“I see.” I wanted to slink away, to hide. I wanted to pack up my dog and hit the road. Again. Not this time, though. I was so angry, I fisted my hand and punched him right in the face. He blinked, unfazed. I was pretty sure I’d broken my whole hand, so the fact that he hadn’t felt it just made him that much more of an asshole.
“I can’t believe I thought you were a hero.” My hand throbbed painfully. “Boo-hoo, Aiden. Did you have your heart broken once? You think that gives you license to be an asshole the rest of your life? A coward; that’s what you are.” I walked away, back to my car, my broken hand cradled to my chest.
Okay, it wasn’t broken but it hurt like hell! I’d need to get ice on it as soon as possible. After the swelling went down, I planned to punch him again. With a bat. That would hurt my hand less.
When I got home, Chaucer whined and tried to lick my hand, sweet boy. I put ice in a waterproof bag, wrapped it around my hand with a dish towel. I didn’t want to sit and think, so I took Chaucer for a walk along the cliffs overlooking the surf.
I pulled Gran’s rain parka close across my chest. I should have made a sling for my stupid hand. It would have been easier than carrying a homemade ice pack.
The bitter winds coming off the whitecaps seeped right through the fabric, chilling me to the bone. Dark storm clouds were moving to the south. Chaucer, however, was in his element. He stood at the bluff, his head up to the driving wind, looking like nothing so much as the figurehead on the prow of a ship. He was quivering in anticipation.
“Okay, boy! Go!” I shouted over the wind. He didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He crouched, tipping his weight back before cannoning off the ledge, dropping six feet toward the teeming water below. He surfaced a moment later, sounding a deep bark of joy.
Seagrass waved in the wind, tickling my legs through my jeans. I plopped down at the land’s end and watched my baby swim in the ocean, rolling with the waves. Black clouds, heavy with rain, sped across the sky, blotting out the sun. A storm was coming. I could have called Chaucer, made him come to me so we could avoid the pelting rain, but I didn’t. Instead, I sat in the deluge.
I loved Aiden, had poured out my heart to him, and he called it a failure. That’s what he thought of me. A failure. If I’d been better, smarter, prettier, maybe I could have made him forget the one who broke his heart. But apparently, I couldn’t even make him want to forget the hurt. A failure.
The storm battered me but I withstood it, my anger and shame running in rivulets down my face and body, soaking into the ground.
When I stood on my front porch an hour later, chilled to the bone, my teeth chattering, what remained was the suffocating pain of rejection.
"Katie, are you up there?" The stairs creaked under Connor’s weight.
I bolted upright in the cooling water. When we’d returned from the rain, I’d needed a hot bath to warm up. I looked down at my naked body. I didn’t even have any bubbles left to hide beneath. “I’m in the bath.” Panic was clear in my tone.
His voice came from the hall, right outside the open doors to my bedroom and bath. “Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have barged in. I just thought we could go over plans for the diner this morning. Maybe drive down to the property and do a walk-through. And then I thought when we were done, we could have lunch in town, if you don’t already have plans today.”
Good things—my life was filled with good things, like this man right here. “I’d love to do that. Can you give me a couple of minutes to get dried and dressed?”
“Take your time. Chaucer and I will keep each other company.” At the sound of his name, Chaucer stood and padded out of the bathroom. Funny, he must have already known Connor’s sounds and smells. He didn’t even start at the sound of Connor’s voice.
I wasn’t feeling up to makeup—or much grooming for that matter—finger-combing through the wet curls and calling it good. My hand still hurt, but the swelling had gone down, thankfully. I had a towel wrapped around me when I stepped into the bedroom from the attached bath. I could hear Connor’s voice, but it was coming from downstairs. It sounded like he was talking to someone.
“Aiden, can you meet me for lunch today?...Good. I was thinking maybe Geddy’s at about noon...Hmm...Yeah, Katie’ll be with me...What’s that?...Well, couldn’t you rearrange it?...All right. Maybe another time.”
I closed the door to the bedroom, not wanting to hear any more. We slept together and he chewed off his arm to get away. That’s right. Katie Gallagher, the human equivalent of a bear trap. Screw everyone who thought I wasn’t good enough, that I’d be acceptable if only I’d changed everything. Fuck off! This was me. I was done apologizing for who I was. Don’t like me? Get bent and move along. I had better things to do than worry over your disapproval.
I pulled out a pair of jeans, new but worn-looking. I was going to embrace my new life philosophy with comfy clothes. I pulled on a light green, long-sleeved thermal top and Grandpa’s button-up fisherman’s sweater. It was cream, hung down almost to my knees, and had leather patches at the elbows. It was perfect.
I glanced at myself in the mirror. My face was clean. My freckles were more obvious, and my hair was pulling up into my natural corkscrew curls. Yep, I was ready to go.
Connor rounded the corner from the kitchen and stood at the base of the stairs, a huge grin breaking across his face. “There’s my little Katie Gallagher,” he said as I stepped down to the floor. “Where have you been, my girl? I’ve sorely missed you.”
I was unaccountably choked up by his greeting. I swallowed. “It’s good to be home,” I said as he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across my forehead.
He held out his elbow for me to take. I grabbed my bag and slapped my thigh, inviting Chaucer to join us before taking Connor’s elbow, letting him lead me out the door and down the front steps.
We all got into my car, and I drove into town. Luckily, I found street parking just two doors down from the diner. Chaucer jumped out and followed us. Connor pulled out his keys and then a small notebook from his shirt pocket, waving it at me. “We’ll take notes on any changes you think the place needs. Where you want your new seating to go, et cetera.”
The space smelled musty. “How long has it been vacant?” I asked.
“Oh, let’s see. It freed up four or five months ago now. I’ve had a few people inquire, but the rent is expensive, and I’m picky. I don’t rent to just anyone, you know.” He winked.
Good point. “You know, I have some money now, but I don’t know if I have enough to make this happen. We might be getting ahead of ourselves.” Businesses cost bank to start up. “How much is the rent, anyway?” Shit, a prime location on Main Street just three blocks from the water in Bar Harbor, Maine. There was no way I’d be able to afford this place. It was probably five thousand or more a month, and then there were the renovations to consider, licenses, and permits... My stomach started to cramp.
“Well”—he strolled to the window, looking out—“this is a great property, excellent location; the owner has kept it clean and safe. You’d only need to make cosmetic changes. Let’s see, taking all that into account, how about if I charge you...one dollar a month?” He turned, taking in my stunned expression before patting my shoulder as he walked past.
“Connor, you can’t charge me one dollar. That’s ridiculous!”
