Connor took her hand, and again, the strange, light thought came--This is what normal people do. He gave her a wry look, then licked his cone, and hello, did all men look this good eating ice cream?
"There's an alley here if you want to do me," he said. "But there are children around, so..."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she lied, smiling.
Happy. That's what the feeling was. She was happy.
"I want to show you something," he said. They went down Lake Street toward the park. Little kids were running around, covered in sand, shrieking as they splashed in the cool water of Keuka. Someone was cooking hot dogs, and sailboats skimmed past. A barking dog caught her eye. It looked like Blue, Faith and Levi's dog, and sure enough, she saw the Coopers, Levi holding the baby, handsome in his uniform, Faith's red hair catching the light. Faith waved, and Jess returned it.
Connor turned onto Liberty Street. Just a short distance from the park and lake was a little stone-and-wood building, a hundred yards or so from the last house on the street. For as long as Jess was aware, it had been abandoned. A few years ago, there'd been a fire there--she'd been on the call, in fact--and whoever owned the place had just let it sit empty. A few scrubby cedar and wild raspberry bushes grew in front of it, and the grass all around it was long, making it easy to miss.
"Right this way," Connor said, leading her up to the wide doorway. That face of the building was wooden, and black from the fire. He opened the door, and the inside was similarly damaged. The floors were scorched, but the stone walls seemed sound, and the windows were arched. There was a fireplace on the western wall.
"Welcome to the home of O'Rourke Brewing," he said.
"Get outta here! Really? Oh, Connor, I love it." Her chest filled with a strange, sweet pressure, and she squeezed his hand, then hugged him. "Congratulations!"
He laughed. "I'll have to do a good bit of renovating, but my brother-in-law's a contractor, so he'll help me. It used to be a storage building for Jacob Manning's boat company back at the turn of the century. It hasn't been used since the thirties. Then that fire a few years ago... Anyway, we just have to put in electric and plumbing. And stairs. And replace the door. And the floor. Great location, though."
"Definitely. Where will the tanks go?"
"Upstairs. Down here will be eight or ten tables. We'll serve a little food, just enough to get people to see how great a beer would be with dinner."
She finished her cone and brushed her hands off on her skirt. "And where will you put the tasting bar?"
"Watch your step. The bar will face the lake, of course. I'll have a little patio outside, sort of like an arbor. I'll probably hire Faith for that. Once I get the investors on board, we'll get started."
She looked around. The building seemed sturdy; Connor wouldn't have bought it if it wasn't. "Zoning approval and all that came through?"
"Yep."
Of course it did. He was an O'Rourke, half owner of the most successful restaurant on Crooked Lake, son of the man who owned most of downtown. And though Connor wasn't showy, she knew he had money.
The familiar, small flash of envy flared briefly. Jessica couldn't imagine what it would be like to have enough money to own a house, a booming business and still be able to invest in more.
He was watching her, and her chest ached again in the nicest way. "This is just great, Con."
"Thank you. I have a question for you, by the way."
Please don't propose again. Her heart started thudding at the idea. She grabbed her thumb and twisted the ring. "Okay."
He grimaced slightly. "I have four people coming in from Ithaca. Empire State Food and Beverage, this company that funds businesses like mine. I can basically show them your PowerPoint, but just the thought of talking to them makes me...sweaty. I was hoping you might do the presentation."
"Sure! Sure, of course! I can take the afternoon off from work, more than likely. I have a ton of vacation time." She was so relieved it wasn't marriage, she almost laughed. "You have to be there, of course."
"I'll just sit quietly and look pretty."
She grinned. "No, you'll have to answer questions. But, yes, you can look pretty, too. Maybe get a haircut. Wear a suit."
He came a little closer. "Thank you, Jessica Dunn." A little closer. His eyes were on her mouth.
She took a step back, only to find the cool stone wall there. That was fine. She wasn't going anywhere.
He cradled her face in his hands. "There's this old Irish saying," he murmured, pressing a light kiss on her lips, "that if you make love in a building that needs renovation..."
She started laughing. "A building that will become a brewery?"
