know.
Chapter Six
She wasn’t coming. Connor checked his watch for what had to be the fifth time. It was 1.15 p.m. and Bridget didn’t strike him as someone who was anything other than punctual. She carried herself with the charm and class of a true Southern belle. With her sexy drawl and sensitivity, she was all gentility and refinement, but he sensed something in her. An eroticism that she seemed to keep under lock and key. That mystery, that enigmatic quality had kept her in the forefront of his thoughts ever since their coffee date. Hell, it had kept her the main star in all his fantasies as well.
He hadn’t been so intrigued by a woman in a very long time. He liked that she was older too. Not that he was a baby, or she even that old. But he was 28 and, while she’d not admitted her actual age to him, he was guessing late 30s from some of the cultural references she’d dropped about growing up. The 80s was definitely her era.
Maybe it was growing up the way he had with his grandparents. They were in their late 70s when he’d gone to live with them. Maybe it was having to assume the role of caretaker when he was so young, but he’d never really fit with the girls in his age range. He was too serious. He wasn’t enough fun.
Well, it was damned hard to be “fun” when you had to worry about Gran falling and breaking a hip while you were at school because she was too damn stubborn to ask for help. How could you not be “serious” when you had to rush home every day and make sure your grandfather was taking his medication as prescribed before going to your after-school job at the drugstore because from the age of 14 you’d been helping make ends meet.
His grandparents had loved him. So had his parents. Connor could honestly say he’d never been without love growing up. But when his grandpa had come down with lung cancer, the brunt of the responsibility had fallen to Connor. His grandmother simply hadn’t been capable since senility had already burrowed in like a tick. Her moments of lucidity were too few and far between for her to be a reliable caretaker. So, Connor had done the only thing he could. He’d become a man at 14. He’d stepped in and filled the void as best he could.
Then, he’d buried them both when he was 16.
His chest clenched even now in grief. He’d loved them as much as they’d loved him. When his parents had died, they’d welcomed him with open arms. They’d kept his parents’ memories alive and had encouraged him to be whatever he wanted to be. Some days, he wondered if they’d be disappointed with how he’d turned out.
He had a small sum of money put away; the little bit that was left after selling his grandparents’ house. It was the only thing of value they had to leave him, but he hadn’t wanted to go back there. After his two year stint in the foster system, he’d just wanted to get the hell away from Maryland. The neighbourhood the house was in had gone downhill and he’d had enough of depressing, rundown neighbourhoods. He’d sold everything, banked the money, and made his way north before finally settling in Vermont.
The decision to stay in River Rock had been a complete fluke. He’d landed in town because a photographer he admired was having a show and giving a lecture at the university and he’d wanted to sit in on it. It had been the height of spring when the foliage was new and the flowers were in bloom. After leaving the bus station, he’d walked for a bit to stretch his legs and had come to the main street. It had endeared him immediately to the town. Appearing straight out of a storybook with its simulated gas lamps, and flower boxes, it had vintage-style shops owned by real people not corporate giants. He’d been captivated.
The university had sealed the deal, though. When he’d walked the quad to get to the lecture, he’d barely been able to go two steps without finding something to capture his imagination. He almost missed the lecture because