“Then there will be time for that coffee,” Thomas assessed, picking up the large containers as if they weighed next to nothing.
The minute the truck was loaded, he asked Jake if he’d need a hand unloading at the job site.
“No, I’m good,” Jake said, though he couldn’t seem to stop frowning. “Thanks for the help.”
“No problem,” Thomas said.
“You should get going,” Connie told her brother. “You only have a few more hours of daylight to get started. You know Mr. Carlson will have a fit if he doesn’t see at least some progress today after all these delays for the weather.”
“Right,” Jake said, though he still appeared reluctant to leave.
When he’d finally driven off, Thomas turned to her. “Well, that went well, don’t you think?”
Connie laughed, despite her nervousness. “In what universe? My brother senses that there’s something going on with us. He’s not going to be happy until he figures out what it is.”
Thomas caught her gaze and held it. “Is there something going on with us?” he asked quietly. “Or am I the only one who feels anything?”
She wanted to deny it, to buy herself more time before committing to exploring these feelings that washed over her every time he was nearby.
She eventually drew in a deep breath, then said, “You’re not the only one.” She met his gaze. “You have to admit, though, that this is scary. Or is it just terrifying for me, because I haven’t dated anyone for years?”
“Oh, it’s terrifying,” he said with total sincerity. “Because I know even better than you the dangers of messing this up. The wrath of the entire family will come down on my head.”
“Not on mine?” she asked with a smile.
“I’m older. I’m a man. And everyone knows I’m a terrible risk. The blame will definitely be all mine.”
“If it’s going to be that dire, are you sure you want to risk it?” she asked, then gestured to herself. “Look at me. No makeup. Dirt from head to toe. The fashion sense of a tomboy. Am I worth it?”
Thomas didn’t seem to be the slightest bit put off by her description or her appearance. Instead, he took a step closer, tucked a finger under her chin and kissed her.
It wasn’t the smoldering kiss of two people wildly in love. It wasn’t a prelude to immediate, no-holds-barred sex. It was the gentle, tentative, exploratory kiss of a man trying to prove that his feelings were real, a man willing to wait for more.
When he stepped back, there was a smile on his lips and in his eyes. “Let’s go have that coffee, okay?”
“You have to at least give me fifteen minutes to clean up,” she pleaded. “I refuse to be seen with you in public looking like this. I’ll meet you at Sally’s or wherever you’d like to go.”
He seemed hesitant. “You won’t chicken out?”
“My knees may be knocking together and I may be second-guessing myself, but I’m no coward. I’ll be there,” she promised.
Thomas nodded. “That’s good enough for me. Don’t take too long, okay? I think you look great just the way you are.”
She peered at him intently. “Are you going blind or something?”
He laughed. “Nope. I swear to you I’m seeing more clearly than I have in years.”
After he’d gone, Connie raced back to her house instead of to the office. It took a bit longer than the fifteen minutes she’d promised, but the way Thomas’s eyes lit up when she walked into Sally’s told her the extra time had been worth it.
“Your coffee’s cold,” he said. “I’ll order another cup.”
Connie doubted she’d have noticed if it was colder than ice because suddenly the temperature in Sally’s felt like a hundred and ten. She tried to recall one single date in her forty-plus years that had rattled her this badly. Maybe her first one with Sam years and years ago, but she doubted it.
Thomas was gazing at her intently. He leaned forward and confided, “I know we had dinner just a couple of weeks ago, but this feels more like a first date to me. I don’t think I was this nervous when I asked Mindy Jefferson to the eighth grade dance.”
Connie breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought it was just me.”
“It’s going to get easier,” he promised her.
“You think so?”
His gaze held hers. “We’ll just have to keep practicing until it does.”
A smile spread across her face. “I like the way you think, Thomas O’Brien.”
He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Ditto, Connie Collins.”
She found the warm, work-roughened texture of his hand comforting. His grasp felt like a man’s. There was strength and reassurance and confidence in his grip, all traits that had been in short supply in her life with Sam, a man so selfish he’d left because he’d hated sharing her time with his own daughter.
“Tell me about your ex-husband,” Thomas said, still holding her hand in his. “What happened?”
“He’s hardly worth talking about,” she said.
“Is he still around?”
“No, he moved away not long after the divorce. He and Jenny barely have any relationship at all. My brother’s been more of a dad to her than Sam ever was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I don’t think I realized it was possible for anyone to not care about their own child. I probably should have paid more attention when he talked about not wanting kids, but I figured he was just scared.”
Thomas nodded. “I imagine most people are terrified before they take that step.”
“Would you be?”
Thomas looked startled by the question. “I used to think I wanted kids. Anybody being around my brothers and their families would envy them those connections. When I got divorced, though, I was glad there weren’t any children to be affected by it. I saw how awful it was for Mick’s kids when Megan left.”
“Jenny was too young to be affected that much by Sam taking off, but I know over the years she
