Mick nodded. He strolled down the block and around the corner, stopping to greet and chat with a half-dozen friends on the way. It was after eleven by the time he actually made his way back to Heather’s, so he stopped and picked up sandwiches at Panini Bistro while he was at it. He might as well arrive well-fortified with bribes.
He dropped Megan’s coffee off at the gallery, managed to avoid another of her lectures, then climbed the stairs to Heather’s apartment. When he knocked on the door, he heard her shout for him to come in. When he entered, though, she looked startled.
“Oh, I thought you were Connie. She called a short while ago to say she was going to stop by and bring lunch.”
“I may not be Connie, but I did bring food,” Mick told her. “You have your choice of a ham-and-cheese panini or a chocolate croissant. Or both, for that matter.”
Her eyes brightened. “It sounds wonderful, Mick, but I probably shouldn’t, since Connie’s going to all that trouble to bring something over.”
“Then save this for dinner,” Mick said easily. He put his offerings in the kitchen, then took a seat across from her. He surveyed her frankly, relieved to see some color—other than black and blue—back in her cheeks. “You look a whole lot better than you did a couple of weeks ago,” he told her. “How are you feeling?”
“Physically, not bad, but I’m sick to death of being stuck in here. The only time I’ve gotten out was when Connor took me.” She narrowed her gaze. “I imagine you know about that.”
Mick saw no point in denying it. “In fact, it’s one of the reasons I came by,” he admitted. “I thought we could talk about the changes you’d like to see made at the house.”
Her jaw set stubbornly. “It’s not my house. Your son bought it. He can do what he wants with it.”
Mick held back a grin. “Connor seems to think he bought it for you.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Only because he gets these crazy, impulsive ideas in his head and then expects everyone to go along with them.”
“I can see how that would be frustrating,” Mick conceded. He’d been accused of the same flaw often enough—justifiably, if he was being honest about it. “But tell me this, do you love that house as much as he thinks you do?”
The wistful expression on her face would have given her away, even if she hadn’t nodded.
“Do you love Connor?”
“Not the point,” she said, her voice suddenly tight.
Mick grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes. So, here’s how I see it. You can refuse to give me any input and the house will get renovated the way Connor or I decide it should be done, or you can participate in the process and get your dream house.”
“And then watch Connor move into it,” she said, sounding resigned.
“Hey, this is my vision, and that’s not what I see,” he contradicted. “I figure the two of you will eventually work out your differences and you’ll be living there together. That’s just a matter of time and some careful negotiations over the terms. Personally, my vote’s for marriage, but I’m not interfering.”
The comment drew a disbelieving chuckle.
Mick continued. “So, as I see it, the only question open for debate is what the house will look like when that happens.”
She looked startled for an instant by his assessment, then laughed. “I see now where Connor got his arrogance.”
“It’s an O’Brien gene, no question about it,” Mick said unapologetically. “So, Heather, what’s it going to be? You going to let my son decide how that house gets fixed up, or are you going to put your stamp on it?”
She hesitated for so long, he thought maybe he’d over-played his hand, but then she reached for a folder on the coffee table. Its proximity suggested she’d been through it recently.
“I do have a few ideas,” she admitted.
Mick chuckled. “I thought you might.”
She held the fat folder tightly before handing it over. “I’ve been stuffing pictures into this folder for years now. I dragged them out after I saw Driftwood Cottage. I’ve already weeded out the ones I don’t think will work, but I’m sure I have more ideas than you’ll ever need.”
“Never hurts to look at everything,” Mick said. “Then we can talk it through and revise it to fit the structure we have to work with.”
“What’s my budget?” she asked, suddenly sounding eager. Her eyes were alight with excitement as well.
“You let Connor worry about that. You just tell me what you want, and he and I will figure out how to make it happen.”
She regarded him with amazement. “Are you like my fairy godfather?” she asked.
Mick nearly choked on a sip of coffee. “Those should probably be fighting words, but I think I get your meaning. No, I’m just a man who wants to see three people I love happy. Getting to be a part of that is an old man’s privilege.”
And it was going to happen. Even the expression on her face when she’d been complaining about Connor buying her house showed how badly she wanted it to be theirs, instead. He was more sure than ever that Heather and his son were destined to be together, if only they’d get out of their own way and let it happen.
Connor winced when he saw the rough sketches his father had made of the renovations for Driftwood Cottage. “How much is that going to set me back?”
“You have a trust fund,” Mick reminded him. “You’re the only one in the family who hasn’t tapped into it. And I can’t think of a better use for that money I set aside for you.”
“And Heather actually went along with it when you told her what you were up to?”
“I have a whole folder filled with her ideas. It seems she’s been tearing pictures out of magazines for years now. It’s my job to blend them into a cohesive whole.” He met Connor’s gaze. “You know the funny thing? That rickety old house looks a whole lot like what she’d been dreaming about all this time. I think it was fate that took the two of you along that road the other day.”
