Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(32)

Then she blinked, and there was the three feet away face. She turned away and laughed at something Theresa DeFilio was saying.

Connor turned back to Kim. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Great,” she said. “Colleen was telling me about the time you hit her in the eye with a potato.”

“Happy times,” he said, then went back into the kitchen.

But something was wrong.

Hannah and Monica, his cousins and waitstaff, kept passing in the orders, but Connor’s rhythm was off. He put sweet potato fries on one instead of the truffle-oil potatoes, cooked a tuna steak instead of the swordfish. After the fourth mistake, Rafe gave him a look.

“Sorry. My girlfriend’s out there. I’m distracted.” Except it wasn’t Kim he was thinking of.

“Well, then, get out there, big man,” Rafe said. “Any cute gays for your lonely sous-chef?”

“Jeremy Lyon.”

“Yeah, but he’s fresh out of the closet, and celibate or something. Creepy. Be on the lookout. I’ll finish up.”

So Connor went out. Got a table with Kim. Had Monica freshen her drink, asked about work. Showed her a picture of Savannah. They talked about movies.

It was very nice.

Except Kim seemed to be mad. And getting madder.

“Everything okay?” Connor asked.

“Yep.”

“You sure?”

“I’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow.

Oh, shit. The F word. “What’s wrong, Kim?”

“Nothing.”

“I have a twin sister. I know what that means.”

“What does it mean, then?” she asked.

“It means I’ve f*cked up somehow.”

“Then you’re not as dumb as you look.”

“Okay, if we’re fighting, can I at least be told why?” he asked.

Kim stood up. “I’m leaving.”

“What? Why? Uh... I’ll walk you to your car. Kim, what—” She was really leaving. He had to hand it to her. Indecision was not one of her flaws.

He followed her into the back parking lot. “Kim, please tell me why you’re mad.”

“Who’s the blonde?” she asked, whirling on him.

Holy Mary. Kim missed her calling. Should’ve been with the FBI. “What blonde?” he said, hoping to play the men are thick card.

“Don’t play obtuse with me. The blonde you won’t look at.”

To bullshit, or not to bullshit? “We’re pretty crowded here, Kim. Can you be more specific?”

“The gorgeous one,” she said sharply.

Busted.

“Oh. That’s Jessica. We went to school together.”

“You slept together, too.”

“Uh...yes. A while ago.”

“And you’re in love with her.”

“Look, I don’t—”

“Don’t bother, Connor,” she snapped, flicking back her beautiful hair. “You’ve never not looked at me the way you wouldn’t look at her.”

“Uh...how am I supposed to respond to that?”

“You saw her, and my God, the air just changed, Connor. So don’t bullshit me.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “She and I dated very briefly, and that was... I don’t know. Two years ago.” Twenty-seven months ago. “It didn’t work out.”

“Why?”

He wasn’t about to spill Jessica’s personal issues or family history. “She just didn’t think it was working.”

“Well, it’s clear you want to be with her, so good luck.” With that, Kim opened her car door and got in. “Nice knowing you.”

“How am I the bad guy here?”

“You just are. Deal with it.” She slammed the door, backed out of her spot, then rolled down her window. “You have no right dating someone when you’re in love with someone else.”

Then she gunned the motor, ran over his foot and was gone, tires screeching at the corner.

“Ouch,” Connor said.

He tried his foot. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. With a sigh and a curse, he went back inside, limping a little.

“Another one bites the dust, huh?” Colleen called.

“I hate women. Especially you, Dog-Face.”

“They hate you back, Troll Boy.”

Rafe was finishing up the last order. “I’ll clean up,” Connor said.

“I thought you were with your woman.”

“She dumped me. Get out, go home, have fun.”

“If you were gay, I think we’d make a really nice couple. Just putting that out there.”

“Don’t make me fire you.”

“That’s what I get for trying to be nice. Ciao, boss.”

Connor grunted. Got to work. Cleaned the mess from the entire night, shooed off the cousins, ignored Colleen.

When the place was empty, he started cooking. Lasagna. Vegetarian lasagna with sautéed red onions, portobello mushrooms and fresh baby spinach. Made a thick white sauce with whole milk, flour, ground pepper and lots of butter. He made the dough, cranked it through the press—pasta from a box tasted about as good as the box, whereas Connor’s could make an Italian grandmother weep. Ladled out the sauce, gently layered in the noodles, vegetables, sauce and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, not the fake American stuff, that he special-ordered a few times a year from the Italian market in Philly.