Anything for You

by Kristan Higgins

  "Not that little. Not for long." She paused. "I'd mix her a drink every day when I came home from school, and I'd keep them coming all afternoon and evening till she went to bed or passed out."

  "That's not your fault."

  "I did it when she was pregnant, too."

  Connor closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her again.

  So now he knew. She'd made Davey the way he was. Yeah, yeah, she'd been a kid. But she'd been an old soul even when she was seven. She knew it wasn't good that Mom was drinking so much.

  "My mother was a sad person," she said briskly. "She was happier with a few drinks in her. I knew it wasn't healthy, and I probably even knew that it wasn't good for..." Her voice cracked a little, but she forced herself to keep going. "For the baby, but I did it. Until I was maybe thirteen, I made sure my mom had plenty of booze."

  "I repeat. You were a little kid."

  "I was little when I was four. I knew better by the time I was seven. So putting me in charge of kids... I don't see that happening, Connor, and I know you want them, and I think you should really reconsider being with me. I don't know what keeps bringing you back, but I honestly think you'd be better off with someone else."

  There. She said it. The words hung between them like a wall.

  The front door opened, and Ned came in with Sarah Cooper. "Hi, Jess," she said. "Hey, Connor! How are you? Heard you're an uncle!"

  "Hey," Connor said.

  "Is it okay if we hang out here?" Ned asked. "Watch a movie, make some popcorn? Levi keeps giving me these looks, and I'm scared, frankly. I mean, the guy married my aunt. You'd think he'd cut me some slack."

  "He keeps talking about guns whenever Ned's around," Sarah said. "Such a pain in the ass."

  "That'd be great," Connor said. "Can you watch Davey?"

  "Sure," Ned said.

  "Hang on a sec," Jessica said. No one had asked her anything.

  "I would really like to go somewhere and finish this conversation," Connor said, rather forcefully.

  "That doesn't sound good," Ned said. "You kids need to talk, you just run along. We got this."

  And so it was that five minutes later, Jess was sitting in the passenger seat of Connor's truck, being driven across town like a kid being escorted to the principal's office.

  He was mad. So what? So was she, for no good reason. He didn't say a word. Barely even looked at her. Also, she felt sick.

  She'd never told anyone about giving her mom drinks. About how she'd been afraid that Jolene would go away forever, because she'd been so sad, how Jess had tried so hard to be good and fun and helpful...and how she knew that alcohol made her mother feel better. How sometimes, she'd make her mother a drink without even being asked.

  They got to his house, his beautiful, perfect house with the backyard all landscaped with hydrangeas and roses and irises. A completely wasted porch without a single chair or plant. He unlocked the door, pulled her inside, through the living room, down the hall.

  "Connor, I was just being honest," she said, and horribly, it suddenly seemed as if she was about to cry.

  He towed her straight into his bedroom. It was so obviously a man's bedroom--big solid wooden bed frame, no decorative pillows. Dresser, night table, everything matching. No pictures on the wall except one of the gorge in Watkins Glen.

  He looked at her for a long minute, eyes inscrutable.

  "Are you mad at me?" she said in her best no-nonsense voice.

  "No."

  Another long beat passed.

  "You were seven years old when your mother had Davey," he said. "You are in no way responsible for his condition. I'm going to tell you that until you believe me, Jessica Dunn. You're the best sister in the world, you had shitty parents and it wasn't your fault. It just wasn't. The only reason Davey is so great today is because of you."

  It felt like a razor blade was stuck in her throat.

  Then his hands went to her hair. Pulled out her ponytail and slid his fingers through her hair. Held her close for a long, long time, warm and solid, just holding her, and it felt as though her insides were shaking, and it was all she could do not to cry.

  Then Connor lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed her, a soft kiss that scraped her skin and made her entire side electrified. Another kiss, thank God, because this she could handle, then another just under her ear, his fingers still threading through her hair.

  "I don't want anyone but you," he said, lips moving against her skin. "Stop telling me to find someone else."

  He worked his way down her neck, then up the other side, and Jess's breathing became ragged, her legs wobbly. When his mouth finally touched hers, it was gentle and tender, just the lightest pressure. He kissed each corner of her mouth, framed her face with his hands, then kissed her again.

