Chapter 6
Connor
T his is crazy. I know it’s crazy.
I came to terms with that sometime around six a.m., after lying awake all night with my usually measured thoughts running wild, insisting I couldn’t make the same mistake with Wendy Ann that I made with Coralee. I couldn’t sit on my hands and take a woman like this for granted, especially not when Wendy Ann and I have a more powerful, magnetic connection than I ever had with my ex.
In just one night, Wendy Ann McGuire got so deep under my skin that watching her walk up the path to her apartment after I dropped her off was physically painful. I couldn’t stand to see her go, not for a night, let alone for the rest of our lives.
And it wasn’t like eloping was my first solution. I brainstormed and discarded half a dozen plans before landing on this one, but none of those options seemed right. They were all sad, cowardly compromises, and she deserves so much more than that.
She deserves a man who’s willing to lay it all on the line for her, and I am.
I turn to tell her as much, to assure her that I’ll rearrange my life in whatever way she deems necessary to make this work. But when I see her bone white face and wide, frantic eyes, all I can do is reach for her hand and beg her to, “Breathe.”
“I am breathing,” she gasps, her fingers clinging so tightly to mine that my bones grind together. “I think.” She sucks in a breath and exhales a wheezing sound.
“What’s wrong? Are you afraid of flying? Do you need some water or?—”
“I don’t know your middle name,” she pants, her lips draining of color, too. “Or how old you are. Or your favorite color or food or song or if you’re secretly a gaslighting psychopath who will slowly erode my sense of self until I’m a shadow of the person I used to be, isolated far from the people who love me and too broken to realize I have the power to free myself from our toxic relationship.”
I laugh, I can’t help it, but immediately regret it when her eyes begin to shine.
Smile vanishing, I shift in my seat to face her, releasing her fingers to cup her face in both hands. I lean in, holding her gaze as I promise, “I will never hurt you. I swear. I’d jump off a building first. I only want to celebrate you and support you. I think you’re…amazing. The most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’re so funny and honest and sexy and smart. You’re a light in the cold, dark room I didn’t realize I was living in until I met you. Why on earth would I do anything to snuff that light out?”
She blinks faster, but her breath begins to come in deeper inhalations and exhalations and the color slowly returns to her lips.
“And my middle name is James,” I add. “My favorite song is anything by Hozier, my favorite food is Korean barbeque, and my favorite color is…” I search her expression, feeling like I could stare at her for the rest of our lives and never get tired of watching her thoughts and feelings play out on her pretty face. “The exact color of your eyes,” I add, knowing it probably sounds cheesy, but it’s true.
Her lips tremble at the edges. “My middle name is Ann.” She exhales a nervous laugh. “Obviously. And I love Tori Amos and olives, all kinds, green and black, and my favorite color is soft, buttery yellow, like the sunrise in winter.”
“Hozier and Tori Amos go well together,” I say, letting my hands drop to take hers again, relieved to feel that her fingers are much warmer than they felt before.
“They do,” she agrees. “They’re both so unique and intense and…brave.”
I nod. “They feel it all and they feel it hard.”
Her eyes widen. “Yes. Exactly! I used to think that if I felt half as much as Tori Amos felt in a day, I wouldn’t survive past ten a.m. I loved hearing her sing about feelings, but I wasn’t a fan of feeling them myself. I intuitively sensed that if I gave them an inch, they’d take a mile. That if I let my curiosity about that part of life run wild, it might…” She winces and gives a little shake of her head. “Never mind. I’m being melodramatic.”
“No, please, I—” I break off, waiting until the captain has finished announcing that we’ve reached cruising altitude and thanking us for our business to add, “Please tell me. Don’t ever feel like you have to hold back with me. I want to know everything about you. Truly.”
She chews her bottom lip for a moment before apparently deciding to trust me. “I thought if I indulged my curiosity about human emotion, it might…damage me. Mentally. I’ve always prided myself on being analytical and logical, but there’s nothing logical about the way people behave. Trying to understand why people feel what they feel and what drives them to feel that way…” Her brow furrows. “There’s so much pain and suffering in the world, so much pointless, senseless loss, so many broken people that would have led beautiful lives if they’d received one solitary drop of kindness instead of injustice and cruelty, over and over again. There’s no logic to any of it, no rhyme or reason or pattern that makes any sense. I knew if I let myself get too close to all that, it would change the way I think forever and…probably not in a good way.” She flashes a tight smile. “Not in a way that would make me a good data analyst or statistician anyway.”
