Chapter 17 #2
Connor’s fingers hover over the keyboard. “You don’t think that’s too boring?”
“Not at all. It could mean a lot of things, like you enjoy listening to music or use them when working on projects.”
“Or that I like peace and solitude.”
I shake my head. “Okay, onto the next question. What are your favorite hobbies?” I grab his computer and pull it onto my lap. “This one’s easy.” I type fishing, woodworking, and listening to country music into the question box. He peers over my shoulder and nods his approval.
We go through a few of the simpler questions, then I shoot him a look and hold up my fist to my mouth as a fake microphone. “Connor Porter, are you ready to answer questions about what you look for in your dating life?”
His eyes twinkle with amusement as he looks at my fist, though his mouth remains a firm line, unfazed. “Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit,” I tease. “Just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind—it’s easy peasy.”
“If you say so,” he mutters.
I poise my fingers over the keyboard, ready to type. “What do you look for in a partner?”
“Nothing.”
I turn to look at him. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“I don’t plan on getting married, so I don’t really see the point in dating.” He shrugs as if he didn’t just drop the biggest bomb on my dreams of a future with him.
I clear my throat, willing myself to sound normal and not like I was just given devastating news that rocked me to my core. “Well then, hypothetically, what kind of woman would you picture yourself with?”
Connor crosses his knee and stares at the wall for so long, I’m positive he’s not going to answer.
I’m about to make something up when he finally opens his mouth.
“Someone who appreciates my desire for peace and calm and isn’t afraid to step in and be the social one at family gatherings or events.
A woman who supports my hobbies, but also has passions of her own.
Someone who doesn’t want to change me. Someone who accepts me for who I am. ”
I’m drinking in every word like they’re the final drops of a strawberry matcha.
Me, I want to scream. I’m the one you want.
It’s me. Okay, now I’m channeling my inner Elphaba, but it couldn’t be truer.
I’ve always accepted Connor just as he is.
I love how much his presence calms me. And I love when I’m able to elicit a smile or laugh out of him.
I just love being around him. How safe and grounded he makes me feel.
I start making a list in my head of reasons I need to calm down.
One: He’s only listing hypothetical things.
Two: He literally just told me he never plans on getting married.
Actually, those are the only two reasons I need.
If I can’t have all of Connor Porter—the marriage, a dozen babies, the whole shebang—I don’t want him at all.
I would never be able to settle for dating scraps when I want so much more in the future.
And if he doesn’t plan on getting married, there can’t be anything between us.
Doesn’t mean I’ll stop dreaming about his lips or the way his arms feel when they’re around me…but this is the reality check I needed.
I type his answers into the questionnaire. “Perfect.” The word comes out dull. Lifeless. But how else am I supposed to sound when every dream scenario I ever imagined, even if I knew they could never happen because he’s off-limits and never showed interest in me, was just ripped from my grasp?
I rush through the next few questions, making up most of the answers for him when he can’t think of anything. I read the final question out loud: “What is your ideal date?”
“Fishing, I guess. Or something where I can use my hands.”
I can think of plenty of ways he can put his strong, calloused hands to good use.
Well, now I’m parched.
“Mm,” I murmur, unable to string a coherent thought together. I type the words an outdoor date, including a picnic and fishing into the final question box and pass the laptop back to Connor for his approval.
His fingers brush mine as he takes the device from me, leaving a trail of fire in their wake that has me craving more of his touch. Where’s a fire hose when you need one?
Connor reads over the answers while I try to mentally cool down. “Looks good to me.” He nods. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
I jump up from the couch, ready to hightail it out of his house before I say or do something I’ll regret. “Happy to help. Well, I’ve got lots of flower things to do, so I’ll leave you to it.”
He gets up and walks me to the door like the gentleman he is. Normally, I’d appreciate the chivalry, but right now I’d much rather have a solid ten feet between us at all times to avoid doing anything stupid.
“Will I see you there?”
“Where?” I squeak.
“At the auction.”
I whirl around to face him. “Why would I be there?”
Connor slides his hands into his jean pockets and leans against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankles.
I bite back a groan. I know I’m supposed to be helping him with his confidence, but if this man knew the kind of effect a pose like that has on me, I think his ego would be bigger than the whole state of Texas.
“You, uh. It would be nice. Since you already said my family will be there and probably my crew, you know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “What I mean is, you would be a nice distraction in the crowd.”
Me? A distraction for Connor? Where do I sign on the dotted line? “I’ll be there.”
Something must be in the water at the fire stations that produces the most attractive men.
Every bachelor that steps onto the stage is gorgeous, as evidenced by all the squealing women around me who are fanning themselves with their bidding paddles.
The suspenders and turnout pants don’t hurt, either.
The only thing that would make it better is if they were shirtless.
Objectively, I can appreciate all the bachelors for their attractiveness and service to the community I’ve called home my entire life.
But, in my not-at-all-biased opinion, there’s only one man worth bidding on at this auction.
I’ve told myself a million times since helping Connor fill out the questionnaire that I will not bid on a date with him.
We don’t want the same things. I want a future filled with a husband who adores me, a whole baseball team of kids, and a house in the suburbs complete with a white picket fence.
Yet as he steps out onto the stage looking adorably shy and as handsome as I’ve ever seen him, I know I’m going to be waving my paddle in the air like a madwoman.
Because regardless of Mallory standing next to me or the fact that Connor and I don’t have the same future in mind, there’s one truth that rings even louder in my brain: I don’t want anyone else to have him.