Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(98)

The bell over the door rang, and Connor McClain strolled in. He dipped his chin at Sofie before his eyes swung to Faith. His mouth flattened. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Faith returned.

“Hey, Gert.” He came to stand next to Sofie and scratched the dog’s ears. “Was just gonna talk to you about Fern,” he said to Sofie. “Her shop is closed today, but I have her plants. Okay to store them here until tomorrow?”

“No more indoor greenhouse,” Faith said. “I forgot about that.”

Straightening, Connor faced her. “Yeah. The closing is at the end of the month.”

Three days. The mansion would be sold in three days. Sofie would have no reason to go there again. She had already decided as much as her business would flourish from the connection with Pate Mansion, that if Alessandre D’Paolo needed an event planner for his B-and-B, he would simply have to find someone else to do it. She had accepted what she and Donovan had was over, but there was no way she could set foot near the mansion’s library without remembering their last night together.

Fuck, Sofie. I love you.

Her stomach dove, and she folded her arms over her middle. The memory was a physical blow. So painful, she’d had a mini-fantasy last night about how they could have a long-distance relationship. He could visit the Cove, and she could fly out to visit him. They could continue plodding along. But plodding wasn’t what she wanted, was it? Carrying on a relationship that would never yield any return on her investment… And then when it ended…

No. It was better to cut ties, or so went the tired lecture looping in her head yet again. She had survived the first time. Surely, she would survive the second.

“I have things to do,” Faith said suddenly—Sofie guessed so she could get out of the shop and away from Connor. “See you later. Good luck with Gertie.” Barely glancing in his direction, she walked out the door.

After the bell clanged against the glass, Sofie raised her eyebrows at the man in her shop. “I guess you don’t want to talk about that?”

He shook his head. “Not any more than you would like to talk about Donny.”

A beat passed before she said, “You know, I would like to talk about Donny.” Straight through. Hadn’t that been what she’d learned from him this time around? Funny how he couldn’t take his own advice. “Does he have anywhere to keep Gertie in New York?”

“Yeah,” Connor said sharply. “He has a place to keep a dog. He has space for his three buddies to visit. He’d have room for a girlfriend if he’d pull his head out of his ass.”

She smiled weakly.

“Donny isn’t the kind of guy who keeps things for himself,” he continued. “What he knows is how to hunker down and endure.”

“Hunkering down? Felt more like he gave up.” And he gave up so much. She was worth holding on to.

“He doesn’t trust himself when he’s happy.”

“Was he?” she asked quietly. “Happy?”

“I’ve never seen him so light, Sofe. You changed him.”

“And he left anyway.”

“More like ran.”

They fell quiet for a moment.

“He doesn’t have a huge network,” Connor said. “He’s got a few friends who have chipped past the layer of armor he wears all the damn time. Me. Evan and Asher. We know him to his core. We know the guy under that layer. You know that guy, too.”

She sighed, weary. Sick of this discussion already.

“When I was in Afghanistan, I served with men like him. Some guys harden because of war; others harden in preparation for it. Easier not to get hurt when you’re made of stone.”

What a metaphor. She thought of the stone fireplace in the mansion. The rock wall at the quarry.

“Then there were the guys who had families,” Connor said. “The guys who had a reason to fight, something to fight for. Those with nothing to lose, those with everything to lose. Both make good soldiers.”

Since he’d started talking about war, his face had darkened, shadows prevalent beneath his eyes. She wondered what he’d been through over there. If he ever talked about it with anyone.

“Which one are you?” she asked.

“I’m split, but not fifty-fifty.” A sad smile tilted his mouth.

She wound Gertie’s leash around her fingers while she thought of how much to say.

“Donny told me he loved me.” The sympathy on Connor’s face told her he hadn’t known. “But if he did, he’d be here.”

Connor scrubbed a hand through his short, sandy-colored hair, then shook his head. “He really doesn’t make it easy on those of us who love him, does he?”

“No. He really doesn’t.”

“Makes you want to ding him in his rock-hard head.”

“Something like that.”

His hand landed on her shoulder.

“You tapped into him, Sofe. Deep. I bet him feeling what he feels for you scared him shitless. He’s not in New York because he doesn’t love you. He’s there because he does and doesn’t know what the hell to do about it.”

Her eyes sank closed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. They say war is hell. So is love.”