  He was seducing her.

  The thought surprised her. They'd slept together so many times, and still he was seducing her. His fingers found the buttons of her shirt, and he kissed her as he undid each one, taking his time, touching the skin revealed. Another button, and another. She could feel him hard and solid against her, heat shimmering off his body. His hands slid under the shirt, pushing it off her shoulders, then trailed down her back.

  "Connor," she said, and her voice was ragged, and this time there were tears in her eyes.

  "Shh" was all he said, kissing her again. His tongue brushed hers, then his mouth was back on her neck. His clever fingers unhooked her bra, which joined her shirt on the floor, and his hands skimmed over her breasts.

  She felt heavy and humming with lust, her skin alive, her heart thudding. He stepped back and pulled off his own shirt--oh, God, he was beautiful, lean and muscled, then unbuttoned her denim shorts and kissed her again, the hair on his chest scraping her skin so deliciously that her knees did buckle then.

  He moved her to the bed and unbuttoned his own jeans, finally, and then he was naked and on top of her, and she could barely hold a thought except yes and please and more.

  And when he was inside her, it was perfect. They were perfect.

  "Open your eyes, Jess," he whispered.

  She did.

  "I love you," he said. "I love you, Jessica Dunn."

  Her eyes were suddenly full of tears that slipped down her temples, into her hair. Connor brushed them away with his thumbs and smiled. "I love you," he said again.

  And for the first time, she knew it was true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CONNOR WAS MAKING progress with Jessica. He was sure of it.

  In hindsight, he could see popping the question a few months ago had been a dumb-ass move, completely out of the blue in Jessica's mind. But winning the heart and mind of Davey Dunn--that was flippin' genius.

  The fact that Jess wanted to buy her own house was a setback, but since he didn't have a better plan, he just ignored it for the time being. Maybe her offer would be accepted, maybe not. Things like inspections and bank loans had to take place. She wouldn't be moving in next week.

  And even if she did, that might be okay. He wasn't going anywhere.

  What she told him about her childhood just about killed him. He knew he couldn't just tell her Davey's condition wasn't her fault and erase everything. But he could stay. He could show her he loved her.

  He could show her she didn't have to do this alone, and show her that being happy didn't mean the other shoe was about to drop. He'd done a lot of reading about adult children of alcoholics. He was trying to understand, trying to work his way into her heart, because he wanted that more than he'd ever wanted anything.

  Trust, and happiness. Two things that Jess hadn't had a lot of. And fun.

  One night, he asked Jess and Davey to come to a town softball game. O'Rourke's was enjoying their seventh straight year of championship, even without Colleen, who nonetheless came as a spectator with the baby and Lucas and Rufus the Doofus. The Irish Wolfhound was like Nana from Peter Pan, sitting next to the baby's stroller, towering over it, glancing inside every thirty seco
nds or so.

  Rufus wasn't the only dog here; there was Blue, Faith's golden retriever; there was Chico Three; and there was Chico's best friend and goddess, Lady Fluffy.

  Savannah came over to say hi and bent down to scratch Fluffy. "I love her name," she said sincerely, and Connor tried not to flinch. "It suits her."

  "I hear you're going to be a big sister, Savannah," Jessica said to her.

  "Yep. Another brother. I'd rather have a dog."

  "You can share Fluffy here," Connor said. "And brothers are great, have you forgotten?"

  "Big brothers are."

  "Little brothers are, too," Jess said, putting her arm around Davey.

  "Well, I am not changing any diapers." Savannah grimaced. Looked like she was coming into some adolescent sulkiness, and Connor felt a little glad. Keep her parents on their toes.

  "I don't like babies," Davey said. "They cry a lot."

  "I know," Savannah said. "Mom says the new baby will be her little prince. Gross."

  Connor glanced over his shoulder. There were Pete and Gail, schmoozing it up with the town's mayor. Pete never missed one of Savannah's games. Part of the new and improved fatherhood package.

  "Well, my sister and I have a game to win," he said to Jess and Davey. "Wish us luck."

  Davey held up Lady Fluffy. "Good luck, Daddy," he said, making his voice squeaky.

  "Dave, come on! I'm trying to impress the women."

