Driftwood Cottage. Sherryl Woods
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“Yeah, that’s what she said.”
“Are you? Interested, I mean?”
“If it were up to me, she and little Mick would still be living with me in Baltimore,” Connor said candidly, then sighed himself. “But I do understand why she bailed. I won’t give her the one thing she wants.”
“A ring on her finger?” Jess guessed.
“Exactly.”
“Is it about a ring or a commitment?”
Connor considered the question. “I’d say the ring. I was committed to her a hundred percent, and she knew it.”
“But don’t you see, Connor, the ring is proof of that,” Jess said, leveling a look at him he hadn’t expected. “I get where she’s coming from.”
Connor frowned. “I thought you’d be on my side.”
“Hey, I am always on your side,” she told him. “It doesn’t mean I can’t see another point of view. Plus, I actually get how women think, which is more than you can say or you wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“Then you think I should marry Heather?” he asked.
“Not if you don’t love her,” his sister responded at once, then grinned. “But I think you do.” She shrugged. “Then again, what do I know about that? My own experience with grand passion is seriously in need of a major overhaul. I haven’t stuck with anyone for more than a minute. It’s making Dad very nervous. One of these days he’s going to take on my love life and try to fix it. If you can keep him distracted from that with your situation for, say, another ten years, I’d appreciate it.”
Connor studied her with amusement. “Dad has someone in mind for you?”
“No one specific, but I’ve seen him looking long and hard at every single man who’s ever in the same room with me, weighing what kind of candidate they’d make.” She shuddered. “It’s embarrassing. I wouldn’t put it past him to come up with some kind of dowry to get me down the aisle.”
Connor gave her a thoughtful look. “You’ve got to be worth at least a couple of cows and a herd of sheep, don’t you think?”
She scowled at him. “You are not even remotely amusing.”
“Look, if you don’t want to risk Dad getting involved, then go find the man you want,” Connor said. “That’ll put a stop to it.”
“You say that as if it’s as easy as plucking the ripest, sweetest peach from a tree in mid-July. In this town the pickings are pretty slim.”
“You run an inn full of tourists,” he reminded her.
“Available men do not come to a romantic little seaside inn alone,” she replied. “Would you?”
Connor winced. “Now that you mention it, no. Okay, start offering packages for business meetings. The new golf course should be opening soon. I’ll bet you could attract a law firm, for instance, to come for a weekend of meetings and golf.”
Jess’s eyes immediately lit up. “That’s a great idea! I could design a special brochure advertising small corporate retreats, then send it to all of the law firms and other corporations in Baltimore and Washington.”
She shoved aside papers on her desk, found a notebook and jotted down notes, her brow knit in concentration. Connor might as well have been in Baltimore.
Eventually, his subtle cough caught her attention. She grinned sheepishly.
“Sorry. I got caught up in the idea. You should be proud, since it was yours. And you know I have to write everything down when it’s fresh, or it will have flown right out of my head by morning.”
“I’d sit right here and brainstorm with you all evening, but to be honest, I’m starved. Can I interest you in dinner?”
Her expression brightened. “Let’s go to Brady’s for crabcakes. Now that you’re a big-time lawyer, you can buy.”
“It’ll be mobbed on a Saturday night,” he protested. “We could just eat here. Word is you have a first-class chef.”
“Our kitchen’s already closed. We don’t stay open this late until the season kicks in. Don’t worry about getting into Brady’s, though. Dillon lets me sneak in the back way. Oh, he yells at me for doing it, but he hasn’t stopped me yet.”
“All because you introduced him to his wife,” Connor replied. He stood up. “Okay, let’s do it. We can sit in the bar and check out the other singles. Maybe one of us will get lucky.”
Jess patted his cheek. “You’re already luckier than any man has a right to be. You just need to wake up and see it.”
Connor groaned. “Are you really going to hop on this bandwagon, too?”
“Of course I am. I like Heather. I love your little boy. And you, big brother, should claim them before somebody else snaps them up.” She gave him an impish grin. “Not that I’m meddling, of course.”
“Of course,” he said wryly.
In the O’Brien family, everyone had an opinion, and not a one of them was shy about expressing it. More’s the pity.
Overnight the springlike weather had taken a turn back toward winter. Temperatures dropped, dark clouds rolled in and what started as rain on Sunday morning had turned to sleet by lunchtime. Heather thought about calling Megan to cancel, but she knew that not only would she be depriving Connor and their son of time together, but it would look as if she were running scared.
She had little Mick bundled up and was about to head out, when Connor appeared at the door.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, letting him step inside but no farther. It wasn’t just that he was soaked from the run from the car to her apartment. She didn’t want him in this new sanctuary of hers.
“The roads are getting slick. I didn’t want you to drive over to the house. I figured I’d pick you up.” He hunkered down in front of little Mick. “Hey, buddy, you ready to go to Grandpa’s?”
“Ga’pa,” little Mick echoed, nodding eagerly.
Even though Heather hated admitting it, the thoughtfulness of the gesture wasn’t lost on her. “Thanks, but it’s just a couple of miles, Connor. I’m sure it would have been fine. Besides, the car seat’s in my car.”
“I have one, too,” he said, shrugging at her look of surprise. “I got it awhile back. It just made sense so we wouldn’t have to transfer the one from your car to mine if little Mick’s with me.”
“You’re right. It does make sense. Okay, then, we’ll ride with you.”
Connor frowned at her. “Where’s your winter coat? It’s turned really cold out there. I wouldn’t be surprised if we had snow before tonight.”
“This late in March?”
“It can happen,” he insisted. “Grab a scarf, too. And some gloves. You never remember your gloves.”
Heather hid a smile as she dug in the closet for her warmer coat, scarf and the gloves that had somehow ended up on the floor instead of in her pockets. Connor was right. She rarely wasted time hunting for them. And he was always pestering her about them. It was one of so many little ways he’d tried to take care of her.
If she’d been keeping a ledger, the list of positives in their relationship would have covered pages, but even at that it couldn’t make up for the one huge negative—his refusal to consider marriage.
Water under the bridge, she told herself, following him to the car.
“What did you do last night?” she asked as they headed toward his house. “Did you spend time with your mother and father?”
He