“So, you’re really going to quit and walk away from all this over a woman?” Incredulity etched his father’s face.
“No, I’m going to resign because I want something more for myself. This whole thing with the distillery, with Cameron, and you staying on…it just made me realize that it isn’t what I want.”
“And what do you want, son?”
Connor’s chest squeezed at the affectionate term that had come too late to be of any value. “The truth is, I don’t know. Something smaller, I think.”
“And the Dyer girl? Do you want her, too?”
Connor grinned. He knew the answer to that question. “Please. Call her Emerson. And I do, more than anything. The jury is still out on if we’ll be able to get past this. Cameron’s trick may have done irreparable damage.”
His father paused. A long, deep sigh escaped his lips. “I’ll find out who broke into your office and mailed that to the Dyer—to Emerson.”
“Thanks, Dad. Look, I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch. I’ll make sure I do a proper handoff. And if you decide to act on replacing Cameron, I’ll help find a replacement.”
Donovan looked crestfallen. Losing his son, and potentially his brother, wouldn’t be an easy burden to bear. “Was she happy?”
“Emerson? No, she was pissed and tore me a new one.”
His father smiled sadly. “I meant Rebecca. Did Paul give her a good life?”
Connor’s heart ached for his father for a moment. In the early hours that very morning, he’d felt a sense of panic that he’d not be able to make things right with Emerson. To feel that way for the rest of his life would be horrific. “Yeah, Dad. He did. They were good together. Loved each other. Loved their kids. And Paul never attempted to find another woman after Rebecca died. Emerson told me he once said that he’d had his one chance at true love with Rebecca and that he’d never been able to get his head around replacing her.”
Donovan swallowed deeply. “Good,” he said gruffly. “That’s good.”
A realization hit Connor. What was it his mother had said when he’d spoken with her about their divorce?
I always felt like I was second fiddle. I sometimes think he married me on the rebound from that darn distillery. And the way he threw himself into his work at that time left him with no time or energy for me, or for us. He was a husband and father in name only.
It wasn’t the business he’d rebounded from. It was Rebecca Dyer. His mother would never need to know.
“I’m sorry, Dad. About Rebecca. I get it. I worry Emerson isn’t going to get over this.”
Silence settled over the room. He wondered what Emerson was doing right now. She was his next stop, but he knew he couldn’t go see her until he’d righted this part of his life, this part of his story, first. He needed her to know that she had nothing to worry about from his motivations.
All he wanted was to love her.
“I suppose I should meet her at some point,” Donovan said eventually.
Connor stood. “I’d like that, Dad. You’ll really like her. From what I’ve heard, she’s very much like her mother.”
His father stood and walked over to him, reaching for his hand. “In that case, I wish you luck in fixing things. I hope she listens to you.”
“Me too,” Connor said, shaking and then releasing his father’s hand.
Because he couldn’t imagine another hour without her in his life.
Chapter Sixteen
Emerson pulled up outside Connor’s building and stared upward in the direction of his apartment. She’d sat alone with her thoughts in her office for a little while after her meeting with Jake and Liv.
Words hadn’t come when she opened her phone to find messages from Connor about wanting to meet up with her. He’d thoughtfully stayed away from the distillery but had offered to meet her wherever she wanted.
His place was close by. It was private. No more spying from Connor’s dubious uncle.
While she’d be safer in her home, she needed somewhere to retreat to if the meeting didn’t go as she hoped.
She stepped out of her car and locked it, straightened her jacket, and walked into the building. As she entered the elevator, she thought of the night they’d spent together just last weekend, of the way he’d kissed her in the very spot she now stood. She’d never look at the mirrored walls the same way again.
Nerves fluttered in her stomach like trapped butterflies trying to escape, and goddamn if her palms weren’t a little bit sweaty.
The door to his apartment loomed down the corridor, and the walk down the gray carpet felt like the length of a mile. As she approached, she took a deep breath to steady herself, then knocked firmly.
Footsteps grew louder as he walked toward the door, and Emerson’s butterflies grew proportionately with the sound.
“Hey,” Connor said, pulling the door wide open so she could pass by. He reached for her but then pulled back. “Sorry. Habit. We should talk first.”
He looked as unhappy as she felt, and her first thought was how wonderful it would have felt to be wrapped in those strong arms of his, to rest her face against his chest while he held her.
“I agree.” She placed her purse on a hook by the door as she had gotten into the habit of doing.
Emerson walked to the living room and sat down on the leather sofa.
“Can I get you a drink? Wine or coffee or something?” Connor asked, rubbing his palms down the front of his jeans. Perhaps he was as nervous as she felt.
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
Connor joined her on the sofa, sitting close enough that she could feel the warmth that always emanated from him, but not close enough that they touched. The vibration
