Alyssa wandered into the kitchen wearing a pair of slim jeans and a bright yellow sweater. “You don’t look old enough to be my mom,” he said, and Alyssa blushed.
“Okay, what did you do that you need to kick it off with compliments? Do you need bail?”
Connor laughed. “If I needed bail, I wouldn’t be here asking you in person. And can’t a son compliment his mother once in a while?”
She fluffed her hair. “Fine, yes, I don’t age. I’m Denver’s very own Dorian Gray.” She took the cup he offered and sat on the stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter. “What’s up?”
Man, where to start. He’d tackle the easiest part first. “I met someone,” he blurted.
His mom reached across the counter and grabbed his hand. “You did? Tell me about her.” Excitement lit up her face, and he decided to let her have her moment of enjoyment before he told her the bad news.
“Her name’s Emerson. She’s brunette, but it has hints of red and gold if it catches the light right. And pretty brown eyes that crinkle when she smiles. She hates my meal prep food but doesn’t mind when I disappear to swim or bike or run or whatever.”
“I’m not going to swoon over the way you noticed the colors in her hair even though that’s the cutest thing ever. Do you have pictures?”
Connor pulled out his phone. He’d taken some pictures of them, of her, when they’d been hiking. “Here.” He pushed the phone toward his mom.
“Oh, Connor, she looks lovely. But more than that, the way you look at her…” She put her hand over her mouth, and he couldn’t decide if she was in shock or about to cry.
“Okay, Mom…it’s not that big a deal.”
“It’s a big deal, Connor. Does she make you happy?”
He rolled his eyes at that. “Do you think I’d be telling you about her if she didn’t?”
His mom grinned. “Right. Yes. Of course. How did the two of you meet?”
He told her about the flight, about ending up in the same seat.
“Kismet,” she declared. “I always thought you’d find the woman you were meant to marry when you weren’t looking.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just leap straight to the M-word.”
Alyssa gestured with her hand as if brushing him away. “Oh, shush. What does she do?”
Connor paused, and momentarily the joy he’d felt at telling his mom slipped. “Her name’s Emerson Dyer.”
“Oh, what a lovely name, and she does what for…oh. Oh. Like the Dyers?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And after Paul Dyer’s death, she’s the Dyer.”
Alyssa cupped her mug and took a large gulp. “I’m taking it that your father has no idea about this yet?”
“That would be correct.”
For a moment, they were both silent.
“Do you love her?” his mother asked.
“That’s the easiest part in all of this. Yes. Yes, I do.” After her bathroom declaration forty-eight hours earlier, he’d never been more certain of anything. His feelings for her had been growing at such a strong and sudden pace, he’d struggled to articulate it. But when he’d come home from the gym to find her in bed, in his hoodie, her tear-stained face on his pillow, he’d realized he’d do just about anything to fix whatever had upset her.
And watching her rally to hand out candy the previous evening had solidified the idea that he loved her. He could see the two of them, handing out candy to children together for the next fifty years.
“And what’s her take on this feud between your fathers?”
Connor shook his head. “That’s the weirdest part of all this. She knows nothing about it. We’ve talked at length about the beginnings of the distillery, and she has all these photographs and information about the start. I saw Dad in one photograph, otherwise there’s no mention of him. Emerson is completely unaware that Dad has hated them all these years.”
Her mother frowned. “That is the oddest thing.”
Connor walked around the kitchen counter and pulled out the other stool. “Now, I don’t know how to tell her that I knew about her family before we met. And I made this proposal to Dad that we divest from mass liquor into more artisanal products. Dad got on board with the idea, but now he actually wants to buy Dyer’s because he heard they are in financial difficulty.”
His mother placed her hand on his knee. “Oh, Connor. And are they in trouble?”
He took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter, acrid even, as it went down his throat. “Nothing that will take them out of business, but they’ve taken some knocks, not least that Paul died.”
“That must be a lot for Emerson,” his mother said.
Connor nodded. “It is. And you know the craziest thing?”
“What’s that?”
“From what I’ve learned about him, I actually really like Paul Dyer. Did you ever meet him?”
Alyssa stood and wandered to look out of the kitchen window. “I didn’t. I met your father four months after Paul had stolen the company from him. Two or three months later, I was pregnant. I was still twenty-one, and Donovan swept me off my feet. I didn’t see then just how bitter he was.” She turned around. “I’ve often thought of Paul as the other person in our marriage. I think that’s the reason we didn’t last.”
“In what way?”
His mom pursed her lips. “I don’t know, Connor. Your father grieved the loss of the company something fierce and was consumed with working every hour God sent to beat Paul.” She put air quotes around beat. “He’d spend so much time talking about how different his life would be if Paul hadn’t taken everything that mattered to him.”
“I can only imagine how bad it was back then, that it still bothers him right now.”
Alyssa nodded. “I always
