Connor waved to her from Hugo’s doorway—You doing okay?
She waved back. You bet. You?
He raised his chin. Doing fine.
Good. She turned back to the wine-tasting table and reached into the cooler for another bottle of the unoaked Chardonnay, which always ran out first.
“Colleen.”
She jumped as if electrocuted.
Lucas stood in front of her table. With him was his cousin.
“Hey, Coll!” Bryce said as if he hadn’t been at the Black Cat just last night “How you doing?”
“I’m good,” she said faintly. “Hi, Lucas.”
“Hi.”
He was so beautiful. No, that wasn’t the right word. Bryce was beautiful. But Lucas...he was enthralling, and dear God, she’d missed that face. His voice. He wasn’t smiling, not yet, but that was okay.
She felt a smile start in her heart, warm and full. Finally, he was back.
His eyes dropped. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure! Um, Faith, I have to—”
“Get out of here, go, away with you,” Faith said, smiling. “Hi, Lucas.”
“Hey, Faith.” He gave her a nod.
“Should I say something bitchy?” she whispered to Colleen.
“Are you capable of it?” Colleen whispered back. She untied her Blue Heron apron and skirted around the table. He was here. Finally, he was here.
“Where should we go?” she asked.
“We could get a drink,” Bryce suggested.
“Bryce, I need to talk to Colleen alone,” Lucas said. She could smell his nice smell, soap and laundry detergent and sun, and holy St. Patrick, her knees almost buckled with longing, and she felt so damn right again that she wondered if she’d just float away.
But yeah, privacy. That would be good because she wasn’t going to last long without wrapping herself around him and kissing him with some happy crying possibly thrown in for good measure.
He took her hand and led her off the green, and Colleen felt like a blushing bride leaving the wedding...as if everyone knew where they were going and exactly what they’d be doing. His hand was work-roughened from the construction work he did each summer, and his olive skin was darker than usual from the sun.
The library was closed for the festivities. Lucas took her behind the pretty limestone building, where it was shady and cool and quiet.
“About time you came to see me,” she said, and her voice was shaking. “I missed you so much.”
“I think you should listen to me before you say anything,” he said, not quite looking her in the eye.
A tremor of fear wriggled through her knees. But no, it was okay. He wanted to go first. That was fine. That was better, really. “Apologize away,” she said with a smile.
He looked at her. Still no smile, his eyes dark and fathomless. A second passed. Another. Another. The tremor became a spasm.
“I’m getting married,” he said.
It was so...freakish...that she almost didn’t understand the words. A chipmunk cheeped from under a dogwood tree, and the sounds of music and people drifted from the green.
“What...what did you say?” she managed.
“I’m getting married, Colleen.”
There was something wrong with her lungs, because she couldn’t breathe. “That’s not funny.”
“To Ellen Forbes. I think you might’ve met her once or twice.”
He was serious.
Colleen closed her mouth. “I don’t...I don’t understand.”
He didn’t clarify.
Colleen took a step backward. Her legs felt watery.
Ellen Forbes. Ellen Forbes. Oh, shit, Ellen Forbes.
Yes, Colleen remembered her. Ellen had offered them a ride once, when they were walking back to campus, pulling over in her little BMW. And while the O’Rourkes were pretty comfortable financially, there was that aura of Money with a capital M around Ellen Forbes, and it didn’t come only from the last name (though that sure reinforced things).
It came from a blissful ignorance of things as mundane as bills and taxes and budgets and sales, and allowed her the freedom to focus on other things. Her clothes were preppy and dull and screamed expensive—crisp white shirt and little gold hoops in her ears, a sumptuous bag at her side, the designer unfamiliar to Colleen, who might’ve been able to recognize a bag sold at Macy’s or Nordstrom, but not from Saks or Bergdorf. Colleen was used to being the prettiest woman in the room and didn’t worry too much about clothes, but suddenly, she’d felt juvenile and blowsy in her peasant skirt and tank top, long dangly earrings (from Kohl’s) and scruffy sandals on her feet.
Lucas was marrying Ellen Forbes? Marrying her?
“Are you...are you serious?” she asked, her voice just a whisper.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and to his credit, he looked it. Those dark eyes were all ripped up inside.
“Why?” she asked.
He started to say something, then stopped.
“Lucas...you can’t marry her. What about us? I mean, we had a fight, but you don’t have to—”
“I wanted to tell you myself. That’s why I’m here. I’m sorry.”
Good God.
“You can’t marry her,” she said, striving to sound calm. “I love you, Lucas. I always have, since the first time I met you. I’ve never loved anyone else.”
Shut up, Con’s voice said.
Lucas was staring at the grass. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“Is it her money?”
“No.”
“Is she pregnant?” Oh, please, not that.
He looked at her a long minute. Something flickered through his eyes, and her stomach seized.
“No,” he said, and thank you, God, thank you. No, Lucas was paranoid about that.
“Then...I...I don’t...” she stammered. “Lucas, please.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Lucas...” Colleen took a shaking breath. Another one.
Hold on. Hang on, it’s coming, the thing that will explain this. Yep, here it is.
He doesn’t love you.
No, no, of course he does.
