I debated a long time if adding that conversation to the book was the right thing to do. Finally, what convinced me was the way I felt before reading Liam’s letter. I imagined that Connor’s ex-wife must have been feeling very similar emotions after their divorce, thinking he had not cared enough about her. I certainly couldn’t trust Connor to ever tell her how things went down, and why he did what he did. So I decided to be the one to give her the truth, to bring her peace.
“You had no right to put that in writing. It was a private thing.” Connor gives me a cold, hard stare.
My insides go from melted to frozen in a second.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, contrite. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” I feel tears prickle my eyes. I really thought I was doing the right thing.
“She wasn’t upset,” Connor admits.
“Who wasn’t upset?” I’m confused.
“Catherine, my ex.”
“But why was she crying, then?”
“What do I know? You women get emotional over nothing. She said she finally understood.”
I throw my napkin at him. “Why didn’t you say so immediately? Did you enjoy watching me squirm with guilt?”
“Very much.”
“So, was she relieved?”
“Are you writing a sequel?” His sexy eyebrow is distractingly raised again.
“No. You’re off the record, I promise.”
“I don’t remember ever going on the record, for that matter.”
“You want to tell me or not?”
“She said she finally understood I hadn’t just given up on us without a second thought,” he explains.
Yep, I know the feeling. A good one to have.
“And that she was relieved to know how much I really cared about her, and about us,” Connor continues. “That she could finally stop thinking she had wasted ten years of her life.”
“So you’re considering getting back together?” I ask, while a glop of irrational fear settles at the base of my throat.
“No, she’s happy with her husband, and I’m…” He pauses. I look at him expectantly as my heart starts to beat a bit faster. “I’m enjoying the bachelor life,” he concludes.
Oh, right. My heart goes back to a slow, mortified beating tempo. Was I really expecting a love declaration over tacos?
“How’s it going with you and that dude?” Connor asks casually.
“What dude?” I stop midway on a bite of cheesy deliciousness.
“Your husband?” He raises his signature eyebrow, perplexedly for once instead of provocatively.
“Oh, him.” Somehow, any thought of Liam has abandoned my brain.
“I mean, I read something in the papers, but…” Connor continues.
“Oh, you get papers in Dubuque? How civilized of you.”
“Your sense of humor has not improved, I see. Jokes aside, how are you?”
“Am I hearing correctly? Is Connor Duffield willingly trying to have a semi-serious conversation?”
“No, I just know you women like to blab, so I was giving you something to blab about.”
He seems annoyed that I’m not answering his question. Is this his convoluted way of asking me if I’m single?
“I am okay, mostly.” I ignore his last comment about blabbing women. “It was hard to see him have a baby with another woman…”
“Yeah, the first kid your ex has is the worst,” he says supportively. “It gets better with the others.”
I involuntarily flinch at the thought of more Liam-and-Adriana babies populating the world. “If you say so,” I comment, unconvinced. “However, I made peace with Liam. Sort of. Something along the lines of you and Catherine.”
This last statement earns me a grunt back. The positive kind.
44
Feathers
“What brings you to Chicago, besides my premeditated murder?” I ask Connor as we walk down Michigan Avenue.
“Chicago is the cereal trading capital of the world. I have to be here for business every once in a while…when I saw the ads of your signing splattered all over the city, I decided to pay you a visit.”
“To manhandle me,” I finish the sentence for him.
He grunts in the uncertain.
“How have things been for you since you got back? Was your dad okay?”
“He was, for the most part. The business, not so much. He was about to sell everything…took me a while to put things back on track. Worked my butt off day and night for months.”
“So you’ve been busy. You know, I wondered where you’d disappeared to. I was sorry we hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Maybe you should give me your number so next time I don’t have to stalk your signings.”
I dictate it to him. Should I ask for his? Still too much of a chicken!
“You know, I left without saying goodbye because I had to be back home as soon as possible and you seemed to have a lot on your plate already…” Connor continues.
“I did,” I confirm. The atmosphere becomes suddenly awkward.
We stop under the Wrigley Building to stare at the Chicago River in silence. The only audible voice comes distorted from the speakers of one of the many boats of the architectural tour passing under the bridge below us.
“Fun ride, huh?” Lame, I know, but I am desperately trying to steer the conversation away from the elephant between us—or, in other words, the fact that I spent the five months we were together on the island telling him how much I loved another man.
“I wouldn’t know.” Connor shrugs, looking at his watch.
Is he in a hurry? Is he planning to go?
“You’ve never been on the historical boat tour?” I ask him.
“Nope.”
“We have to go, then. We have to. You cannot come to Chicago and not do it.” I sound desperate. I am desperate. The idea of saying goodbye to him is unthinkable right now. I don’t want him to go.
He turns toward me. The sunlight dances in his dark irises, making his stare look so much more intense.
“All right, kiddo.”
For once it doesn’t bother me that he called me kiddo. If anything, it put a warm, familiar sensation in my belly.
