Sunflower Alley (The Merriams Book 4) Page 10

  She whacked his arm with a menu, careful of her own glass of bubbles. “It’s on the menu, silly. You were the one who had to go all uptown with prosciutto and stuff. Thank God we could agree on a simple sausage pizza.” His lips twitched, and she whacked him again. “Is your mind in the gutter? Seriously, Connor, what’s with guys and sausage humor?”

  They were both trying to keep it light after their exchange in her apartment.

  “If you have to ask…” He raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it lightly.

  Oh my. “You trying to up your romantic quotient for the night?”

  “More like for the year,” he said, lowering their hands but keeping them entwined on top of the table. “I haven’t been out much.”

  “That’s okay,” she said with a slight smile. “I’ll be gentle with you. Ease you back in slowly.”

  Those sexy lips curved. “Like you get out much. You said you were married to your job. You also said most guys run when they hear you work with the homeless.”

  He didn’t forget anything. “Fine, it’s been a while for me too. Obviously you still know how to research restaurants and make a reservation. Sorry we were a little late.”

  “No biggie,” he said, taking a breath for reasons she couldn’t fathom. Had the person he’d lost told him about this place before he’d died? She fought the urge to ask him questions. Patience was a virtue, after all, and something told her he would require a lot of it.

  “So let me catch you up on Chicago sports,” she said, biting back the questions she’d rather ask. They filled the silence with light chatter until their pizza came. He served her a slice before she could reach for it, giving her a sexy smile as he did so. She knew he was entertained, and frankly that was good. So was the pizza, and when she took the first bite, she uttered a low moan.

  He nudged her. “Be kind to the rest of us, Louisa. We’re men. We only have so much willpower in the face of foodgasms.”

  “So have one yourself,” she said with her mouth full, making him laugh.

  He turned to his own piece, but those uncanny eyes of his continued to watch her. Even when he paused to drink either his water or prosecco, he watched her. The space between her thighs found it arousing, and she was doing her best not to show him how much he affected her.

  Usually she didn’t want to jump someone on a first date, but she did with him. Her other dating experiences had been so different. Usually, she felt the need to go out with a guy a number of times before she trusted him enough to let him into her bed, but there was something about Connor… She’d trusted him immediately, even though she hardly knew anything about him. The candor in his eyes couldn’t be faked, and even though he hadn’t told her his story, she felt she understood him. But was that a good enough reason to have sex with him tonight?

  “Is it weird being on a date with someone you can’t ask questions of?” he asked suddenly.

  Since she had food in her mouth, she took her time to chew while she thought of the best response. Somehow it was another question of import to him. “We both agree we’re weird.”

  “You’re weirder,” he said, putting his hand on her thigh. His touch sent a jolt of warmth directly to her core.

  “I’m used to lots of people who can’t or won’t tell me things about themselves,” she answered, fighting the urge to purr at his touch. “Some don’t even remember their own stories.”

  “The mentally ill,” he said, nodding. “Do you see a lot of them in the shelter?”

  Business questions. Good. This was reliable ground for them. “Across the Windy City, it’s about thirty percent, but in our neighborhood, we have less than that. Mostly because the gangs run them off. Even the mentally ill can be police witnesses.”

  “Charming.” He picked up a piece of pizza and took a big bite.

  “The street is self-regulating in some ways,” she said. “I don’t always agree with it, but I have to understand it to deal with it.”

  “You seem to deal more with families.”

  “We do, not only because they represent a major group for us but because we’ve made it our mission to be a shelter where families can come and be safe. It’s a rarity. I knew when I started out that I didn’t want to simply be a nightly motel for the homeless. I wanted to help those who wanted to turn their life around.”

  “Unlike your mother,” he said, his gaze soft. “Is that something I can ask about?”

  “I’m pretty open about it,” she said, lifting her shoulder. “What do you want to know?”

  He did that thing where he focused his entire energy and attention on her. Some would cringe at the intensity. It only pulled her in more. “What do you want to tell me that you haven’t told anyone else?”

  The feeling of lightness between them snuffed out as surely as if a power surge had fried all the bulbs in the room.

  She fell back against the back of the booth. “Wow. That’s a big ask. Do I get anything in return if I tell you?”

  His eyes shuttered. “Are we negotiating again, Louisa?”

  “I’m doing my best navigating our so-called ‘serious waters’ here. You might put your oar in and help me row the boat.”

  “Fair point,” he said, letting go of her thigh. “I can’t think if I touch you, and I need to consider this carefully.”

  “I’m beginning to think you’re more intense than weird, Connor,” she said, putting his hand back on her thigh. “It’s not an interrogation. If I ask something, you don’t have to answer.”

  “If I say I’ll answer, I will.”

  More steely focus. Who in the world was he? “Fine, take your time. I’ll finish up my pizza and my drink. If you’re still thinking, I’ll file my nails.”

  He made a rude sound. “I’ve kissed your hand tonight, so I know you don’t file your nails. You don’t paint them either.”

  She gave him her best fisheye. “So I’m not a girly girl.”

