“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.
She didn’t know how to skate, pressed into him at every opportunity, and he appreciated it. It was pretty fun, he thought. She seemed to be having a nice time, though she kept glancing at her watch. Also, she hadn’t really dressed for the outdoors, though he’d told her to, and she was getting cold. Conversation didn’t exactly flow, though she was an excellent flirt.
He drove her home at the end of the afternoon and kissed her on the cheek.
“You’re adorable,” she said. “You sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I’d love to, but I have to be at work in half an hour.” He also had a hard and fast rule about not sleeping with someone on the first date.
“Mmm. Not nearly enough time.” She stretched her arms over her head, revealing a strip of toned stomach. “I guess you’ll have to ask me out again.”
“I guess so.” The truth was, he was a little put off by the constant innuendo, the cute looks, the obvious body language. So different from Jessica. The thought of her made his chest hurt. Since their hookup, and their conversation over Christmas, he hadn’t seen her.
“I’ll call you,” Gail said, narrowing her eyes. Then she turned and went inside, waving coyly over her shoulder.
She did call a few days later and asked him to meet her for an early drink just down the street from where he worked. They got a seat in the window. “How’ve you been?” she said, looking him up and down.
“Great. And you?”
“I’ve been wonderful.”
Okay, she wasn’t his type. But he was here, so he’d make conversation (he could mentally hear Colleen laughing at that one), and then they’d be done.
The Market Street section of the little city was packed with holiday shoppers, snow was falling, and it looked like a Norman Rockwell painting, a few glass-blowing demonstrations going on, a brass band playing in front of a bakery.
Gail was beautiful, that was true. She was also pretty boring. At least skating had given them something to do. He asked her about her travels, assuming she’d have some good stories, but got a vague answer. Asked her if she’d gone to college. She had not. Racked his brain for another question and came up empty.
“So how much does a chef earn, anyway?” she asked.
Subtle. “Depends on the restaurant.”
“Those celebrity chefs make a lot, I bet.”
“Probably.”
“You have the looks for that kind of thing. A TV show and stuff.”
“Not really my thing.” He suppressed a sigh. Great ass or not, she seemed fairly vacuous.
Then his father pulled up on the street right in front of the bar.
Pete O’Rourke owned commercial property all around Manningsport as well as a few places in Corning and Dundee; half of his life was spent in his swanky little Mercedes coupe, driving to and from places to talk to building managers and tenants and lawyers.