Another kiss, and even better, because he was smiling now, too. "Yes, a building that needs renovation so it can be a brewery...if you can get a girl to take off her panties and she lets you do dirty things to her, then the business will be very, very blessed."
"Who came up with this saying?" she laughed.
"Some Irish guy."
"I want to see it in writing," she said, and he was laughing now, too, low and rumbly, his clever hands already under her dress, skimming up to her thighs.
"I'll show it to you later," he whispered, and his fingers went higher, sliding inside her panties, and she was very glad for the wall behind her.
He knelt down. Oh, God.
"Far be it from me to stand in the way of your profitability," she said, her breath shaking, and let him do what he wanted.
*
WHEN THEY EMERGED from the building a while later, looking like guilty teenagers, no doubt, Connor took her hand again. This time, it didn't make Jess feel so strange.
It made her feel...wonderful.
"You look rather flushed, Jess. I should get you home to bed. My bed, I mean."
"I can't," she said. "Ned has a date."
They turned onto Putney Street, walking slowly. This was one of her favorite streets, just a few down from the green, on the opposite side of the Village from Connor's house. Connor's street had grander houses, bigger yards. Here, though, it was more quaint. The houses were small but graceful, and trees lined the street. Birds swooped and sang, getting ready for the night, and the sky over the lake was lavender and pink.
Then she lurched to a stop.
There was a for-sale sign in front of #34. "Oh, my God," she breathed, then ran up the street.
It was a brick Victorian with a porch. A porch! She knew the house, of course; she knew every house in the Village, but she hadn't known this had gone on the market. It was small, and the front yard was tiny, but hydrangeas bloomed along the porch, their flowers so blue it made her heart ache. "It's for sale!" she said to Connor. "Come on! It's empty. Let's peek inside."
When had this happened? She peered in the window and almost swooned. Dark-stained hardwood floors, original. Big iron radiator. A fireplace edged with green ceramic tile, and wooden cabinets and built-in bookcases with lead-paned doors. And speaking of doors, the front door was gorgeous, oak with a big long oval and brass doorknob.
"Great porch," Connor commented.
The front door was locked, but Jess peered through one of the glass panels into the entryway, the mark of a gentler time. You could put a little table along the little wall, and have a beautiful glass bowl for your keys and phone. A carved staircase turned ninety degrees. There was a stained-glass window on the landing. "You see that stained glass? Isn't it gorgeous? And that woodwork is amazing."
"Very pretty," he agreed, looking in, as well.
She couldn't see any more from the door, so she went in the side yard, which was lined with hostas and some kind of low-growing blue flower. A little statue of St. Francis with his hand outstretched. It looked like a fairy lived here, it was so beautiful. In the back, the yard was small and neat and bursting with potential... She could put in flower beds along one side, maybe a shade garden on the other.
There was even a sturdy maple tree Davey and she could climb. Jess would
bet that tree turned the most beautiful colors come fall. She could replace the chain-link fence with bamboo, maybe; they used it all the time on HGTV, and it could be a little treasure of a garden back here, and Chico Three would be fenced in and safe. She could ask Faith for help, maybe. Or just do it herself, even better.
There was a garage in the back, too. Imagine that. Imagine parking inside and not having to scrape off the car every time it snowed or iced.
The windows on the side of the house were too high for her to peek in.
"You want to look inside?" Connor asked. Without waiting for an answer, he crouched down and put his head between her thighs. "Hello again," he murmured, kissing one, then lifted her onto his shoulders.
"Oh, my God, Connor, it's so pretty," she said, cupping her hands around her eyes to see better. It was the dining room, with a built-in china cabinet and sideboard. A chandelier that, if it wasn't original Victorian, sure looked that way.
This was her house. This was exactly what she wanted. It needed work, sure, but it was mostly cosmetic, she'd guess. Maybe a new furnace, given the age of the house.
"Put me down, okay?" she asked.
"Yes, my queen," he said.
She barely heard him. Pulling out her phone, she entered the address into Google.
There it was, listed on Realtor.com, 34 Putney Street. Three bedrooms, one bath--she could fix that, maybe, someday. Living room, dining room, kitchen, walk-in pantry--pantry! Full cellar.
