In which Connor is dumped by a girlfriend because…well,
he’s not really sure why. Because he looked at Jessica
Dunn, which he didn’t realize was not allowed.
“Don’t bother, Connor,” Kim snapped, flicking back her
beautiful hair. “You’ve never not looked at me the way
you wouldn’t look at her.”
“Uh…how am I supposed to respond to that?”
“You saw her, and my God, the air just changed, Connor.
So don’t bullshit me.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “She and I dated very
briefly, and that was…I don’t know. Two years ago.”
Twenty-seven months ago. “It didn’t work out.”
“Why?”
He wasn’t about to spill Jessica’s personal issues or
family history. “She just didn’t think it was working.”
“Well, it’s clear you want to be with her, so good luck.”
With that, Kim opened her car door and got in. “Nice
knowing you.”
“How am I the bad guy here?”
“You just are. Deal with it.” She slammed the door,
backed out of her spot, then rolled down her window. “You
have no right dating someone when you’re in love with
someone else.”
Then she gunned the motor, ran over his foot and was
gone, tires screeching at the corner.
“Ouch,” Connor said.
He tried his foot. Bruised, maybe, but not broken. With a
sigh and a curse, he went back inside, limping a little.
“Another one bites the dust, huh?” Colleen called.
“I hate women. Especially you, Dog-Face.”
“They hate you back, Troll Boy.”
Rafe was finishing up the last order. “I’ll clean up,”
Connor said.
“I thought you were with your woman.”
“She dumped me. Get out, go home, have fun.”
“If you were gay, I think we’d make a really nice couple.
Just putting that out there.”
“Don’t make me fire you.”
“That’s what I get for trying to be nice. Ciao, boss.”
Connor grunted. Got to work. Cleaned the mess from the
entire night, shooed off the cousins, ignored Colleen.
When the place was empty, he started cooking. Lasagna.
Vegetarian lasagna with sautéed red onions, portobello
mushrooms and fresh baby spinach. Made a thick white
sauce with whole milk, flour, ground pepper and lots of
butter. He made the dough, cranked it through the press—
pasta from a box tasted about as good as the box, whereas
Connor’s could make an Italian grandmother weep. Ladled
out the sauce, gently layered in the noodles, vegetables,
sauce and freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, not the
fake American stuff, that he special-ordered a few times
a year from the Italian market in Philly.
Jessica had no right to look at him like that, like she’d
just been mown down. Two frickin’ years—twenty-seven
months—and she hadn’t once indicated the wish to get back
together. And then, with one look, she blew a perfectly
nice relationship with a very nice woman.
“So, brother mine, you want to talk?” Colleen asked,
coming into the kitchen from where she’d been stacking
chairs in the restaurant.
“Nope.”
Colleen didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, because
it was physically impossible for her not to speak, she
said. “I’m sorry about Kim. She seemed nice.”
“Yep.” But he looked up. “Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow.” She punched him on the shoulder, just
hard enough to hurt a little, and he flicked some white
sauce into her hair. Then she left, and the quiet of the
empty restaurant settled around him.
Cooking always grounded him. To be a good chef, you had
to understand food, let it speak to you, inhale its
scents, watch it cook. You had to feel the pasta, assess
its stick against the wooden spoon, taste it, to know
when it was done. You couldn’t just look at a clock. You
just had to know when it was right.
Cooking was a way to stop time. To make a family take a
half an hour and sit, relax, eat and taste. There was a
Zen sense to it, a way of making a dozen separate
ingredients into something transformative and new and
special, something that would sustain and nourish and
bring happiness to those who experienced it, at least for
a little while.
Small wonder he’d started cooking when his parents’
marriage began to crumble, years before his mother knew
anything was wrong.
He put the lasagnas in the oven and got to work cleaning
the kitchen until every surface gleamed.
He loved this place. It was his true home.
And he didn’t like getting slammed in the chest at home.
By the time the six lasagnas were done, it was 1 a.m. He
loaded them into his truck, drove to the soup kitchen—
they’d given him a key when he opened O’Rourke’s, and he
dropped by about once a week with this kind of take—And
left five of the lasagnas in the fridge with a note on
heating. Then he got back in his truck and drove to
Jessica’s.
She answered faster than he would’ve expected. “Connor,”
she said. “Is everything okay?”
“I brought you a lasagna.”
She frowned. “Uh…thanks. Why?”
“I’m mad at you.”
“No, I get that. The lasagna tells the whole story.”
Okay, sure, it was dumb. “My girlfriend didn’t like the
way I didn’t look at you. So she broke up with me.”
“And clearly a lasagna…does what, exactly?” There was a
hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, and Connor
felt an answering tug in his chest.
“I don’t know.”
Her smile grew. “Would you like to come in?”
He followed her inside the house. The kitchen, though
plain, was immaculate. On the table were an open textbook
and a notebook. She closed both and put them on the
chair. Message received: whatever I’m studying is none of
your business.
He put the pan on the stovetop, turned and leaned against
the counter.
Jessica Dunn looked beautiful in pajamas, even if the
bottoms were green plaid and the top was a T-shirt that
showed a cat wrapped in a tortilla. Purritto, it said.
Funny.
“So why are you here, Connor?” she asked.
“My now ex-girlfriend pointed out that I’m still hung up
on you.”
“Did she now.” Jess swallowed and looked at the table.
Straightened the napkin holder.
And that, friends, made Connor very happy. She was
nervous. For some reason, he knew that was a good thing.
“You ruined a perfectly good relationship.” He bit down
on a smile.
“By existing?”
“Yep.” He let his gaze wander over her. Her hair was
down, and he loved her hair, the cool, smooth texture of
it, the graceful swing. Her cheeks were flushed, and she
was now fiddling with the drawstring of her pajamas.
Double-knotting it, in fact.
Connor had always been good with knots.
“Do you want me to stop coming to O’Rourke’s?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You.”
She went to put her hands in her pockets, then discovered
she didn’t have any. Folded her arms, instead. “So you’re
bribing me with lasagna?”
“Yes. Is it working?”
She shrugged. “A little. It smells fantastic.”
“Jess,” he said quietly, “you didn’t like seeing me with
someone else. So be with me.”
She huffed. “I have no problem with you being with
someone else, Connor. If you like her, that’s great. I’m
glad.”
“You almost sound sincere.”
“I am,” she said.
“Liar.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the
refrigerator. He kept looking at her. The pulse in her
neck was visible. And fast.
“She was right, you know,” he murmured. “I am still hung
up on you.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“No, you’re not.” He went toward her and took each of her
hands in his. She swallowed again, her cheeks pinkening.
“Jessica,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She shivered. Didn’t pull away. “Be my girlfriend.”
Kissed her jaw, then just below her ear. “You have to. I
made you lasagna.” Her skin smelled like lemons and
vanilla.
“I can’t…you shouldn’t…”
“Lasagna, Jess. All those layers. Homemade pasta.”
She laughed a little. “Connor, I’m sorry. I wish I could…
I wish you were still with her. Your girlfriend.”
“I don’t.”
The comment seemed to hit her where she lived, because
her beautiful green eyes softened, and her gaze fell to
his mouth.
Connor didn’t wait for more of an invitation. He kissed
her, slid his arms around her to keep her close, and
there it was again, that locked-in perfection, like they
were made to kiss each other…and only each other. Her
mouth was soft and giving, and a small sigh came from her
and he couldn’t wait any longer, because for crying out
loud, they hadn’t been together for twenty-seven months,
and he missed her, he ached for her, and no one else
would do.
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