***
“Just out of curiosity…did you read the entire book?” I ask Connor as we lean on the boat’s railing, admiring Chicago’s most beautiful buildings from the water.
“I read enough,” he snorts back.
“So you didn’t read the last page?” I insist.
“No, why?”
“Oh nothing. I just thought you might have found it interesting.”
Grunt, the unconvinced kind.
We spend the rest of the ride mostly in silence, admiring the panorama and listening to the guide’s explanations. I would like to tell Connor so many things, but I’m so shy when it comes to the externalization of feelings that I stay quiet the entire time.
“Do you want to go to the zoo?” I ask when we’re back on solid ground. I’m desperate for him to stay with me longer. “Manny is there…I’m sure he would like to say hi to you.”
“You managed to bring the flea sack back here?” Connor seems surprised.
“He’s not a flea sack and you know it. He’s been at the zoo basically since we came back.”
“Do you go visit often?”
“A couple of times a month with my niece. Well, except when it’s macaque mating season, because then he wants me to have his babies and his lady monkey gets jealous. She tried to kill me once.”
I tell him about my first visit to the zoo, and Connor cracks up with laughter.
“Oh, Anna. I have to tell you, I missed you,” he says when he’s finished chuckling.
I try to keep my cool and not read too much into his phrase, but the love bugs in my stomach refuse to sit quiet.
“Is that a yes to the zoo?” I ask, hopeful.
“Sure. I don’t have another meeting until tomorrow, so I’m all yours for the rest
of the day. Unless…I mean, if you’re busy or something…”
“Cool, no, I have a clear schedule too,” I say, smiling like an idiot and thinking, how do I make you mine for life?
Michael is a bit less enthusiastic about meeting Connor, I have to say. He’s been asking me to go out with him forever, and he probably doesn’t appreciate me visiting Manny when I’m on a date with someone else. I can call this a date, right?
Men can say what they like, but I think they still have a lot of practices in common with their counterparts in the animal kingdom. Watching Michael and Connor interact is like watching two peacocks dancing around each other, showing off their colorful feathers in an attempt to impress the peahen—me. I leave the boys to their manly competition and concentrate my attentions on Manny, who hoots his appreciation. That is, until Carly, one of Michael’s colleagues, arrives and brings out her own feminine feathers to impress Connor, leaving me all free for Michael and seething with jealousy. I didn’t even know I could be this possessive, but the moment she touches Connor’s arm to show him around the compound, I think myself capable of coldblooded murder for the first time. This is bad.
“What was that dude’s problem?” Connor asks me as we exit the zoo.
“Oh, I think he was a bit jealous…” I offer. I want to make Connor a bit green-eyed too. I know, petty. But I can’t help myself…
“You and that guy?” Both of Connor’s eyebrows shoot high in his forehead in outrage.
“No, gosh no,” I answer, extremely pleased with the reaction I got. “He asked me out a couple of times, but that’s all.”
Connor grunts.
I’m not sure if it means “good” or something more along the line of “it better be that way,” but both meanings make me happy.
“You want to grab a bite? I know a nice place not too far away. We can take a cab.”
Grunt, in the affirmative.
***
Dinner passes all too quickly for me. When it gets time to go, I feel anxious again about having to say goodbye to him.
“Are you taking a cab home?” Connor asks as we exit the restaurant.
“Actually, I’m walking distance from here.”
“Mind if I walk you home?”
Mind it? Do I mind it? I wouldn’t mind anything you could do to me right now, except maybe leave me to go back to your hotel.
“That would be great.” I’m so proud of myself for managing a composed, proper answer.
45
Going Home
“This is me.” I stop in front of my doorstep. “The office is on the ground floor, and my mansion is up the stairs.”
“So it is.” Connor rocks uncomfortably on his toes and heels, looking at the concrete.
“When are you going back? To Dubuque, I mean?” I ask, equally awkward. The mood is uncomfortable again. We’ve been cozy with each other for most of the day. It was like being with an old friend—admittedly one who you would very willingly provide with benefits—but now I have this sense of foreboding that’s making me uneasy.
“A couple of days,” he mutters.
“We should hang out again before you go then.” Hang out? What am I, a teenager?
“So this is goodnight, I guess,” he says.
“Mmm?” I don’t know what to say.
He looks at me—his mocha-brown eyes burn twin holes into my skull. It’s the same look he had that day on the beach. I think I’m losing brain cells here. Um, Joan? Yes? You don’t like brown eyes, and you don’t care for dark hair, I have to remind myself. Yeah right, I don’t. My stomach and my knees seem to disagree. My heart joins the rebellion when I understand Connor may be about to kiss me. I lower my gaze, embarrassed. What do I do? What do I do? Joan, shut up and enjoy the moment. It’s past time you had a bit of fun.
I look up at him, trying to smile encouragingly. He’s still looking at me dead serious, no smile on his lips whatsoever. Can someone pass out from intense staring? He moves a step toward me so that our bodies are almost touching, and I can feel the heat emanating from his broad chest. I close my eyes, lifting my chin ever so slightly.