She almost couldn't look at the price.
Then she did.
Her heart stopped.
In a bit of a daze, she wandered back to the front porch. Sat down.
"You okay, babe?" Connor asked.
"I can afford this," she said.
"You--you want to buy this place?" he asked.
"Yes! It's perfect! I should call the real estate agent right now." She did just that. "Damn, they're closed." The beep of the answering machine sounded. "Hi, my name is Jessica Dunn. I'm very, very interested in 34 Putney Street. If you could call me as soon as you can, I'd really love to see the inside of the house." She recited her phone number, aware that her hands were shaking. "Talk to you soon. Thank you so much."
Her heart was racing. She looked at Connor and smiled.
He didn't smile back.
Oh. Oh, shit. Right.
He sat next to her. A goldfinch fluttered past, a flash of yellow and black. "At the risk of pointing out the obvious," he said quietly, "I have a pretty nice house already. It also has stained-glass windows and amazing woodwork."
She was twisting her ring again. "Yes. You do. It's just that I've always wanted to own my own place," she said.
"Right."
She looked at the hydrangeas, the little walk out to the sidewalk. "I don't think you understand," she said carefully. "My parents didn't even own the trailer where we grew up. We were evicted twice. The place I'm in now is a house, at least, but it's not mine, and it's pretty ugly, and the landlord won't replace the floor in the kitchen, and--"
"You don't have to explain," he said.
"It feels like I do."
He looked down for the longest minute of her life. "No," he said, looking at her. "You don't." Then he kissed her hand and smiled. "Let me get you home."
And even though he didn't say another word, she had that horrible feeling that she'd just chipped off a piece of his heart.
Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
"GRUMPY AGAIN," RAFE SIGHED.
"And holding a very sharp knife," Connor said.
"I'm holding your heart in my hands, Connor darling. Tell Uncle Rafe what the problem is."
"Can't you just make the coconut cake, Rafe? Please? Just do your job?"
The sous-chef sighed a Catholic sigh--Colleen had taught him--and turned on the mixer.
Coconut cake with a dollop of homemade key-lime ice cream was the dessert special. The burger of the day was buffalo with a kale, mango, jalapeno and mint chutney served with a side of truffle fries. Soup du jour--a cold asparagus.
"What is this? These aren't the greens I asked for," he said, staring at the iceberg in the fridge. "Who the hell ordered iceberg? It's fake lettuce."
"Connor, for the love of God, stop yelling," Colleen said.
"I'm not yelling. And why are you sitting on the counter? Why, Colleen? Why? You're making more work for me. I have to clean that now."
"Stop looking at me as if you're planning to pick your teeth with my bones." Colleen shifted and winced a little. "What did Jessica do now?"
"Nothing. She's buying a house."
"That's great!"
"No, Colleen, it's not."
"Put the knife down, brother mine. Let's pretend you're a civilized person. Tell Rafe and me what's wrong. Talk. Move your mouth while making sounds. Express your emotions. You can do it."
He didn't want to talk. Everything was wrong. It had taken a Herculean effort not to argue with Jessica last night and tell her it was incredibly dumb to buy a fixer-upper when he had a mint-condition, perfectly restored house that would fit not just him, her and Davey but their future children, as well. Nope. He was Mr. Understanding, which had him clenching his jaw so hard his teeth throbbed.
Then, after he'd dropped Jess back home, his mother had decided to come in the bar and force him out of the kitchen to talk about her wedding. And not just her wedding. Her honeymoon. She wanted Connor to know that just because she was menopausal didn't mean that certain parts of her were dead. Why? Why? Why did she do this to him? Was he too old to file child-abuse charges?
Add to this, he ran into Gail the Tail when he stopped by the convenience store and had to make polite chitchat. Hi, how are you, congratulations, how's Savannah, how are you feeling?
Now, Colleen was still sitting on his counter, and still pregnant--eight days past her due date, and his back was killing him with sympathy pains.
And Jessica didn't want to live with him, which probably meant she had no plans to marry him and have his babies.
"Hail Mary," Colleen whispered.
"Full of grace," Rafe continued.