Connor wasn’t sure how much fate had to do with it. Jess was the one who’d put the notion of a day at the beach into his head. And she’d probably known exactly where he’d go. He wondered if she’d also known about that house being for sale. He’d have to ask her about that one of these days. Her sneakiness quotient was a match for anyone else’s in the family.
“Do you really think you can turn that old place into something livable?” he asked his father.
“Against a lot of odds, I built a town, didn’t I? One little house renovation isn’t going to defeat me.” He gave Connor a sly look. “Just so you know, I’m taking Heather along with me tomorrow around ten o’clock, so we can nail down a few of her ideas. I doubt she’d object if you happened to show up.”
Connor shook his head. “That wasn’t even subtle, Dad. You must be losing your touch.”
“No. Just tired of wasting time. I’m thinking the direct approach is called for. You going to be there or not?”
“Since you’re spending my money, I’ll be there,” Connor assured him.
And he wouldn’t mind the chance to spend a little time with Heather so he could float some of his theories about her sudden reluctance to marry him. It might be good to do that with his dad around to referee in case she took exception to his attempt to psychoanalyze her. She might thoroughly enjoy dissecting his psyche, but he had a hunch she wasn’t going to be quite so receptive to having the tables turned.
The July day dawned with temperatures already near eighty and the humidity levels just as high. Only a faint breeze stirring through the trees kept it from being unbearably oppressive. And yet, Heather thought, as she sat in the shade in a chair Mick had thoughtfully brought along, it was pleasant enough. She could already imagine sitting out here with a book on a summer afternoon. In fact, it would be lovely to have a screened-in gazebo right in this spot, with a view of the water and protection against the mosquitoes.
She’d just swatted viciously at another one when Connor drove up. He frowned as he crossed the y
ard. “What was Dad thinking, letting you sit out here to get eaten alive by the bugs?” he grumbled.
“He was thinking it would be cooler than inside the house, to say nothing of safer,” she replied. “He doesn’t seem to have any more faith in the flooring than you did when we first saw this place.”
Connor shook his head. “You should have stayed in his truck with the air-conditioning running.”
“That from a man who preaches about going green,” she responded. “I’m fine. Stop fussing over me.”
He sighed. “I’m always going to fuss over you. You should hear the way Dad goes on about Mom all the time. I think it comes with the territory.”
“What territory is that?” she asked, studying him curiously.
“Loving someone.” Before she could challenge that, he added, “You fuss over little Mick, don’t you? It’s the same thing.”
“He’s a child, Connor. I’m not.”
He shook his head. “Then you don’t mind the bugs? Fine with me. I was going to at least offer you the can of spray I keep in the car, but if you’re not interested…”
Heather wanted to remain stubbornly silent, but the landing of another mosquito on her arm and one on her leg forced her to reconsider. “I’ll take the spray,” she said grudgingly.
“Now you’re being sensible,” he praised, trotting off to his car and returning with the bottle of insect repellant. “Let me.” He squirted the stuff over every inch of bared skin, then gave a nod of satisfaction. “Now, tell me what you and Dad have decided.”
“Nothing yet. The last time I saw him, he was holding the pictures I’d shown him and walking around muttering to himself.”
Connor laughed. “The creative genius at work. The good news is I guarantee he’ll come back here with rough sketches that will blow your mind. He showed me a few preliminary drawings last night, so I’m sure he’s in there right now refining those. For all of the issues I’ve had with my father over the years, I can’t deny he’s one of the best architects around.”
Heather lifted her gaze and dared to meet his eyes. “Connor, I don’t want to take advantage of you. Your dad insisted that I make suggestions about what I want, but this really is your house. It feels wrong for me to have any say at all.”
“We both know I have no sense of design or color,” Connor reminded her. “Remember when you said you wanted little Mick’s room to be yellow and I came home with paint that looked like the mustard that goes on hot dogs at the ball park?”
Heather smiled at the memory. “That should have been a warning,” she agreed. “And yet I still sent you out to get the green paint for the living room. If we’d used what you brought back, it would have been like living inside a Christmas tree.”
He shrugged. “Well, who knew there were so many shades of green? You said something about sage. I figured herbs are all bright green. What do I know?”
“So you got a couple of things wrong. The point is that this house should be a reflection of what you want.”
He held her gaze. “I want what you want. What’s it going to take to convince you of that?”
“Spending thousands of dollars according to my preferences is helping,” she told him, only partially in jest. “But, Connor, you do know we’re not going to be living here together, right?”
He remained stubbornly silent, so she continued, “Now that you’re back in Chesapeake Shores for good, it makes sense that you’d want a home of your own, but you shouldn’t fix this house up with the idea that I’ll love it so much, I’ll move in. That would be crazy, for both of us.”
Rather than taking offense as she’d feared he might, he dropped down to the ground beside her, then looked up. “Tell me something.”
She regarded him with suspicion. “What?”
“How’s it been having your mother here?”
Heather was completely thrown by the change of topic. “It’s been good. I’d missed her. Why do you ask?”
“How long is she planning to stay?”
“I’m not really sure,” she said. “She’s not bad-mouthing you every second of the day and night, if that’s worrying you.”