  "Keep working on that," Jess said with a smile, and Savannah laughed.

  The game was the usual slaughter, as no one could touch O'Rourke's, thanks to Colleen's aggressive recruiting strategy--free food and drinks on every winning night. In the seventh inning, Connor belted a long home run so far out of the park that no one even bothered running to the fence. Driving in the Murphy girls and Bryce for a grand slam, he touched home, high-fived Savannah and ran right over to Jessica and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

  "Nice job, big man," she said, blushing.

  "Yet another man doing Jessica Does," a woman behind them murmured, just loud enough to be heard. Jess flinched, and Connor jerked upright, looking around.

  It had to be someone from high school. So far as Connor knew, he was the only guy she'd been with in a decade. A decade, for Christ's sake.

  Tanya Cross was studiously checking her phone. She glanced at Connor, then smiled sweetly. She always had been a jealous pill. Used to try to tear Colleen down all the time.

  "Did you say something, Tanya?" he asked.

  "Hmm? Me? No. How are you, Connor?"

  "Great. A very happy man these days." He looked down at Jess, who cocked an eyebrow. She was tough, his Jess, but he knew that name still hurt. "Very happy." Then he kissed her again, a little longer this time, a little softer.

  "Stop kissing," Davey said. "It's gross."

  Connor felt her smile.

  "I have to agree with Davey," Colleen said, appearing with the baby and a big smile. "Jess, you know you can do better, but I do appreciate you taking pity on my brother. Can we sit with you guys? Gerard's giant head is in my way." She handed Isabelle to Jessica. "Want to admire the most beautiful baby that ever was?"

  "Her face is scrunchy," Davey observed.

  "If by scrunchy, Davey, you mean perfect, you're absolutely right. Oh, hey, Tanya. You okay, hon? You look a little under the weather."

  Ah, Colleen. There were times when he'd cheerfully drown her, and then there were times like this. She winked at him. Frickin' psychic, that's what she was.

  Connor tousled Davey's hair, put one finger on his niece's little head--she was wearing a hat with bunny ears on it, and it was crazy cute. Then he went back to the dugout to receive his much-deserved congratulations and slip Ned a fifty so he'd watch Davey overnight.

  Fun and sex. And food. That's what Jessica needed.

  One of these days, she was going to marry him.

  *

  ON THE MORNING of the big pitch to the Empire State Food & Beverage, Jess called him. "You nervous?" she asked.

  He was lonely, that was what he was. This bed seemed way too big without her in it. "No, since you'll be doing all the talking."

  "You'll do some. Don't worry. You're a good bet, Connor O'Rourke. I'd totally back you." The unintended double entendre hung there for a minute. "By the way," she said quietly, "my offer on the house was accepted."

  "Great! Congratulations." Shit. He'd been hoping someone would swoop in and steal the house from under her nose. "That's fantastic, Jess." He'd be happy for her. He didn't have much choice, and besides, he understood.

  "Thanks for saying so." There was a weighty pause, then she took a quick breath. "Okay, I have to make sure Davey brushes his teeth. See you later. Two fifteen, don't be late."

  "I'll be there."

  At 2:15, however, she wasn't there. Connor was shown into the small conference room at the Radisson Hotel in Corning. Manningsport didn't have a real hotel...plenty of B&Bs and a motel by the lake. But for this, Jess had suggested something a little more official, a place with a conference room and a projector screen.

  Their meeting was at 3:00; Jess said she'd set up the conference room so it would look fantastic, flowers and stuff, one of the things she did at Blue Heron during press pitches or special events. That was good, because, being a guy, prettying up the conference room had never occurred to him.

  The last time Connor had had a business meeting was when Sherry Wu, his old prom date, had him come in to sign the papers for his loan. He hadn't worn a suit; he'd worn jeans and a T-shirt, probably. Who could remember? Today, though, he wore a suit. And shit, his mother's wedding was tomorrow, and he'd have to wear a suit again. And a tie.

  He was sweating profusely. When was the last time he'd worn a tie? A funeral probably. Colleen's wedding. Whatever. He felt like he was being strangled. Jeremy Lyon wore a tie every day. Every single day.

  His phone buzzed. It was Jessica.

