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He laughed and pulled me close so he could kiss the top of my head. “Not to worry. This head is far too pretty to cover with a hat.”
It was two days after the party that I left him and returned to New York devastated and in tears. I moved back in with my parents andSobotemporarily while I searched for a new job and an apartment. I buried my broken heart in my work and cursed the day I met Reginald Murphy.
I never told Connor what his grandfather said to me that day. I couldn’t bring myself to do that to him. Connor thought his grandfather walked on water, that he could do no wrong—he was the family patriarch, after all. Everyone looked up to him.
Once back in New York, I tried to forget Connor. I tried to be happy. I got an apartment in Brooklyn that I really loved. And over the years, I’ve made a few friends in New York, like Lauren.
I dated a bit, although it was never anything serious. I did all the things I was supposed to do, but real happiness eluded me. Every guy I dated ended up falling short when compared to Connor. He wasn’t funny like Connor. He didn’t make me weak in the knees like Connor. He didn’t snuggle with me on the sofa and watch rom-coms and eat ice cream with me, like Connor.
No one has ever measured up. And to be honest, I’m afraid no one ever will. I had the original, and I let him go. And now the joke is on me because I had everything I ever wanted in a man, and I walked away from him. Leaving Connor was probably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.
But the Connor I saw just now, on this flight—he’s not a kid anymore. He’s all grown up, all man now. And my god did he grow up fine. I couldn’t stop staring at him, and all the while my heart pounded. And my brain tormented me.
He’s the one.
He’s the one.
It’s not too late. Tell him what the old man said. Tell him the truth about why you left.
* * *
It’s a short flight from JFK to Cincinnati-Northern Kentucky International Airport. To pass the time, I open an e-book and hardly get through a few chapters before the pilot instructs us to buckle up and put our trays in the upright position because we’re about to land.
My nerves are frayed because I know this is the beginning of a disastrous weekend. We’re both coming to meet Skye and Will’s new baby, Nicholas Fitzwilliam Carmichael, and that means Connor and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next couple of days, whether we like it or not.
Since I’m seated in first class—courtesy of Will Carmichael buying my ticket for me—I’m one of the first passengers to disembark. I pass right through the arrivals lounge and head to the baggage claim area. I’ll stay a few steps ahead of Connor for as long as I can.
I saw the look in his beautiful blue eyes during the brief moment we talked on the plane. He’s always been bad at hiding his emotions. I saw the shock, followed by confusion, hunger, and longing. There was also a lot of resentment lurking in his gaze. I recognized his emotions because I was feeling them myself. I’m just better at hiding them than he is. He wears his heart on his sleeve.
I amsonot ready for this weekend. Just seeing him brings back so many memories, both good and bad. How am I supposed to get through this?
I’m going to kill Will and Skye. I have absolutely no doubt they arranged this little weekend reunion on purpose. Every time I talk to Skye, she asks me if I’ve spoken to Connor. I imagine Will asks Connor the same thing.
Our friends set us up.
I keep telling Skye to forget about the idea of Connor and me, but the longer he and I remain single, the more insistent she gets.
Oh, my god.Another horrifying thought occurs to me. What if he does have someone in his life? What if I have to listen to him regale our friends with stories about his girlfriend, or heaven forbid his wife?
Just as I expected, Connor arrives at baggage claim just a few seconds after I do. He looks a bit worked up, almost agitated, and I realize I’m not the only one who’s been thrown for a loop.
As he comes to stand beside me, he runs his long fingers through his short blond hair, artfully messing it up. “We were set up, Ken.”
“I know.” Hearing him use his old pet name for me hurts. “And please don’t call me that.”
As Connor waits beside me for our luggage to appear, I’m even more aware of how he’s changed physically over the years. I swear he’s bigger now. Maybe it’s just an illusion because his shoulders are so much broader—and his chest! I used to cuddle up against that chest while we watched movies and ate popcorn. I used to nestle against that chest in bed. I used to sleep with that chest pressed against my naked back as he spooned me all night long, his strong arm wrapped around me, his long legs intertwined with mine.
The rest of him has filled out nicely, too—namely his arms. Even through the sleeves of his suit jacket, I can see the outlines of his biceps. I’m keenly aware of his sheer physical presence as he towers next to me. It’s like there’s a magnetic field around him, and it’s drawing me in.
I shake my head in dismay and mutter beneath my breath, “Skye’s lucky she just gave birth. Otherwise, I’d kill her.”
Connor must have heard me, because he laughs just as the conveyor belt begins to move, the whirring sound announcing the arrival of our luggage. We wait silently, neither of us saying anything more. I’m tempted to move away from him, because being so close to him is making me nervous, but that would be petty and rude.
Finally, suitcases begin to appear on the conveyor belt, traveling in a circle on the luggage carousel. My bright blue suitcase is easy to spot in the sea of homogeneous black luggage. When it reaches me, I step forward intending to grab it, but Connor beats me to it, his long arm snaking out in front of me as he grabs the handle and effortlessly lifts my luggage off the carousel and deposits it in front of me as if it weighed nothing at all.
His show of strength only calls attention to those biceps of his, which are lovingly showcased by his custom-tailored suit. He’s dressed in a dark gray suit with a white button-down shirt, sans tie. Business attire looks good on him. I finally allow myself to get a really good look at him—at his artfully styled hair and striking blue eyes. He’s even more handsome than I remember.
A moment later, Connor spots his black suitcase and hauls it off the conveyor belt. I’m wondering how he can tell his luggage apart from the dozens of other black suitcases, but then I notice the name tag attached to the handle of his bag is gold. I glance down and see his name etched in all capital letters. CONNOR MURPHY, ESQ. It’s probably real gold, too, and not some cheap gold plating. Connor can certainly afford it. Hell, he could afford to buy this airport if he wanted to. I readForbes. I have a good idea of his net worth these days. It’s staggering.