I feel his one-day signature stubble brush against my cheek and suddenly the heat is gone. I stumble a bit forward, marginally losing my balance. I blink and see that Connor has moved away. He’s staring at his feet uncomfortably, with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets.
“Good night,” he whispers.
“Night,” I mumble, mortified.
Wait, what? No, no, no. This is the part where you kiss me senseless. Why did he kiss me on the cheek? Doesn’t he like me anymore? Did he ever? Did I misinterpret everything? I don’t think so. Then why isn’t he making a move? Is he scared I’ll reject him again? Should I make a move? I am utterly incapable of making the first move with a man. Call me old-fashioned, or too much of a chicken, but I’ve always waited for the guy to make the first move. Neither of us has been talking for a couple of minutes now. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you awkward.
“I should probably go,” Connor says.
No! My interior organs protest at once. I try to object aloud, but my vocal cords seem to have gone on a strike.
“I’ll call you. Take care,” Connor concludes when I don’t say anything.
Not the “take care” crap again. I watch him turn around and slowly walk away from me as if in slow motion. I stand petrified in front of my door, and follow his progress down the road as he strolls farther away from me. It’s like I’m hypnotized, but when he turns the corner and disappears from sight, it’s like an electrical shock goes through me and the paralysis that has kept me mute and rooted to the spot in the past few minutes suddenly is lifted.
What am I doing here? Why am I not running after Connor? Joanna, it’s the twenty-first century. It’s time you make the first move. Yeah, right. I won’t let him slip away this time. If I have to manhandle him to bring him back, that is exactly what I will do.
I run down the street, but when I reach the corner where Connor disappeared, I don’t see him. I search the street for his silhouette, but the road is deserted—just as empty as my heart suddenly feels. I run a few blocks down Milwaukee Avenue, swiveling my head back and forth every time I cross another corner. Where are you, Connor? Where did you go? I can’t have lost him. I can’t! An irrational fear grabs me and propels me forward. I run down the street like a mad woman, shouting his name at the top of my lungs, but I only manage to scare a few passers-by. Did he take a cab? He must have. That is the only logical explanation for his sudden disappearance. What hotel did he say he was staying at? He didn’t, I realize with desperation. I run in circles around every block in my neighborhood at least twice, retracing our steps to the café where we had dinner to check if he went back there. When I see he hasn’t, I try the small neighborhood park, but once again it’s a hole in the water. Connor isn’t here. I’ve lost him.
As the realization hits me like a slap in the face, I notice for the first time that I am out of breath. Cold droplets of sweat are snaking down my nape, and the night breeze is making me shiver as it blows on my damp, heated skin. I walk back to a bench near the end of the park and sink down on it, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. Why did I wait even two minutes to run after him? I feel like crying.
“What’s wrong with you, dear?”
I lift my head and see a nice old lady with a poodle at her side eying me with curiosity.
“I messed up,” I whine.
“How so?”
“I got distracted and let someone walk away from me.”
“Nothing you can’t put a remedy to, I’m sure. Can’t you call this someone instead of sitting on a bench at night crying?”
“I don’t have his number,” I say, pouting. “He has mine, but I’m not sure he’ll call me, and I really have something important to say to him.”
“And what is that?”
“I have to tell him I’m in love with him.”
She raises one perplexed eyebrow.
“I’m sure that you young things have many other ways of getting a hold of each other these days. That Internet you like so much, no?”
“I guess,” I say, still moping.
“Don’t make me unleash Crumble on you,” the old lady says, rotating the poodle’s leash in one hand. “Go home and find this beau of yours.”
I don’t feel very threatened by Crumble, but my Fairy Dogwalker is probably right. I need to go home and do some serious Google stalking.
“Thank you.” I get up. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, dear. You’re young, beautiful, and all that jazz. Send me an invitation to the wedding, though. I love weddings.” She chuckles a bit, and continues off to the park for her night walk.
I would like to run home, but I’m still too winded, so I settle for a steady march with a quick pace. It takes me only fifteen minutes to be back on my street. I cover the last few yards fumbling in my purse to search for my keys, so that I’m not looking where I’m going until it’s too late and I’ve run someone over.
“You damn woman,” said someone protests.
A pair of strong arms gather me up and sets me steadily on the concrete before I can fall over.
“Connor!” I exclaim as my heart jumps into my throat. “You’re back!”
He lets me go, and I can feel ten distinguished burns on my arms where his fingers where touching me.
Grunt. In the decisive affirmative.
“What made you come back?”
“Where did you go?”
“I was running after you,” I admit.
Grunt. Undecipherable.
“Why did you come back?” I ask again.
“I read the last page,” he says simply, making me melt under his stare again.
“And?” I’m trembling with emotion or lust. I’m not sure which, as he is too close for my brain to function properly.
“You’ve been naughty.” He comes even closer with a devilish smile stamped on his lips.
“And?” I repeat.
“I think it’s time I give you a good seeing-to, woman.” He swoops me up from the sidewalk and carries me up the steps towards the door, wedding-night style.
A Sudden Crush Page 19