Connor rocked on the balls of his feet. “Need a hand?”
She cast him a look that was like a silent warning. “I’ve got it but thank you.”
“No sweat. So, where’s your place?” She cast him a slightly more intense version of the same look, and he lifted his hands as if surrendering. “Just wondering. I promise not to come by without an invitation.”
The tiniest smile tugged one corner of her mouth. “I found a charming, but itty-bitty house for rent on Constance Street right across from an elementary school.”
“Constance Street? Is that near Tchoupitoulas?”
She laughed lightly. “Is that how you pronounce that word?”
“Yeah.” He smiled, andman. She had such a great laugh. “Chop-ah-too-liss.”
“Chop.Ah. Too.Liss,” she repeated slowly and then laughed again, and he grinned wider.
“Nicely done. I think you got that one.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I would’ve figured that out on my own.”
“You bet.” He rocked on his feet again, and now he was just wasting time. There was nothing keeping either of them there other than his lack of desire to part ways with her for the weekend. “So, you’re in the Irish Channel.”
“That’s what the realtor said, but I haven’t seen anything Irish yet.”
“Well…” Connor scratched his head and squinted at the sky. “I could give you a very thorough history of the name.” He glanced down at her and crossed his arms over his chest. “But that might take the better part of the afternoon. I’d hate to take up your unpacking time. Unless you let me help you unpack, and I could tell you about it over cardboard and balled-up newspaper.”
“Maybe you could tell me over lunch sometime.” She shot him a wink and a smile. “A work lunch.”
“Right.” He took a step back and pointed a finger gun at her. “Work lunch. Gotta keep things professional.”
“Professional.” Liza offered a nod and another smile. “Exactly.” She gave him a small wave before tugging the door to close it.
Connor stepped onto the curb as he caught her gaze one last time before she pulled away and down the street. And she might as well have been twenty-one again. And he might as well have been twenty-two because he was still just as much in love with her, and his heart ached just as much as it had on that January day.
This was what his weakness had reduced him to: a lovesick idiot who’d thrown away the best thing he’d ever had out of hasty cowardice, and who was spending his Saturday watching her leave instead of wrapping his arm around her waist as he walked her up the street to the Old Point Bar for lunch.
After the car disappeared around the corner, Connor kicked the leaves again and then just stared at the empty street as a rock of emotions lodged itself in his throat.
“Hey.” Brennan was suddenly standing at his side. “How’d that go?”
Connor coughed to clear the lump in his throat. “Didn’t.”
He felt the weight of Brennan’s eyes on him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Connor bit his bottom lip and then rubbed his forehead. “It sounds like something happened to her. Something bad. I don’t know if it was my fault or not, but…” He huffed. “She’s never gonna tell me either. So…” He looked at Brennan for a microsecond before turning his gaze to the street again. “If she ever talks to you about it, can you just, like…”
There was a beat of silence, and then Brennan clasped his hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Sarge?”
“I mean…I know y’all are buds or something, so just do me a solid and…” He shrugged off Brennan’s hand and took a few steps backward, shoving his hands into his pockets and still staring at the street. “Just look after her for me.” He glanced up at Brennan. “Y’know. How you always look after people.” He dropped his eyes away from Brennan’s focused, concerned gaze. “How you’ve always looked after me. Because I want to look after her like that, and I can’t.”
“I will.” Brennan paused. “Are you okay?”
Connor opened his mouth, but he’d run out of words. His gaze flitted across the horizon, and there was only one thing he really needed right then. “Just gonna go for a run.”
“Don’t go for a run. It’s too hot now anyway.” Brennan pointed his thumb down the street toward the Old Point. “Let’s go watch the game.”
Connor shook his head and turned to stalk back to his house. He was inside long enough to change into shorts and running shoes, and then he was back outside. Brennan wasn’t there, so Connor didn’t have to worry about anyone getting on his case about how it was too hot to run for as long as he needed to.
For three solid hours, Connor pounded the pavement as he ran all the way to the Intercoastal Waterway in Lower Algiers and back in the scorching sun and stifling humidity.
