Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(39)

“Gotcha. I’ll keep good thoughts.”

“Thanks. Anyway, remember we were talking about hiring an event planner at our staff meeting last month?” Honor asked. Jess nodded. “Well, I put out a feeler, and then a couple weeks ago, I met someone in the city when I was doing sales calls. Everything fell into place, and she starts today. I forgot to tell you. Pregnancy brain, I guess.”

“Wow. Okay, great!”

“Her name’s Marcy Hannigan. She’s got great references, and with the season picking up, I figured we’d get her started as soon as possible. And now you’ll get to do more real marketing and less dealing with hysterical brides.”

“I don’t know how to say thank you,” Jess said. “But thank you.”

“Thank you,” Honor said. “You know how...particular I am about things, and you’re the only one I don’t feel the urge to micromanage.”

“I resent that,” said a voice from the doorway. Ned, late as usual, adorable as usual, too. “And the word is anal-retentive, not particular.”

Honor smiled. “Hush, child, the grown-ups are talking. And you don’t want Jess’s job. You’re doing great in sales.”

“My good looks and charm?” he suggested, winking at Jess.

“Exactly,” Honor said. “Now go.” Ned obeyed. “So the new position,” Honor continued. “You’re our first ever director of marketing.” She handed a paper across the desk. Jess glanced at it; in typical Honor fashion, it was numbered and bulleted, outlining her new duties.

“Wow. I have a title.” She couldn’t help grinning.

“And an office. We’ve finally accepted the fact that my father will never set foot in one, so you get his.”

“Really?”

“You also get a raise, Jess. You’ve been fantastic, and we don’t want to lose you.” She handed over another piece of paper.

Tears stung Jessica’s eyes.

Eight thousand more a year. Eight thousand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“We’d like to take you and Marcy out tonight, okay? Bring your brother. O’Rourke’s, seven o’clock. The whole family, plus spouses and kids.”

Jess was afraid to look up. She didn’t want her boss to see her crying.

Honor sensed it, anyway. “Why don’t you pack up your desk and get settled in your new office?” she said kindly. “Marcy will be here around noon to meet everyone.”

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, Jess closed the door to her first-ever office.

Honor had already hung a name plaque on the door. Jessica Dunn, Director of Marketing.

Was it wrong to want to take a picture of that? Maybe later, when no one was around.

On her desk was a picture of Davey when they got Chico Three. She had a coffee cup—This mug may contain wine with the Blue Heron logo, one of her ideas from a couple of months ago. She’d pitched the notion of a little more humor in some of the merchandise, and Honor liked it, so they now had a line of items in the gift shop that were more lighthearted and selling like crazy.

Almost hesitantly, Jess sat behind her desk. Her window overlooked the western vineyards—the 1780 Rieslings and Maisy Chardonnays.

A view. She had a view. Her throat tightened again.

Jess took a breath and considered the office. She might need a few more things to personalize the space. One photo and a company mug didn’t say much.

Honor’s office had beautiful photos of the vineyard in the different seasons, taken by Jack, who was a pretty good amateur photographer, at least a dozen framed photos of her siblings and their kids. There were also a slew of Tom and Charlie, including an absolutely gorgeous shot of Honor and Tom on their wedding day, dancing together, their foreheads touching, Honor’s eyes closed, a small smile on her lips.

It occurred to Jessica that there was not a single photo of her and Connor together. Not one in the entire world, unless someone had snapped one of them doing the Chicken Dance at Colleen’s wedding.

All those times together, and not one photo.

The thought gave her an unexpected pang.

But you know what? No negative thoughts were going to take place here. She had a raise, a title and an office! Maybe she’d get some plants. African violets or orchids. Davey tended to overwater houseplants, so they all died swiftly. But her office (her office!) had a wide windowsill perfect for just such a thing. In some ways, it would be more her space than anywhere but her bedroom, a room only Davey had seen. And once, Connor.

It dawned on her that she’d be going to O’Rourke’s tonight. This wasn’t exactly a new experience, but going to the place owned by the guy whose marriage proposal she’d just rejected...that was new.

Nervousness jangled through her limbs.

Had he told anyone about the proposal? Would Colleen spit in her drink? Would the O’Rourke cousins refuse to wait on her? Would Connor do anything, like storm out of the kitchen and dump a plate of nachos in her lap or...nah. Of course he wouldn’t. There was some pride at stake, after all.

And Connor wasn’t violent.

An image of his bruised, stitched twelve-year-old face flashed in front of her. You can hit me. It’s okay.

Her heart folded in on itself like a wounded animal.

Well. The sooner she started acting normal around him again, the sooner things would actually be normal.