I tip my head closer to hers, even more drawn to her than I was before. “I get it. Believe me, I do. It’s why I have to hold my emotions at a distance at work sometimes. If I didn’t, seeing children suffering from diseases I can’t cure, or being raised by people I know aren’t giving them the love and compassion they deserve…it would grind my heart into hamburger meat. Sometimes, it’s okay not to dive all the way down the rabbit hole after our curiosity. There’s only so much the human mind can handle. Even a brain as big and beautiful as yours.”
Hope flickers in her gaze as her hand drifts to squeeze my bicep below the sleeve of my shirt. “I like your brain, too. So much.” She smiles, an amused grin I don’t understand until she adds, “You flexed when I touched you.”
Embarrassed to realize she’s right, I laugh as I relax my bicep. “Sorry. Primitive mating response. I like to think I’m more evolved than that, but…”
She laughs and squeezes my arm again. “Don’t apologize. I like it. My primitive mating response likes your primitive mating response.”
I lean closer again, drawn to her lips like the air conditioning after a long run in the summer heat. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, angling her head to one side. “Thanks for talking me down from the ledge.”
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, my lips brushing hers with the words, making me ache.
But before I can kiss her, she says, “But you still haven’t told me how old you are. I don’t remember from when I was little. I just remember that you were so much older, you seemed like a grown-up.”
“Thirty-five,” I say, curling my hand around her thigh, wishing we were alone in one of those privacy pods they have on some overseas flights. I’ve never had any urge to join the mile high club, but I’m desperate to touch her, to give her pleasure, to show her in the most visceral way that she can trust me to take care of her. “You’re twenty-seven, right? About the same age as my brother?”
She shakes her head, sending her lips skimming back and forth over mine, making my blood pump faster. “No. He’s three years older.”
I pull back far enough to pull her face into focus. “What? So, you’re…twenty-four?”
She nods. “I am. That’s part of what made it so weird that Petey was the one constantly being disgusting in the sandbox. He was old enough that he really should have known better.”
I blink, my thoughts racing as I assimilate this new information. “So, we have an eleven-year age gap.” I exhale, not liking the guilty feeling swelling in my chest.
“We do,” she says, her gaze dropping to my hand as I slide it from her thigh. “Does that bother you?”
“A little,” I confess. “I’ve always dated women close to my own age. Or older. I wouldn’t want you to think I was…I don’t know, fetishizing your youth or taking advantage of?—”
She laughs, easing some of my worry. “Oh, I wouldn’t. I don’t. I’m not worried about that. I’m just…” She shrugs, glancing up at the flight attendant moving down the aisle toward us. “An age gap can make certain decisions more urgent than they might normally be. Like, kids, for example. If you want them, you’d probably want them pretty soon, right?”
I start to answer, but the flight attendant arrives beside us, smiling as she asks us if we’d prefer chicken or beef for our lunch. We both ask for chicken and club soda, waiting until she departs to return to our conversation.
“I would like kids, but I’m happy to wait,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to rush a big decision like that. And I intend on staying fit enough to play with my kids well into my fifties, so…”
“What if I can’t have children?” she asks. “I mean, most of the McGuire women are alarmingly fertile, but I could be the exception. Would you be open to adoption? Because I don’t think fertility treatments are for me. It just doesn’t feel like the right choice for me, personally, when there are so many kids who need parents.”
I nod. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.” My lips curve as I confess, “I mean, I can’t deny that I like the idea of a little girl or boy with your big blue eyes, but if we ran into fertility issues, I’m absolutely open to adoption.”
“Looks like we’re on the same page then, Dr. Sinclair.” She bites her bottom lip, trapping a grin that pops through a moment later. “We literally met last night, Connor James Sinclair, and today we’re talking about kids and running off to get married. Our parents are going to lose their minds when they find out. Are we insane?”
“Do you feel insane?” I ask.
She hesitates only a moment before slowly shaking her head. “No, I don’t. But we should probably figure out how we’re going to move forward. I’m assuming you want me to move with you to wherever you’re going?” She frowns. “Where are you going, by the way? You never said.”
“Boston,” I say, relieved when happiness flares in her eyes. “You like Boston?”
