Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(12)

Until chemistry. God, Connor loved chemistry. It was a tough class, and when their final exam results were given back, Connor watched her as the teacher passed their reports. “Only two of you managed to understand the assignment,” Mrs. Riordan said wearily. “I’m very disappointed in the rest of you.” She handed Jessica her paper, and Jess glanced at the grade then covered it with her hand. Peeked at it, covered it again.

Then she looked over at him and smiled, and it felt like all the blood in his body stopped for a minute, then flooded through him in a torrent.

Connor was used to As. He had the feeling Jessica wasn’t. She was never on the honor roll, and yes, he always looked. But she was smart, and he’d been careful to let her do her share of the work, not just carry her, make sure she understood the Krebs cycle in all its glory without overtly teaching her.

That smile made him feel like he’d just won the World Series.

Then Big Frankie Pepitone said something—something dirty, probably, because it was about all he said—and Jess turned to him.

And that was pretty much the end of their interactions. She sure as hell never slept with him, something that a couple of the other guys mentioned once in a while. Nope, Jess might raise her chin at him or say hi in a group, but otherwise, nada.

Wine lovers were milling around them, sitting at the rows of counters in the test kitchen.

“So are you the teacher?” she asked.

“Yep. I’m actually filling in for a buddy of mine. It’s a pretty basic class, though. Plus, growing up where we did, we all know way too much about wine, anyway. You probably don’t need to take the class. It might be boring for you.” He could hear Colleen’s voice telling him he had no game. In this case, she’d be dead-on.

“Hugo wanted me to come,” she said.

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess I should get started.” Real smooth.

He went to the front of the class, cleared his throat and smiled. Three women sat up a little straighter. “Thanks for coming to the CIA,” he said, and for the next two hours, he talked about grapes and regions and the different characteristics of wine. Poured and schmoozed, praised people for their excellent use of adjectives—though someone used the word dewdrops to describe a flavor, and even in wine circles, that was a little extreme.

Jessica took notes and tiny sips, unlike the rowdy group from Connecticut, a book club, they cheerfully told him. He served cheese and bread made at the school, talked about the texture of wine, the legs, the nose, the body, finish and color and mouth-feel, clarity, harmony. If he felt a little bit like a huckster at a carnival, it was okay. Everyone was happy.

He tried not to look at Jessica too much. It wasn’t easy; she was so still and gorgeous, focused on the task at hand, occasionally answering the couple next to her with a smile. He’d seen her two summers ago at the Cork & Pork festival, which was a wine and barbecue event in Manningsport. Her brother was with her; the kid was a teenager now, or close to it. When Davey saw Connor, his expression tightened, so Con didn’t bother saying hi, just kept going, feeling like dirt.

But he was teaching this class, so he bent over her shoulder and looked at her notes. Jam, black licorice, kind of smoky, she’d written for the shiraz.

“Good comments, Jess,” he said, and she looked up at him.

Her eyes were green and clear, like sea glass.

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I was just making it up.” Then she smiled, just a flash, there and gone.

“Not at all.” At least, that’s what he thought she said, but she smiled at him, and just like in chemistry class, his blood seemed to stall then rush cheerfully south.

“What would you pair this with?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. He could smell her hair, a lemony, clean smell, and see the different shades of blond, from almost white to honey-colored, straight and smooth and, he’d bet, silky to the touch, the kind of hair that would run through his fingers like water.

“Uh...sorry. Leaner red meat, brisket, lamb, bison, just about any kind of beef, really. There’s a nice spiciness to the wine, so you need a meat that will stand up to it. Sausage.” Great. He sounded like an ass.

“So not with KFC, then.”

She was joking. With him. “No, that’d be a white, maybe a rosé.”

“Connor?” asked one of the women who’d been eyeing him. “Can you give me some advice on a nice wine to bring to my parents?”

“Duty calls,” Jess murmured, writing something else in her notebook.

He tried to think of a clever comeback and came up empty, but he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he left.

Glanced back.

She was looking at him.

When the class was over, Connor made sure those who seemed tipsy weren’t driving, shook hands, accepted compliments and recommended local restaurants. Jess was putting on her coat. He hesitated for a second then said, “Would you like to have dinner?”

She hesitated.

“It’s okay if you don’t. It was just good to see you. Someone from Manningsport. You know. But if you don’t, that’s fine.” There was the babbling again. And to think he made fun of Colleen for the same thing.

“Are you homesick, Connor O’Rourke? I’d think your sister would be here every other weekend. And your mom, too.”