Kristan Higgins - Anything For You

“Jessica.” There was a reprimand in his voice that infuriated her.

“I have other things to do, Connor. Can you get dressed, please?”

“Okay, since you brought it up, why did you sleep with all those other guys?”

“None of your business. Excuse me.” She pushed him out of the bathroom and closed and locked the door. Checked her reflection again. Normal enough, she thought, though it was sort of like looking at a stranger. Her throat was killing her, clamped tight, impossible to swallow.

Jessica Does.

That fucking name would follow her the rest of her life.

“Jess,” Connor said through the door, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it. It just kind of... It was just a reflex. But last night was—”

She opened the door. “Save it for the next girl, okay? I have to get going. I’m working tonight.”

“I don’t want there to be a next girl. I just want to erase the last five minutes.”

“Too bad you can’t. Take care. Thanks for dinner.”

Then she closed the door again, locked it and turned on the shower.

* * *

WHEN SHE GOT home that day, her brother was sitting on the steps, waiting for her. “Was it fun?” he asked as she stopped to hug him and pet Chico Two. “Did you eat room service?”

“I did,” she lied. The truth was, she’d fled right after her shower, as soon as she was sure Connor had left. “I brought you the little shampoos and bath stuff. They smell really good. Wait till you take your shower tonight.” Davey hated showers; maybe the new stuff would entice him into cleanliness.

See? She was back to normal, thinking about her brother. She went into her bedroom.

There was a bouquet of flowers on her bed.

“The truck man said these were for you,” Davey said. “They smell nice.”

Irises and roses and a fat lily and a bunch of other flowers she didn’t recognize. They were just about the prettiest things she’d ever seen, a riot of purple and pink and red.

The card said, Please forgive me. No signature.

“Why don’t you give them to Mom?” she asked her brother, ruffling his soft hair. “I have to run.”

* * *

AT LEAST HE couldn’t call her. Jess was so, so glad Connor didn’t have her phone number. He sent a note, but she tossed it. And for the next couple of months, she did what she did best—she didn’t think about something that was too painful to think about. She just worked. At Christmastime, his entire family came into Hugo’s, which opened for the holidays. And yes, her stomach flipped when she saw them. But hey. She was a waitress; they were her customers. Nothing else. “Hello, Clan O’Rourke,” she said amiably. “How’s everyone tonight?”

“Pull up a chair and chat with us, Jess,” Colleen said.

“We’re really busy, but thanks,” Jessica said. It wasn’t a lie. She passed out the menus, took drink orders and checked on her other patrons.

About halfway through their dinners, Abby Vanderbeek spilled her root beer for the second time that night, and Jess mopped up the table, had Felicia get the kid another pop, then went to the bathroom to wash her hands. When she came out, Connor was standing there.

“Jess, I’d really like to explain my idiot comment,” he said.

“No explanation necessary,” she said. Gave him a noncommittal smile, the one that she’d been using since forever, the don’t worry, I’ve got this, everything’s fine, no hard feelings smile that made her face ache.

“So a one-word mistake has ruined any chance I might’ve had with you forever.”

It wasn’t a one-word mistake, she wanted to say. It was my reputation, it was “Jessica Does Anyone,” it was “That white-trash Jessica,” it was my entire past when I’d already told you that this was my chance, my one chance, to be someone other than that stupid, slutty Jessica Does. “Don’t be melodramatic, okay? It was a fun night, and it’s over.”

“I would really like to see you again.”

“Sorry.” She let that sit a beat, then added, “I have to get back to work now.”

His eyes narrowed. “Okay, Jess. It’s your call.”

“Yes. It is. Happy holidays.” It was as bland as she could possibly get, and it worked.

After all, he deserved bland. That smile, those eyes, his kisses...those were just tricks to get her into bed, and boy, did they work. There’d been candles and dessert and a beautiful hotel, and Connor had figured Why not? Jessica puts out. This is an easy lay just waiting to happen.

And she played right along, had been Jessica Does again to him and to herself.

It would’ve been stupid to forget it.

And no one had ever called her Jessica Dumb.

CHAPTER FIVE

Eight and a half years before the proposal...

THE SECOND TIME Connor and Jessica hooked up was almost exactly two years after the ill-fated first time.

In the time that passed, Connor had surprised himself by moving back home. While at the Culinary Institute, he’d traveled quite a bit—internships in France, Miami and then a prestigious stint at the only restaurant in Manhattan ever to earn three Michelin stars. And while he learned immeasurably, the big, glitzy restaurant scene wasn’t for him. Food presentation bordered on the ridiculous...filet mignon topped with a circle of half-inch, precisely cut white and green asparagus tips arranged in a yin-yang symbol; symmetrical dollops of red beet paste making a half circle around a brick of polenta with the restaurant logo branded onto it.

The food was amazing, but it wasn’t the type Connor wanted to make. He wanted to make ordinary food taste extraordinary. It was all about flavor and the experience. Happiness should be part of the meal, and at Vue des Anges, where dinner for two could easily cost more than $500, there weren’t a lot of happy patrons. Snobby patrons, definitely. Patrons trying to impress their companions. Bored patrons, sullen patrons, patrons a little stressed by the high-pressure dining experience.

What he wanted, especially now, was a place for normal people. A place that served perfect meals without the pressure. Lasagna made with veal and pork and cream and four kinds of cheese and homemade pasta—not fussy, not ridiculous...just perfect, thoughtful, fantastic. Yes, they’d serve hamburgers, which would probably enrage Etienne, his former boss, but hamburgers made with Angus beef and shallots and flat-leafed parsley and garlic-infused butter. His sister’s weakness, nachos, served with Cotija cheese and wafer-thin slices of radishes and charred tomatillo salsa.

A place that was home in a way that his own home had never really been.

On the surface, the O’Rourkes had always seemed like the classic American family—two kids, two cars, parents who were still married.

Underneath, though, ran a tension that only Connor felt. Well. Connor and his father.

Connor had never felt particularly close to his father, ever. The dog bite had only cemented that feeling. Pete O’Rourke was too busy being Manningsport’s answer to Donald Trump. Growing up, Colleen had always been Daddy’s little girl, the more outgoing twin, always with some funny, fast remark, always getting attention. She could do no wrong in their father’s eyes. Her grades weren’t as good as Connor’s, but Dad never seemed to notice or mind... Collie was never told to study harder or help their mother more. She was simply adored.

And Connor was largely ignored, except when they were out in public. Then it was Pete and his gorgeous kids, leave it to Pete to have twins, weren’t they just great, good-looking kids, both of them, and on and on and on.

Jeanette, their mom, thought Dad walked on water, never minding his slight, and not-so-slight, condescension toward her, his long workdays and lack of reciprocity in the affection or praise departments. No, the O’Rourkes were a sitcom family, starring Dad as The Hardworking Businessman; Colleen, the Sassy and Beautiful Daughter; Mom with a supporting role as Slightly Dim Housewife; and Connor as...