“I’ve never been, but if my remote work goes in person in the next year, that’s where I would have been moving anyway.”
My smile stretches so wide it hurts a little. “I don’t really believe in Fate, but if I did…”
“She’s on our side,” Wendy Ann says, grinning as she pulls out her tray table. “I’m suddenly starving, how about you?”
“Famished,” I agree, pulling out my tray, as well.
Our food is delivered a moment later and we tuck into our lunch, talking nonstop about my teaching job at Boston University, my charming one-bedroom apartment in an old Victorian near Beacon Hill, and the season tickets to the symphony I purchased as soon as my job was confirmed.
“I love the symphony,” Wendy Ann says. “I’ve only been twice, in Minneapolis when I was little, back when Gran was alive, but it was magical.”
“I have two season tickets,” I say, getting more excited for our life together with every passing moment. “I bought an extra, just in case, even though romance wasn’t really on my agenda.”
“I’m glad it’s on your agenda now.” She tilts her head thoughtfully to one side. “Speaking of romance, should we get a prenup? Is that something you can do in a few hours before a rushed Vegas wedding?”
I laugh. “Why? You don’t trust me with half your assets?”
She shakes her head seriously. “No, it’s you I’m worried about. I’m fresh out of college. Thanks to scholarships, I don’t have student loan debt, but I don’t have much to lose, either. I’ve barely had time to start saving up for an emergency fund. You’ve already owned a successful business and sold that business. I’m sure your bottom line is much healthier than mine.”
I nod in acknowledgement of her point. “It’s pretty healthy. I’ve paid off all my loans and have a nice nest egg saved for a down payment on a house when the time is right.”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re putting that at risk. Marrying a stranger is one thing. Giving her half of your life’s savings when the marriage crashes and burns is another. I mean, I can promise you I wouldn’t try to take anything from you, but…I’m not sure that’s enough in this situation. I really want you to feel safe, and to be positive all I want from you is to be your friend and partner.”
I reach for her hand, enfolding it in both of mine. “I am positive. I’m not afraid.”
“But—”
“I see you, Wendy Ann,” I say. “I see what a good person you are. The last thing I’m worried about is you taking me to court.”
“What are you worried about?” she asks.
“Not much,” I say, feeling the truth of the words in the way that eases the tension in my shoulders. “I mean, I’m a little concerned about what our families are going to think, but I’m too excited to marry you to care. And we’ll be headed to Boston together soon, anyway. They’ll have some time and distance to come to terms with everything while we’re getting settled in our new home.”
Her smile widens. “I’m so excited. I’ve never lived in a city before, but it sounds amazing. I want to walk to restaurants and to the park and museums. I want to eat at rooftop restaurants and bring my groceries home in a little cart and ride public transportation.”
I laugh. “Yeah? You’re excited about public transportation?”
“Totally. Think about the people watching! It will be tremendous.”
“And what about doing our laundry at the laundromat every weekend?” I ask, teasing her. “Are you excited about dragging laundry down three flights of stairs in our Victorian and four blocks down the street to the laundromat? Where we’ll have to sit with our clothes for hours to make sure no one steals them?”
She makes a less excited sound low in her throat. “Ugh, no, that sounds awful. We’ll just have to try not to sweat too much and wear our jeans at least four times before we wash them.”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “I sprung for a unit with a washer and dryer in the bathroom. I had enough of the laundromat when I was living in Minneapolis.”
“Tell me about Minneapolis,” she says, as the flight attendant collects our trays. “I want to hear all about your life. Was residency as hard as Barrett says it is? My sister-in-law, Wren, is in med school now, and they’re already stressing about how they’re going to make it work with two young children and Barrett working full time.”
“Wow, yeah,” I say, shaking my head as I let out a long breath. “That won’t be easy. Even juggling a relationship and residency was hard. It’s a grueling few years, for sure. But Barrett knows what she’s in for, and that should help. She won’t be going in blind.”
We order coffees and settle in under a fleece blanket, talking nonstop as the plane soars toward Las Vegas. Just like last night, the time flies by when I’m with this woman. It feels like catching up with an old friend I’ve missed every day that we’ve been apart. I can’t shove her words into my ears fast enough, can’t steal enough kisses, can’t wait to have her alone in our hotel room, and make love to my wife for the first time.
My wife…
By the end of the night, this woman is going to be my wife.
Maybe miracles really do happen, after all.