  “I have a sister like that,” he said, smiling for a moment, and then his face fell. In fact, he turned downright gray.

  “How about you tell me about your sister?” she asked.

  He swallowed thickly. “Not yet. Umm… I never say umm. Ah, how about you ask me why I knew my way around this campus.”

  “I already knew you went here,” she said, setting aside the last of her crust since she was nearly bursting.

  “You did?”

  “You lived in a Greystone apartment ‘a million years ago,’ and you’re what, forty plus. It also explains that worn University of Chicago T-shirt you had on the night I met you.”

  “I’m only forty,” he said, “and I love that shirt.”

  Maybe it was all the stress he’d been under, but he looked a little older. Not that she’d mention that. “Fine. You went here…”

  “Graduated with honors,” he said cautiously.

  “You think I’m going to try to look you up on the graduation roster back in the day? That would be like combing a haystack for a needle. Besides, I’d rather hear about you from you.” But it was tempting.

  “I appreciate that,” he said, pushing his plate aside.

  “And…”

  “You want to know more?” he asked.

  Pulling teeth went faster than getting this man to open up. “I do. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You first.”

  She rolled her eyes. “About my mom? Okay, how’s this… The only person who knows this is my counselor. I’m trusting you won’t repeat it.”

  He met her gaze. “You can trust that.”

  “The third time my mom and I ended up on the streets it was around the holidays. She didn’t have anything for me for Christmas and felt horrible about it. I’d realized early on not to say I wanted anything. It only made both of us feel worse. Anyway, she had me wait at the end of an alley the night before Christmas Eve. I know she had sex with a stranger for money so she could buy me a doll at the drugstore. It was an ugly doll with scraggly dark hair—the last one on the sh
elf, probably because no one else wanted it. I hated that doll.”

  He just looked at her for a moment, his level stare unflinching, and then edged closer and touched her face. “Louisa Evans, you are fast becoming my hero.”

  Her heart clenched. People had called her that before, but of all the things she’d expected him to say, this wasn’t it. “Why?”

  He looked away and blew out a breath before meeting her eyes again. “Because you give me hope that anything is overcomeable. Is that a word?”

  Her tightness vanished, replaced by warmth. “I like that word. Whatever happened to you is overcomeable, Connor. I truly believe that. I’m living proof of it.”

  “It’s not the only reason I’m attracted to you. Let’s be clear on that.” He squeezed her thigh to make his point. “You seem to be finished with your pizza. Do you want dessert?”

  “Can’t,” she said, patting her belly. “I’m stuffed.”

  “Shall we get the check then?” he asked. “Walk a bit?”

  A walk sounded rather romantic, she thought. “You really have no compunction about walking in the cold, do you?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “I’d love a walk, and yes, let’s get the check.” She paused, picking one question from the slew in her head. “But can I ask you just one thing? Where were you before you came back to Chicago?” Small steps, she told herself.

  “Nowhere this cold,” he answered. “Outside San Francisco.”

  She didn’t hide her surprise. “Seriously? I thought everyone from there only ate tofu cheese on their gluten-free pizza. And you don’t talk like a valley girl.”

  “Stereotypes, Louisa? I expected better.” But he was smiling as he signaled for the check.

  “Oh, I’ve disappointed you. Another blow to our date. I’m still going to come back and get that pizza with the octopus on it sometime.”

  “It was calamari, and if you’re so dead set on eating it, I’ll try it with you next time.”

  She edged closer and put her head on his shoulder. “So there’s going to be a next time?”

  “If you want it, yes,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I was going to ask you what you were doing tomorrow night.”

  She knew she shouldn’t be so pleased. Just a few hours ago, he’d tried to cancel their date. The man was an emotional ping-pong ball, and yet she was glad for it this time. “You don’t believe we should take it slow?” she asked nonetheless, baiting him. “Take the conventional approach?”

  He made a rude sound as the server slid the check on the table. “Neither one of us has a conventional bone in our body. Besides, I want to spend as much time as possible with you—while I’m here. Now that we’ve agreed we’re both on board.”

  “Where are you going afterward?” she asked, reaching for her wallet in her purse.

  “I don’t know yet,” he said, his jaw tightening a fraction.

  Fighting the urge to ask more questions, she pulled the check closer and then opened her wallet for a couple of twenties.

  “Do you seriously think I’d let you pay?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Put your money away before you piss me off.”

  “But you’re…” She stopped short, seeing his jaw slam together.

  “I am not homeless. I am not poor.”

  He’d mentioned this before, but knowing he’d gone to the University of Chicago, she’d concluded two things: he was either wealthy—or had been—or he’d gone on scholarship, meaning he was even smarter than she’d thought. Tuition was about seventy thousand a year alone, and given the academic excellence of most of the students, they didn’t give many full aid packages.

  “I wasn’t trying to piss you off,” she said, trying to break the mood. “I usually go Dutch on first dates.”

  “Most of the guys you’ve gone out with are morons then,” he said, taking out his wallet and laying down crisp twenties.

  “Yes,” she said, filing away the fact that he was also a great tipper.

