IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(68)

I started to protest, but she cut me off. “Think of it like this: my daughter adores the big Thomas train set you got her for Christmas. But you know what brings the biggest smile to her face? When her Uncle Wells sweeps her up in his arms and spins her around in the air. That’s love.”

Thinking of my niece’s giggles whenever I burbled raspberries to her cheeks brought a smile to my face.

Her eyes brightened. “That smile right there,” she said. “That’s what life is all about. It’s the moments you spend with the people you love. The memories you make with them.” She chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, money can certainly make life much easier. But it isn’t love. I would give all of my shares of Grange BioMed away if it meant keeping the love of my husband and child. The money means nothing without them. Do you understand?”

The words caused something to squeeze in my chest. “But what if I can’t give him love?”

She mock scowled at me. “Wells Grange, I’ve known you my entire life. You are capable of great love, if you’ll just allow yourself to feel it. And Mark doesn’t count. Don’t give that fucker one single thought when we’re on the subject of love.”

Her nostrils flared in old anger left over from when I’d finally admitted to her about Mark’s and my relationship. She’d been gutted, and it had taken a long time for the two of us to find our way back to each other after so many awful confessions.

I crossed my arms, wanting to believe her but not sure I could. Regardless of whether or not Mark had deserved it, I’d loved once before and it had gone terribly wrong. “What if it’s a fool’s errand in the end? Conor has his business in Asheville, and he’s a country boy at heart. I can’t imagine him ever happy living here.”

She didn’t look up as she slid the finished omelet onto a plate. “Could you be happy living there?”

I started to tell her that it was a ridiculous question. My life was here. My company, my apartment, everything I’d worked so hard to build after Mark had nearly destroyed it—all of that was in the city.

But was that what I wanted my life to be? I’d been so consumed with proving to everyone else that Mark’s betrayal hadn’t torn me apart or kept me from living out my dream, that I didn’t stop and wonder what my dream really was.

Win lifted an eyebrow, waiting for my answer.

I told her the truth. “I don’t know.”

She placed the omelet in front of me. “Maybe that’s something you should figure out. But, here’s the thing, Wells. You have to accept that you can’t control how Conor feels about you. You can’t make him love you back. All you can do is lay your heart at his feet and tell him it’s his if he wants it. But you can’t force him to take it.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up a finger, cutting me off. “You can’t control love, Wells.” She shoved a fork in my hand. “Now eat. Then we’ll figure out how to show Conor how much you love him.”

“I never said I loved him,” I said around a mouthful of cheesy eggs.

She smiled. “You didn’t have to. I knew the moment Deb called that there were only two things that could keep you from the office: death or love.”





I spent the rest of the afternoon exhausting my sister with various schemes I could attempt to convince Conor I was worth loving.

“What if I bought him a plane?” I asked, getting excited at the thought. “That way we can go back and forth whenever we want. Hank knows a guy who—”

I noticed Win’s pinched face.

“What? What’s wrong with a private plane? I can afford it. If it would make his life easier, it would be worth it. Plus, we could fly his mom wherever she needed to go for the best treatment.” I wondered if I could get Deb on this right away.

“Stop,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re being an idiot.”

I blinked, not sure what I’d said that was so wrong. “How?”

She sighed. “You’re equating money with love again, Wells. That’s never going to work with a guy like Conor. He doesn’t want a damned plane.”

“Preach,” a sarcastic voice said from the entryway. Deb. She came into the living room and kicked off her high heels before giving Win a hug.

“Shouldn’t you be at the office?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Shouldn’t you?” she asked as she headed toward the kitchen where I knew she’d put on a pot of coffee whether she wanted some or not.

“You look like shit, by the way,” she called back. “And my Spidey sense told me there were plans afoot. If you’re planning something, you need me. I’m the planning queen.”

It was true.

“Plus,” she said, coming back into the living room and pulling a black sweater on over a pair of trendy blue jeans that had miraculously replaced the suit she’d arrived in. “I gathered some new intel on our target.”

She shoved the suit into her big bag and curled her legs under her on the sofa before grabbing the nearby throw and dragging it over her lap.

I frowned. “What target? What are you talking about? The 3-D print deal is over. It’s done.”

Deb exchanged a look with Win. “Yeah, not that kind of target. I’m talking about Conor.”