"Con?" His sister's voice was weird. "I think my water just broke."
He dropped his knife. "In my kitchen?"
"Oh, God," she said, and her face changed.
"Okay, okay, it's okay, Dog-Face, it's okay." Holy Mary, Mother of God, please don't let him have to deliver his niece. He helped her off the counter, and sure enough, her tent-size dress was wet. "In my kitchen, Colleen," he said, his voice cracking a little. "How dare you and all that. Can you stand? Are you okay? Don't push. Should I get a basket or something? Oven mitts? Call Lucas, Rafe."
"Shut up, or I'll have the baby right here. Rafe, call Lucas!"
"On it," Rafe said, his phone already to his ear. "Lucas, hi, handsome, it's Rafe, get your ass here, she's finally in labor."
Colleen was gripping Connor's arms hard. "You good? Still good?" he asked. "Want to sit? Should I move you? Wanna lie down? Should I call 911? Boil water? Collie?"
"I've always dreamed of delivering a baby," Rafe mused.
"Shut up!" the twins snapped in unison. Then Colleen squeezed his arms even harder. Her eyes widened, and Connor could actually see the contraction roll through her. "Holy St. Romeo, this hurts," she whispered. "That was enough. I don't want any more contractions. I'm good without them."
Connor's back spasmed. "You're okay. You're fine! You're really brave."
"No, I'm not! I'm a baby, remember? I'm terrible with pain!"
"No, no, no. That's a lie." His shirt was already stuck to him with sweat. "You're a champ. A hero. Uh...don't have the baby here. Please. Wait for Lucas." He glanced at Rafe. "Close the restaurant."
"We're not open yet."
"Close it, anyway!" he snapped.
"I don't want to have the baby here, Con." Her voice was high and scared. "Please don't let me have the baby here."
"No! No, you will not have this baby in my kitchen."
; Her eyes met his, wide with shock. Another contraction clenched her in its fist, and her eyelids fluttered. A little whimper escaped from her mouth. Her knees buckled a little, and he held her up. "It's okay, Collie," he said. "You got this."
It was so good to be a man.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know. But listen to me, Colleen," he said firmly. "This is a great day. Your daughter will be born today." His eyes stung abruptly. "And you're gonna do great, sister mine."
There was a screech of brakes outside the restaurant, and Lucas burst in, thank all the saints in heaven. Connor stepped aside, and Lucas took his wife in his arms. Said something low and reassuring, smiled at her and kissed her quickly. "Turn your backs, boys," he said. "I'm gonna take a look."
Connor obeyed, and fast. So did Rafe, who nonetheless held his phone over his shoulder for a picture. A dull, pounding ache rolled through Connor's back.
His poor sister.
"Call 911," Lucas said. "Mia, you don't mess around. I can see the head."
*
CONNOR'S NIECE WAS born half a block from O'Rourke's. The ambulance had arrived in time to pack Colleen up, though she begged them not to touch her and practically bit Gerard when he got her onto the gurney. Ten yards down the street, the ambulance stopped.
Isabelle Grace Campbell was helped into the world by her father, as well as Jeremy Lyon, who would now drink for free for the rest of his life; Jer had heard the call over the scanner and raced in from his office; and Gerard Chartier, who admitted that he'd always wanted to see Colleen's girl parts.
"You can come in now, Uncle Connor," Lucas said, smiling broadly from the doorway of Colleen's hospital room. "You okay?"
"Just much, much older than I was this morning," he said. "Has my hair turned white yet?" He shook Lucas's hand, then hugged him. "Congratulations, brother."
Then he went inside and saw his sister holding a little pink burrito, and his eyes filled up with tears.
"Connor, meet your niece and goddaughter," Colleen said, and her whole face was shining. "The most beautiful baby the world has ever seen."
She was, too. A thatch of black hair, fat little cheeks, a tiny rosebud mouth. Her eyes were closed.
"Can I touch her?" he asked.
"You can hold her." She handed the baby over to him, and before he could protest, his niece was in his arms. "Hey," he breathed. The baby pursed her lips and opened her eyes, then, apparently unimpressed, closed them again.
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