LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ONE

      “GET UP, DOOFUS.”

      Though the words were said with a smile, they definitely weren’t what Connor O’Rourke was hoping to hear. He was, after all, on a bent knee, holding up a diamond ring.

      “I just asked you to marry me, Jess,” he said.

      “And it was adorable.” She ruffled his hair. That didn’t bode well, either. “The answer is no, obviously. What were you thinking? And boy, I’m starving. Did you call for pizza yet?”

      Okay. Granted, Jessica Dunn was...different. They’d been dating for the past eight months—or ten years, depending on how you counted it—and getting her to this moment had taken as much strategizing as, oh, D-Day. Still, he hadn’t quite anticipated this.

      He tried again. “Jessica. Make me the happiest man on earth and say you’ll be my wife.”

      “I heard you the first time, big guy. And I did wonder about all these candles. Nice touch, if a little on the fire-hazard side of things.”

      “And your answer is?”

      “You already know my answer, and you knew it long before you asked anything. Now come on, Connor. Upsy-daisy.”

      He didn’t move. Jess sighed and folded her arms across her chest, giving him a patient look, eyebrow slightly raised.

      Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her pocket, because she always checked her phone, no matter what they were doing. “Iron Man is killing all the bad guys in the cave,” she said, deadpan.

      This was normal—her brother dictating text updates on whatever movie he and Gerard, his occasional babysitter, were watching. It could be funny. At the moment, not so much.

      “Can we be serious here?” he asked.

      “I’m really hungry, Con.”

      “If I feed you, will you say yes?”

      “No. So up you go. Let’s have a nice night, okay? Weren’t we gonna watch Game of Thrones?”

      Hail Mary, full of grace, she was really turning him down.

      He didn’t get up. With the hand that was not holding the little black velvet box, he rubbed his hand across his jaw. He’d shaved for this and everything. The diamond winked in the candlelight, taunting him.

      “Look, Jess,” he said. “I’m tired of feeling like you pay me by the hour. I’m tired of you breaking up with me. Why don’t we get married and stay together for the rest of our lives?”

      “You ever hear that expression, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it?”

      “Do you see me here on one knee with an expensive ring in my hand?”

      “Yes. You’re hard to miss. And it’s very pretty. But I get the feeling you think you should love me for the simple reason that we’ve been sleeping together on and off for so many years—”

      “No, it’s genuine love.”

      “And secondly, you know how things are. I can’t marry you. I have Davey.”

      “Well, I have Colleen, and she’s a lot more trouble than your brother.”

      “Funny.” Jessica’s three feet away face was erasing any emotion. It was a face he’d seen all too often in the past two decades, as if she was saying, very politely, keep three feet away from me or you’ll lose an arm.

      His knee was getting sore. “I know how things are with your brother, Jess. I don’t think you’re supposed to martyr yourself because of it.”

      “Don’t go there. I love my brother. He comes first.”

      “So you basically have a life sentence.”

      “Yes,” she said, as if she was explaining it to a two-year-old. “Davey’s life. My life. They’re inseparable. You think I should put him in a kennel for you?”

      “Did I say the word kennel? No, I didn’t. But I think you could tell him you’re getting married and he can come live with us.” Or in the group home in Bryer, which seemed like a very nice place. Yes, Connor had checked it out.

      Her phone buzzed again. Again, she checked it. “Iron Man can fly.”

      “Jessica. I’m asking you to marry me.” His jaw was getting tight.

      “I know. And really, thank you. It’s very sweet. Are we going to eat?”

      “So you’re not saying yes, is that it?”

      “Yes. I’m not saying yes.” She pushed a strand of silky blond hair behind her ear.

      Jaw at one hundred percent lockdown. “Then it’s a no.”

      “Sadly, yes, it’s a no. Which I’m sure doesn’t come as a huge surprise to you.”

      She was really turning him down.

      Somehow, he’d seen this all going a bit differently.

      Connor stood up, his knee creaking a little. Closed the little black velvet box and set it carefully on the table. He’d gone into Manhattan to buy that ring—a simple and flawless emerald-cut diamond that suited her, because she was simply, flawlessly beautiful, too. Not a drop of makeup on, her long blond hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt that said Hugo’s on it, she was still the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.

      “Shall I call for pizza?” she asked.

      He sat down across from her. In the fridge were two lobsters, scallops, potatoes au gratin, artichoke and arugula salad, a bottle of Dom Perignon and pots de crème au chocolat, since his plan was to slide the ring on her finger, make love to her and then cook her the best meal of her life.

      He did not want pizza.

      He did not want a rejection.

      His pulse was throbbing in his temples, a warning sign that he was mad. Brain-Vein, his irritating twin called it. He took a slow breath, looked around the room, trying not to lose his temper. The dining room...maybe that had been a mistake. It wasn’t exactly warm and romantic. No pictures on the walls. His whole house looked like a furniture showroom, now that he thought about it.

      Certainly, there were no pictures of him and Jessica.

      He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you see us going forward, Jess?”

      She was as cool and still as a stone in Keuka Lake. “What do you mean?”

      “You and me, our future, our relationship, not that you can really call sneaking around at the age of thirty-two a relationship.”

      “I see us doing this. Getting together when we can. Enjoying each other’s company.” She wasn’t the type to be goaded into an argument, that was for sure. Pity. A little yelling and some Olympic make-up sex would be more Connor’s style. And that ring on her finger.

      He

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