Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(61)

“No.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to leave him alone. I wanted to hold his hand again, or put my arms around him and give him a hug. He was a grown man, but my mind kept picturing a little blond boy, standing on an empty street and watching his father drive away.

I want to keep touching him.

The thought was both completely wrong and felt completely right. I fought for something neutral to say.

“You sure? I heard your car broke down.”

“It did,” he said. “But Connor and a buddy of his took it to the garage and had it fixed while I was in class last Monday.”

Warmth spread through my chest, feeling like relief. “That’s a classic Connor thing to do,” I said. “He has a generous heart.”

Weston nodded and abruptly began packing up his things. “Next week, when you meet his parents, it couldn’t hurt to tell them that.”

“I will.”

“Speak of the devil.” Weston tilted his head toward the door.

With a blast of chilly wind, Connor came into the bakery, eyes scanning the tables. His smile widened when he found me, then faltered to see Weston.

“Hey,” Connor said. “How’s it going?”

I got up and put my arms around his neck. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh yeah?” He kissed me briefly, his gaze over my head.

Weston got to his feet. “I was just leaving.”

“We’re heading out to get something at Boko 6,” Connor said. “You hungry?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Weston shouldered his bag. “See you at home.”

“Bye, Weston,” I said.

“Yep.”

He pushed out the door. Connor watched him go, brows furrowed. I buried my hand that had been holding Weston’s in Connor’s hair.

“Everything okay?” I asked, feeling like a liar. A fraud. A cheater.

I was only comforting Weston. That’s all.

Connor blinked and then looked down at me. “I guess. I’m nervous about Thanksgiving, actually. Distracted.”

“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Then I changed my mind.” His smile returned and his arms around me tightened as he kissed me deeply. “Everything’s great.”

It is, I thought as we headed out into the cold November wind, Connor’s strong arm around me, keeping me warm. I watched Weston walk to his car a block ahead and climb in alone.

Isn’t it?





Weston



Wednesday evening, we drove to Boston in Connor’s Hellcat, four days’ worth of luggage for three people crammed in the trunk. Autumn rode shotgun. I sat in the back with earbuds in, my music cranked up so I wouldn’t have to listen to their small talk. The sight of their twined hands on the console was unavoidable.

Connor was a wreck. Autumn did her best to comfort him, but I had to wonder if she regretted coming, instead of spending Thanksgiving with her own father.

We arrived at the Drake residence off of Dartmouth Street. Connor parked at the curb and peered up at the huge row house.

“I feel like I’m about to stand trial,” he said. “Exhibit A,” he added, with a nod at the silver Jaguar parked in front of us. “Jefferson is here.”

Autumn slipped her hand across his shoulders and into his hair. “I hate that this is so hard for you.”

Connor forced a smile. “Nah, I need to chill. My parents will love you.”

Autumn didn’t say anything, but I could almost read her thoughts in the downward curve of her lips.

It’s not me they need to love.

Connor punched in the security code on a panel at the front door and opened it.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” he said.

The house hummed with talk and laughter. The scent of cooking hung in the air—baking bread, roasting meat, vegetables simmering in thick sauces.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” Autumn said. Her neck craned from the ruffled collar of her simple blue dress. As she turned this way and that to gaze up at the high-vaulted ceiling with its crystal chandelier, the tendrils falling from her loose bun danced around her porcelain face. She started fidgeting with her bag on her shoulder. “Now I just got nervous.”

Connor’s mother emerged from the sitting room then. “Hello, my darlings.”

Senator Victoria Drake wore an elegant, pale beige pantsuit with a string of pearls at her throat. Her hair was down instead of the severe coil she wore in D.C. She radiated refined elegance with an underlying mom warmth, but her eyes were sharp. A woman who wrote laws for a living, for Massachusetts and the Drake household.

“Hi, Mom,” Connor said.

Victoria embraced him and held his face in her palms a moment, then turned to me.

“Wonderful to see you, Wes,” she said. “You look handsome as ever.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Drake.” I gave her a light peck on the cheek and was suffused with perfume, and the chalky smell of her makeup.

“And you must be Autumn.” Victoria offered her hand for a brisk shake. “So lovely to meet you.”

“Wonderful to meet you too, Mrs. Drake,” Autumn said, then bit her lip. “Or…Senator…?”