Page 97 of My Favorite Mistake

He squinted briefly and then held out his hand. “Come on in.”

She took his hand and followed him into the kitchen. It was much longer than it was wide, but it was still quite roomy. A small, round wood table sat in a small breakfast nook next to the door to the porch, and a large island took up the center of the room. The walls were painted a dusty blue, and they complemented the gray flecks in the polished granite countertops, upon which sat a knife block, a coffee maker, an old iPod in a docking station, and a number of bottles of scotch, whiskey, and wine. Large ceramic tiles covered the floor, and the appliances were gleaming stainless steel. White cabinets with glass doors showcased charming, yet minimal dishes. For a house that had been inhabited for ten years, it sure was stark.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asked after disappearing into the pantry and reemerging with a foil-covered plate.

“It just doesn’t look like you’re here very much.”

He peeled back the foil and slid the plate across the island toward her. “I’m here plenty.”

She picked up a cookie and tasted the caramel glaze. “It looks like you just moved in.”

He reached for the iPod, touched a button, and Duke Ellington began to quietly play. “I just like things simple and tidy.”

Liza stood with her hip leaning against the island and took a bite of the cookie while he watched her, leaning against the opposite counter with his palms planted on it at his sides.

“Your kitchen is so tidy it makes me worry about dropping crumbs.”

Connor grabbed a cookie, took a huge bite, and then dusted the crumbs off his mouth and onto the floor. He offered a closed-mouth, chipmunk-cheek smile. “Feel better?” he mumbled through full cheeks.

She stifled a laugh. “No, now I just want to sweep your floor.”

He stuffed the rest of the cookie in his mouth, chewing and swallowing as he brushed his hands together, scattering more crumbs on the floor. “So, spill it.”

“Spill what? My crumbs?”

Connor leaned back against the counter. “Something’s bothering you. What’s up?”

“Hmm.” Liza popped the last piece of cookie in her mouth as she turned away from him to roll the foil back down over the plate. “Actually, now that I’ve had my cookie, I think I’m going to head out.”

“Don’t. Stay here and talk to me.”

She wavered. “You hate talking.”

“No, I hate talking aboutmyfeelings.” He stood next to her and inclined his head into her line of sight. “I don’t mind hearing about yours.”

Emotions began threatening in her chest. “I don’t really have feelings to talk about.”

“You’re so full of it, Liza. Your face gives away everything, every time. What’s going on?”

She looked at the counter as she swept the stray crumbs into a small pile. “You don’t remember me taking you home last weekend.”

“Well…” He drummed his fingertips on the granite. “I guess I kind of overdid it.”

“Maybe a little. You mostly just seemed really tired. I think because you got a bit emotional. High-running emotions can exhaust a person.”

“I suppose.” Connor turned to lean against the island and face her, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “So, you took me home. And Scott said my dad showed up at some point. Did you two cross paths?”

She piled the crumbs into a tiny mountain. “Briefly.”

“And did he bother you?”

She cast him a side glance. “You really think your dad would do something to bother me?”

“He can be kind of abrasive.”

“He has good manners,” she countered. “He maintained them for the most part.”

“For the most part,” he echoed. “What about the least part?”

---