“Never crossed my mind,” he claimed. “What about your dad? He still hasn’t been over here to visit, has he?”
“No.” She gave him a puzzled look. “Connor, where are you going with this? Why the sudden interest in my family?”
He met her gaze. “Honestly? I’m wondering if maybe that situation isn’t coloring the way you’re looking at the possibility of a real future with me.”
“How?” she asked incredulously. “One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“Are you so sure about that?” he asked. “You’ve always said that you believed in love and in marriage, despite the tension you lived with growing up. And yet, despite that tension, your parents did stay together. Now I have the feeling that your mother might be ready to make an official break from your father. She certainly doesn’t seem anxious to get back to Ohio.”
Heather immediately shook her head in denial. “She’s only here because I need her.”
“And that’s it? She’s said nothing about staying on?”
Heather thought about her mother’s quick, off-the-cuff comment a few weeks ago that she liked Chesapeake Shores and might want to stay on indefinitely. Heather hadn’t put much credence in it at the time, but her mother was showing no signs of leaving.
She studied Connor with a narrowed gaze. “Do you know something that I don’t? I didn’t think the two of you had been having talks behind my back.”
“We haven’t been,” he said. Then amended, “Well, just once, but her marriage wasn’t a topic of discussion, I can guarantee you that. I’m just making an observation.”
“And there’s a point to this observation beyond the fact that you’re speculating that my parents might be breaking up their marriage?” she inquired testily.
Connor looked a little uneasy. She could almost see him wrestling with the decision of whether to keep pursuing this. She wanted him to see it through, so she waited impatiently for him to get to the point. She had a hunch she wasn’t going to like it when he did.
“It just occurred to me that if your mom is suddenly thinking about divorcing your dad, it might have thrown you, even though you’ve obviously seen something like this coming for years.”
Heather thought about all the times she’d overheard her parents arguing deep into the night. When her friends’ parents had divorced, she’d always been relieved that it wasn’t hers, but she’d waited with a sense of dread nonetheless for that day to come. And even though it had made no sense to remain married and miserable, she’d been glad that they had. Somehow that had gotten all twisted up with her conviction that marriage was meant to be forever. Though her mother might have stayed married because of deeply held religious beliefs, Heather had never been that rigid. She didn’t approve of divorce as a quick way out, but she understood that sometimes it was the only solution to a truly terrible situation. What if her parents had reached that point?
Even though she found Connor’s comments to be unsettling, she couldn’t ignore what he was suggesting. “You think a divorce is inevitable after all these years,” she said flatly.
“You know them better than I do,” he said, clearly not willing to commit to such a drastic prediction. “I just wonder if you’re not shaken up by that possibility. It must call into question a lot of your beliefs.”
“If my parents were divorcing—and I don’t know that they are—sure, it would rattle me,” she admitted. “What’s your point?”
“That maybe that’s why you’re so determined not to believe that I’ve changed,” he said, holding her gaze as if trying to gauge her reaction.
“Are you crazy?” she said at once. “Is your ego so huge that you can only imagine me refusing your proposal by laying it on the shaky status of my parents’ marriage?”
Connor didn’t back down. “The idea’s not that crazy,” he insi
sted. “I discussed it with Will and…”
Her temper flared. “You and Will talked about my parents? Their marriage is none of his business. It’s none of yours, either, for that matter.”
“It is if it’s the thing that’s keeping you from marrying me. As for Will, he’s a really good shrink. I value his opinion.”
“Then get him to psychoanalyze you and leave me and my family out of it,” she said. “You’re the one with issues about marriage. I think that’s been pretty well-documented. And nobody turns off beliefs that deep on a dime.”
He stared at her indignantly. “And you think that’s what I did—turned on a dime?”
“Didn’t you?” she challenged. “I had an accident and suddenly you woke up to the joys of marriage? I didn’t buy it when you told me at the hospital, and I still don’t.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a crisis made someone reevaluate his life,” Connor said defensively. “It happens all the time.”
“Not to you,” she countered. “Your beliefs haven’t changed in years. You’re surrounded by people who are happily married, and even after your own parents reconciled, you still held out. Then, in a flash, it all changed? No way!”
“If you can’t buy that I’ve changed, how do you explain what’s happened with you?” he asked reasonably. “Ever since we met, you’ve been a huge proponent of marital bliss. Then I propose, and suddenly you’re not interested.”
“Because I don’t believe it’s what you really want!” she practically shouted at him, her patience at an end.
Connor threw up his hands in exasperation and walked away. She stared after him, stunned to find that tears were rolling down her cheeks. She had no idea why, other than the fact that the man infuriated her, but that was nothing to cry about.
“Heather, are you okay?”
She looked up into Mick’s worried gaze. “I will be,” she said, brushing impatiently at the tears.
“Where’s Connor? I thought I heard his voice out here.”
“Oh, he’s off somewhere making up excuses for why I won’t marry him. He can’t seem to believe I turned him down because I know it’s not what he wants.”
Driftwood Cottage Page 27