  When they stood, she noticed another couple give them an assessing, almost disapproving glance. Who knew what they were thinking? Connor took her hand and lifted it to his mouth. She smiled when their eyes met, but he cast an angry look at the couple.

  Outside, she tucked her arm in his. “Something upset you?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t like how those older people were looking at us. Do you think it’s because I’m white and you’re mixed?”

  She shrugged. “I try to not let other people’s thinking affect me. Why does it bother you?”

  He cast a look back over his shoulder at the restaurant. “Because it shouldn’t matter. That kind of thinking keeps progress from being made.”

  “Not just progress, but meaningful connections like ours. My dad told me when I was real little that everyone was a color like in my crayon box—all special, all wonderful to play with. Maybe no one taught them that. We don’t know their story.”

  “Don’t know their story?” He studied her and shook his head. “Louisa, you amaze me. I’ve never met anyone so open and accepting of other people.”

  Which was maybe the best compliment she’d ever heard. “Thank you. Having empathy for other people is the only way to change things.”

  He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, staring at her with more than his usual intensity. “Come on,” he said after a moment. “Let’s walk.”

  He led her through the college campus, and they fell silent. He seemed to be lost in memories, and she felt her best course was to be present. To him and their surroundings.

  When they reached her house, he paused on the steps and took her face in his hands. She held his gaze as he lowered his head. The first brush of his lips was like a match firing to life. The second, deeper connection was more like dynamite. She leaned closer, and his hand came around her waist, bringing her against him.

  The sound that came from her throat was low and needy. Her need for him, which had pulsed stronger and stronger as the evening went on, was desperate and insistent. She opened her mouth, and they feasted on each other. His hands gripped the back of her coat, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, savoring the strong feel of his chest.

  He was breathing hard when he released her. “Tomorrow night. Same time. Be sure you want me and this, because I don’t want to walk away next time.”

  Before she could debate asking him inside, he was striding off down the sidewalk. Stopping, he flicked his hand at her, as if to urge her to go inside. That was what stopped her from waving for him to come back. He needed to respect they were both equal, in bed and out. She fumbled for her key and opened the door. But he didn’t leave until she was inside and had thrown the deadbolt.

  Leaning back against the door, she took calm, soothing breaths.

  Tomorrow night, she decided, they would be coming home together.

  Chapter 9

  So much for secrets.

  Arthur heard Clara gasp as they entered the main room of their suite after returning from dinner. And no wonder. The entire Merriam family was gathered inside. Clara’s brother, Shawn, and his wife, Assumpta, sat on one of the couches across from their girls, Caitlyn and Michaela, who were sitting next to their fiancés, Beau and Boyd, while the boys—Flynn, J.T., Trevor, and Quinn—stood in a huddle. Arthur’s niece, Caroline, who was married to J.T., was nestled in with their group. Somehow he doubted this was about Clara’s million-dollar donation yesterday.

  “A pleasure to see everyone in the Windy City,” Hargreaves said, not missing a beat. “I’ll prepare the appropriate beverages. Excuse me.”

  “Well, this is a surprise,” Arthur said, clasping Clara’s hand hard, knowing she was searching for what to say. She’d be worried too, of what the others would think.

  Assumpta Merriam stood as her husband rose to his feet. “I’d like to say it’s wonderful to be back in my old city, but we’re here on a serious matter, as I’m sure you’ve guessed from Flynn’s illegal entry into your suite.”

  “Sorry
about that, Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara,” Flynn said with a grimace. “There were too many of us to wait in the hallway outside your room. And the lobby was so drafty.”

  “Drafty, eh?” Arthur chuckled, deciding a direct approach was the best. “What? Afraid we might run? At our age?”

  Caitlyn shot forward past her fiancé. “I knew you were up to something when we FaceTimed the other night and you wouldn’t tell me where you were. Another honeymoon, hah.”

  “At our age, I can see how you might not have believed it possible,” Arthur said. “But your aunt has decided we’re always on a honeymoon. Now, come here and give an old man a hug.”

  Clara worried her rings. “We were only trying to help. That’s important for everyone to understand.”

  “And we do,” Shawn said, crossing to his sister and putting his hands on her shoulders. “I have to admit I was shocked when Flynn showed me pictures of you two with Connor at Corey’s gravesite. But I knew you must have had a good reason for keeping it from us.”

  “A damn good one,” she said, hugging him hard.

  Assumpta joined them and put her hand on Clara’s back. “We’ve come too far these past few months to doubt you. But tell me truly, how’s my boy?”

  Arthur knew Assumpta had a steel backbone, so the way her voice cracked as she called Connor my boy almost broke his heart. “Hurt and angry as you might imagine. We’re still trying to figure him out, but he gave us a ringside seat on the condition we wouldn’t tell you we’d found him.”

  Clara nodded. “He threatened to disappear, and we believed him.”

  “You were wise to,” Trevor said. “He was giving us fits until he visited Olivia.”

  “Of course, we already knew you were watching Olivia’s house too.” Flynn picked up a file on a side table and started laying out large black and white photos of them on stakeout. “Nice flask, Aunt Clara. I never knew stakeouts could be so posh.”