You’re the one who wanted to get married. He wanted to wait. Wait for something better, apparently. You were too easy. Too obvious.
Colleen cleared her throat. “I guess I’m just like my mother, then. I hear what I want to hear. See what I want to see.”
“I’m sorry.”
She wanted to slap his face, but she seemed to be paralyzed. Get out of here, Connor’s voice instructed, so she turned and walked away, the grass soft, crinkling under her bare feet.
The tears wouldn’t come, jammed hard in her throat like a fist.
She walked fast, out of town. Thank God everyone was on the green. The asphalt burned her feet as she went up the Hill, past the Luces’ driveway, up to Blue Heron, into the fields, then the woods. A little down the path, and there it was, the place she and Connor had thought was the most magical place when they were little, a stream that led down to the lake, complete with small waterfall. The water was cool and gentle, balm on her dirty, burned feet.
Lucas was getting married.
What was the phrase Dad had used? Moved on. Lucas had moved on.
Wrong again. Wrong about Dad, wrong about Lucas.
And then she cried for the loss of her first love. Cried so hard it hurt, and she understood why they called it heartbreak, because it really did seem as if she was being ripped in half from the inside out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
COLLEEN HAD GONE to college to become a nurse. Yeah, yeah, it wasn’t what most would’ve guessed. But she’d always been good at taking care of people, she thought, and doing it in a way that didn’t make her seem condescending or irritable. Her grandfather had gone into a nursing home when Colleen was a teenager, and the staff there made Colleen want to scream sometimes. “Just lift your butt for me, hon,” one nurse said once without even waiting for Colleen to leave the room. Or even worse, “Great. Another dementia patient. Just what I needed today,” as if Gramp, who’d been an English teacher in his prime, chose to have his brain cells harden and die.
And so Colleen had started helping. Got her certificate as a nurse’s assistant when she was seventeen, volunteered and then worked at Gramp’s place. Called the patients “sir” or “ma’am,” or Mrs. Carter or Mr. Slate. Explained what she was going to do before she started, whether or not they understood her or not.
“Become a doctor,” Dad had said when she told her family of her plans. “Why be low man on the totem pole when you don’t have to be?”
She didn’t want to be a doctor.
She did graduate with a degree in biology, but by then, her family had imploded and she and Lucas were done. Their great-grandmother on Mom’s side died, and the twins inherited a pretty nice nest egg. Two weeks after Lucas slammed her with his news, Connor asked her if she wanted to buy the Black Cat, which was in foreclosure, and she said sure. Being near her twin seemed like the smartest move, and she sensed that Connor felt the same way.
They spent the summer gutting the place, and the hard work enabled Colleen to fall into a near-coma each night. The noise of saws and hammers (and the jukebox, one of their first purchases) kept other thoughts at bay. She’d be in charge of management and the bar, Connor the king of the kitchen.
And though she’d never thought she’d end up as a full-time bartender, Colleen loved it. People opened up to her; Connor said there was something about her face that made people spill their guts, and it was an honor, really. And yeah, sure, mixing drinks was kind of fun, too. Tasting wines from the local vineyards, beer from the breweries...before they’d been open six months, O’Rourke’s already had a reputation as being the place for the best spirits, best beer and best wine list. And the best nachos, too.
Dad and Gail were ensconced in their swanky new house. Mom was a wreck. Connor was clenched and angry and working sixteen hours a day. Gramp lost the ability to speak, and only Colleen seemed to be able to make him seem content. So she stayed in town, the cheerful one, the fun one. She knew everyone, liked everyone (more or less), remembered baby names and boyfriends, advised on romances, recommended people for jobs, and gave the lonely a place where someone, at least, would be a friend.
Then Savannah Joy O’Rourke was born, and it was love at first sight.
“Why are you still bartending?” Dad asked one night when Gail had gone to put the baby to bed.
“I like it,” Colleen answered. She was only here to see the baby and already had her keys in hand.
“You’re smarter than that,” he said, and the words caused a starburst of anger in her chest. His old mantra, how smart the two of them were. Guess I wasn’t smart enough to see who you really were, Dad.
“I’m half owner of a successful restaurant,” she said coolly. “And yes, a bartender. An excellent bartender.”
“I thought you were going to be a doctor,” he said.
“Wrong.”
“I wish you were a doctor, hon,” Gail said, slapping on her doe-eyed stepmother smile. “We sure could use a pediatrician in this family! Savannah’s not even sleeping through the night yet! I get so tired out carrying her. I think she weighs half of what I do! Babe, maybe I need to start lifting weights, what do you think?” She held up her arm to be admired and fluttered her eyelashes, lest Dad forget that his wife was a Hot Young Thing, or, God forbid, have him focus his attention on his grown daughter.
Colleen kept working at the nursing home, just eight hours a week. She liked the old folks and was glad to be able to help her grandfather. Rushing Creek had several levels of care, and Colleen was one of the few who preferred the sickest patients.
Gramp didn’t seem to know who she was anymore, but sometimes when she held his hand, his fingers would curl around hers as if he was telling her he was still in there, and glad for her company, her love. That hurt her heart almost more than the days when he didn’t even open his eyes.
