“Will do.”
Connor exited the tent, his thoughts hanging on her use of the wordwe’re. He allowed it to distract him from the fact that his mind had literally escaped his brain that afternoon for a good solid span of minutes. He knew she didn’t mean anything beyond what she said, but it made him think. Between that and kissing her the way he’d really wanted to for months—except for the whole fainting part—it made the Liza-shaped hole in his chest ache. That ache for something he wanted more than anything but knew he couldn’t,shouldn’thave.
Their whole interaction was strange and seemed to be driven by some fatalistic force that kept nudging them toward closeness and intimacy; a force Connor felt powerless to resist. And the more it pushed, the more he realized he was barreling toward an outcome that would only cause him to hurt her again.
20
Irish Channel, New Orleans
Liza sat at the table in her small dining room watching Connor, who was in her kitchen sautéing vegetables and cooking chicken in a cast iron skillet. He looked like an erotic, domestic fantasy; jeans and black Saints t-shirt hugging the sharp angles of his muscles with her apron tied low around his narrow hips and a dishtowel slung haphazardly over one hulking shoulder. He’d kicked off his shoes and socks, which she found amusing, but also perilously comfortable.
All of it came together to paint a portrait of how she’d imagined their life could have been.
Not one to sit still for very long, Liza stood from the table to enter the kitchen, and she reached for a bottle of wine off the top of the fridge. The pop of the cork caused Connor to turn his head and look at her.
“Are you fully hydrated?” He pointed at the bottle with a spatula. “That can keep you from getting back to one hundred percent.”
She poured two glasses. “I am fully hydrated.” She handed a glass to him. “And I maintain that it was simply the heat.”
“Yeah, well, whatever it was, you scared the hell out of me. Again.” Connor clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to you making a full recovery so I don’t have to keep rescuing you.”
“I think you like rescuing me.” Liza took a sip and eyed him over the rim of the glass. “You’re a hero at heart, and you like that I have a tendency to dissolve into a weepy damsel.”
“You might be weepy, but you’re no damsel.” He swirled the glass and then took a sip. “And I’m nobody’s hero.”
“My hero,” she cooed, mostly because she loved the look he gave her when she’d said it early.
He didn’t disappoint and cast her that same exasperated look before turning back to the stove.
Liza stepped next to him and peered at the perfectly golden, seasoned chicken. “That looks amazing. Smells fantastic too. When did you learn to cook?”
He shrugged. “I was hanging around in Ophelia’s kitchen so much when I first got back that she started talking me through everything she did.” He nudged the chicken with the spatula. “I still don’t normally cook for myself, though. She likes to feed people, especially me. So I just go over there.”
Liza smiled. “I like her. They sure do seem like the perfect little family.”
“I love ‘em.” He flipped the chicken and then sipped his wine. “But they’ve had their own problems just like everyone else.”
Liza recalled the significant scar that marred Ophelia’s elegant face. “I assumed as much.”
“They were here during K. And the aftermath.” He poked the chicken with a fork and swirled his wine. “And Scott’s a reporter, right? He went out into that mess right after. She says it changed him. Not necessarily in a bad way, but apparently, it grew him up really quick. Forced his head out of the clouds and planted his feet on the ground.”
Liza pursed her lips. “I imagine tragedy will do that to a person.”It sure as hell did that to me, she wanted to add. She gathered that it had done that to Connor, too.
“Yes, it will.” He switched off the burner and plated the meat and veggies, carrying both to the table. “Come eat. I need to get out of your hair so you can rest.”
She followed him to the table with the wine, forks, knives, and napkins. “I don’t really want you out of my hair,” she said as she placed the items on the table and then sat down. “I actually do like hanging out with you.”
“I don’t know why.” Connor ignored the knife and cut his chicken with the side of his fork.
“Because I like you, dummy.” She winked at him and then placed a slice of chicken and some spinach in her mouth.
A smile quirked his lips. “Again, I don’t know why.”
“Because,” she said before pausing a second. While Liza really needed to be careful about how she phrased all of this, something in her craved a heart-to-heart with him. “I’ve always liked you as a person, Connor. Yes, you have a bit of an edge and a temper, but you’re considerate and kind…in your own way. You care about people and doing the right thing. No matter what…you know…happened…betweenus, I mean…that’s still who you are, and I still like it. Even though all we had and everything we were are no longer a thing.”
Connor chewed and swallowed as he eyed her. “I don’t understand you, Liza.”
“You said that when I had the fever.” She gestured at him with a piece of chicken on the end of her fork. “I don’t understand what you don’t understand.”
