's?"
"Because you're my sister?"
She rolled her eyes. "What sets O'Rourke's beers apart? You have an attractive twin. How will you leverage her charm and good looks to help your business grow?"
"I won't. She's not as cute as she thinks."
She smiled and gave him the finger. "I'm even cuter. Oh! The baby kicked. Want to feel?"
"That's okay. I have sympathy back pain as it is."
"You do? That's kind of sweet, Connor." She toyed with her hair, as she always did when she was thinking, then sat up a little straighter. "You know who could totally help you? Jessica."
Connor's stomach dropped. "Uh...have you forgotten a little something?"
"No. But come on. You two have known each other for decades. You gonna nurse a broken heart forever?"
"I was thinking a day or two."
"Drama queen."
"You're the one who spent ten years--"
"Hush! I'm pregnant. Be nice to me. No, seriously, Con. Jessica knows a lot about marketing. She has contacts through the vineyard. And she's always on the prowl for extra money. Did you know she even stripped for a while?"
"How do you know that?"
"I know everything. Plus, it would help you start to get over her. You can't not speak to her. We've known her since forever."
It was an irritatingly logical suggestion.
Connor was saved from further comment as the door to the bar opened, and in came a very pretty (and very young) woman Connor didn't know.
"That's Jordan. My bartender candidate." Colleen struggled to stand up, and Connor pulled the table back to give her more room then offered his hand and hauled her up. It wasn't easy. "You sure you're not percolating a calf in there?" he said.
"Shut up. I'm glowing, and you can't even tell I'm pregnant from behind. Check out my ass."
"I will not."
Colleen waved to the girl. "Hi! We're over here."
The young woman came over, looked at Connor and blushed a deep red. "Hi. I'm Jordan Reynolds."
"I'm Colleen, and this is my brother, Connor. He's the chef, so he's not important and you can just
ignore him. Let's get you behind the bar and see what you can do."
"Nice to meet you," Connor said.
Her eyelids fluttered, and her mouth opened slightly.
"Don't you dare crush on him," Colleen said, ushering Jordan over to the bar. "He's disgusting. That hair is a wig, and he's wearing contacts to cover his reptilian eyes."
Connor was only half listening. Colleen's idea about tapping some of their classmates might be a good one.
The one about asking their father...that would never happen.
Connor had suspected his father was cheating long before he had confirmation. It was in all the movies...the late-night meetings, the phone calls he would only make from his den, door firmly shut. The weekend business trips, the number of which increased sharply when the twins were in high school.
But he didn't look too hard. His father had never been that interested in him, and Connor tried to return the favor. Mom and Colleen worshipped the ground he walked on; Pete O'Rourke didn't need or want Connor's adoration.
It was when he was doing a winter internship in Corning that he learned for sure that his father was a cheat.
He was working at a tapas restaurant owned by a Culinary Institute graduate, a nice gig so he could be home for the holidays and still working. The place had a window between the kitchen and the restaurant, so patrons could watch the busy kitchen as their food was prepared.
One night, a woman caught Connor's eye. Caught every male's eye, in fact. She was a redhead, for one, and built like Scarlett Johanssen for two. Hard to miss. Add to this, she was staring right at him, and when he met her eyes, she gave a sly smile.
He came out after her dinner was served; she was with two other women. "How was everything, ladies?" he asked, and the other two giggled and complimented him. The redhead just looked at him. "I'm Gail," she said, offering her hand. "Gail Chianese."
"Rhymes with easy," one of her friends murmured, and the three of them all laughed. They talked for a few minutes until Connor had to get back to the kitchen. When they left, a server came back with a note. "Someone left a phone number for you, Con."
Gail.
Telling himself it would be good to date someone after the Jessica debacle last fall, Connor called Gail. He took her skating; old-fashioned, he thought, and fun for a winter afternoon, which was the only time she'd said she had available. She was incredibly hot, four years older than Connor, a flight attendant who'd traveled all over the world.
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