CHAPTER SIX

      Eight and a half years before the proposal...

      FOR THREE WEEKS—well, twenty days—after her humiliating foray into the world of exotic dancing, Jessica, who wasn’t the type to spin out happy fantasies of how wonderful everything would be, was starting to feel kinda happy and wonderful.

      On day three of their...thing, she presented Connor her terms, written on a note card.

      Rule number one: no telling anyone. God forbid she date one of Manningsport’s favorite sons and have it not work out. She already had enough of a reputation to deal with. Plus, Davey. She had to figure a way to make him okay with this, and right now she had no clue.

      Rule number two: no coming over when Davey was awake, and never without checking with her first.

      Rule number three: no sappiness. Sappiness was just not her thing, and so no flowers, no cards, no you make me want to be a better man stuff.

      Connor listened with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. “Anything else, majesty?” he asked when she was done.

      “I’m sure there is. I just can’t think of it right now.” She put the index card back in her pocket.

      They were walking on one of the paths on Ellis Farm, which was partially open to the public. It was cold, and she’d ridden her bike there, since her car was still acting finicky.

      Hardly anyone came out to Ellis Farm on a cold, sleety November day, which was exactly why Jess had chosen it.

      “So how long will we be a secret, Juliet?” he asked.

      “As long as I say, Romeo. Is that a problem?”

      “Anything for you.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Can I kiss you? Do I need permission for that first? Are there guidelines for that on your index card?”

      She pulled the card out and pretended to check. Playfulness. That was new for her, outside of goofing around with her brother. “Well...you can, but you have to make it good.”

      He did. He had the most beautiful mouth, his lips full, and he seemed to know just how to kiss her— gentle and soft, or urgent and hard, and no matter what, it made her insides curl and squeeze and light up in beautiful shades of purple and red. This kiss was long and slow and lovely, his mouth moving over hers, his hands sliding down to her hips to pull her against him, his razor stubble scraping gently. His tongue touched hers, and her knees buckled a little.

      Then a dog barked, and they broke apart. Connor tapped the tip of her nose with his finger, smiled, and they continued walking. An Irish setter ran past, followed closely by its owner, not someone Jess knew.

      “Horrible weather, isn’t it?” the guy said.

      “Sure is,” Connor answered.

      And when the man was gone, Connor took her hand.

      That was all. They just walked, hand in hand.

      Another first. Kind of embarrassing, the effect of Connor’s big, warm hand holding hers so firmly, and acting like it wasn’t a big deal. Boys hadn’t wanted to hold her hand back in high school. They’d wanted to get into her pants.

      And since high school, when she’d been working toward getting Davey and herself out of the trailer park and away from her parents, she hadn’t dated anyone. There was no need to; Davey had a reputation as being liked by a lot of big, strong guys, and the bullying had mostly stopped. He was as safe as she could make him.

      But now she was on a walk with a gorgeous man who was funny and thoughtful, who hadn’t made her feel like trash when he’d seen her embarrassing attempt at rhythm and stripping, who scrambled eggs for her, who didn’t ask prying questions about her family...who just seemed to like her, and who had been amazing in bed the five—and counting—times they’d done the deed.

      She was pretty sure she didn’t deserve this. Pretty sure the other shoe was about to drop.

      Hence, the rules. Hopefully, they would soften the blow.

      They met when she could get away, always at his tiny apartment, sometimes in the morning, when Davey was at school, sometimes late at night, just for an hour or so. She’d leave a note for Davey—Going for a run!—and a stick figure drawing of her doing just that, then ask Ricky, the guy who lived next door, to keep the baby monitor on his porch; the houses were so close together that if Davey woke up, which he rarely did since the kid slept like a rock, Ricky could hear.

      Then she’d head to Connor’s, her heart light and buzzing, a warm flush wrapping her like a hug.

      On the night of the restaurant’s grand opening, she arranged for Davey to stay overnight with their mom, who was enjoying a brief sober spell. Dad was at a casino, so he wouldn’t be back for a day or so or longer. And Mom did love Davey, even if she was sloppy about looking after him. Jess had taken all the booze with her; she’d found Mom’s stash and dumped the half inch of bourbon and the half bottle of cheap vodka into the sink. With Mom’s sobriety, it was always a question of when she’d fall off the wagon, not if. Then Jess asked Mrs. Cooper to check on Davey once or twice, to make sure Mom was “okay,” which Mrs. Cooper knew meant awake and sober.

      “You bet, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I owe you from all the times you watched Sarah.”

      The restaurant was jam-packed, and Jess knew everyone. Gerard Chartier talked her into joining the volunteer fire department, Colleen was making everyone laugh, Jeremy Lyon came back for the weekend from medical school, and this time, seeing him and Faith Holland together—still sticky-sweet in love—didn’t give Jess a pang.

      She had a guy now, even if it was on the sly. And Jeremy had always been too perfect, anyway. Leave him for Princess Super-Cute.

      That night Connor occasionally came out of the kitchen to press the flesh, and every time, his eyes found hers and rested a beat too long, and that wonderful, hot tightening would start in the pit of her stomach, making her feel what she imagined drunk felt like—not like her parents’ version of drunk, but happy and loose and hopeful.

      The food was amazing. And free. Crab cakes, creamy lasagna, tiny cheeseburger sliders, quesadillas, salads, shrimp wrapped in prosciutto, slices of bread stuffed with garlic and spinach...every bite succulent and filled with layers of flavor. Colleen, ever gorgeous and lively, was putting on a good show, sliding beers down the bar, spinning martini shakers, but it was Connor’s food that practically brought people to their knees.

      O’Rourke’s would be a smashing