  Running a little late.

  Thank God Colleen had suggested Jessica, who was nothing if not grace under pressure. First, the Empire Food people would be dazzled with her good looks; three men, one woman. Jess always looked understated and elegant; she looked that way in pajamas. Something about her posture.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a painting. He looked like a hit man, the suit, the clenched jaw, tight shoulders. "Relax," he told himself. This tie was choking him, had he mentioned that?

  He had a hundred grand for the brewery, thanks to a decade of saving. Jeremy was in for another fifty. The bank had approved him for a decent loan, but he still needed about $600,000. Renovations on the building, insurance, equipment, furnishings, supplies, Tim's salary, counter staff salary, a liquor license, advertising, and enough to cover the loss they'd be sure to operate under for the first year, maybe two.

  Six hundred grand.

  It seemed like so much money. But with it, he could get started right away. And the brewery wasn't just a whimsical idea. He'd been working on it for fifteen months.

  Jess had run through the presentation again last night. She was damn good at her job, that was for sure. She'd had a dozen booklets made online, bound and everything, the kind of thing he would never have thought to do. The covers said O'Rourke's Brewing: Investment Opportunity & Business Plan, with a close-up shot of a Pilsner, a Stout and an IPA, taken on the bar of the restaurant. It was like beer porn.

  Each page of the book was beautifully laid out. The first few pages were the labels; she'd hired a graphic designer to finesse her basic ideas. His favorite was for the Dog-Face IPA, which showed a picture of a very happy collie who actually did look a bit like Colleen. There were photos of the proposed building, taken by Jack Holland, who was a really good photographer, and then the "after" vision of the brewery--Faith had made a mock-up on her architect's software, complete with people sitting at the tables, leaning on the tasting bar, on the patio. There was a nice shot of him and Colleen behind the bar of O'Rourke's, taken a couple of years ago.r />
  The marketing breakdown focused on Connor's experience as a chef, same as in the PowerPoint presentation. Why he was specially positioned to craft beers that not only stood on their own, but also elevated the beverage to enhance both fine and everyday dining. That was the part that made Connor the most nervous. The stuff about him.

  Then came the financial breakdown, which Connor had emailed her, and which she formatted to look clean and professional--where the money would be spent, and how. Then the timeline, projected one-, three-and five-year costs and profits.

  And then, finally, the last page--the logo for the company, and that great tag line--Make every day special. Drink O'Rourke's.

  He could never have done this without her. Though she didn't know it, once the funding came through, he'd be making her a partner.

  Last night as she'd done her thing, he sat there, entranced--not by the brewery, but by her. She was smooth and confident with a wry edge to her words, and he would've bought a shoe box full of dirt from her, because she had a way of making everything sound fantastic.

  He'd meant to bring his copy of the book, but he forgot it at home. Didn't matter; Jess would have a bunch of copies, as well as her PowerPoint presentation and his talking points. The only thing Connor had had to bring today was the beer itself. He and Tim had been working for weeks to get just the right flavors and fermentation.

  He had them here, in a cooler, seven growlers full of the different varieties, as well as glasses and napkins from O'Rourke's. "That will be the most important part," Jess had said last night. "I'll warm them up, and you bring them home. Talk about the flavors in each one, what foods they'd go best with, and then, if they seem happy, we can take them to O'Rourke's for dinner so they can see what a successful business you've got going."

  We. She may have been talking about the business we, but it sure felt like the couple.

  Connor cracked his knuckles and looked at his watch. 2:30. The investors were coming at 3:00. A hotel staffer poked her head in. "Is there anything you need, Mr. O'Rourke?" she asked.

  "No. Thank you."

  He texted Jessica.

  You close? I'm here.

  Nothing. She was probably driving. She'd be here any second.

  He had a text from Colleen: a picture of sleeping Isabelle, and the tender words Good luck, Uncle Idiot!

  Still nothing from Jess. He checked his email. Checked the Blue Heron Facebook page and Twitter accounts to see if there might be a hint of why Jessica was running late. Not that she was really late just yet. Traffic, maybe. He called her phone. "Hey, you're probably in the car." Her Subaru didn't have Bluetooth. "Um, just checking in."