Anything For You. Kristan Higgins

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      And since high school, when she’d been working toward getting Davey and herself out of the trailer park and away from her parents, she hadn’t dated anyone. There was no need to; Davey had a reputation as being liked by a lot of big, strong guys, and the bullying had mostly stopped. He was as safe as she could make him.

      But now she was on a walk with a gorgeous man who was funny and thoughtful, who hadn’t made her feel like trash when he’d seen her embarrassing attempt at rhythm and stripping, who scrambled eggs for her, who didn’t ask prying questions about her family...who just seemed to like her, and who had been amazing in bed the five—and counting—times they’d done the deed.

      She was pretty sure she didn’t deserve this. Pretty sure the other shoe was about to drop.

      Hence, the rules. Hopefully, they would soften the blow.

      They met when she could get away, always at his tiny apartment, sometimes in the morning, when Davey was at school, sometimes late at night, just for an hour or so. She’d leave a note for Davey—Going for a run!—and a stick figure drawing of her doing just that, then ask Ricky, the guy who lived next door, to keep the baby monitor on his porch; the houses were so close together that if Davey woke up, which he rarely did since the kid slept like a rock, Ricky could hear.

      Then she’d head to Connor’s, her heart light and buzzing, a warm flush wrapping her like a hug.

      On the night of the restaurant’s grand opening, she arranged for Davey to stay overnight with their mom, who was enjoying a brief sober spell. Dad was at a casino, so he wouldn’t be back for a day or so or longer. And Mom did love Davey, even if she was sloppy about looking after him. Jess had taken all the booze with her; she’d found Mom’s stash and dumped the half inch of bourbon and the half bottle of cheap vodka into the sink. With Mom’s sobriety, it was always a question of when she’d fall off the wagon, not if. Then Jess asked Mrs. Cooper to check on Davey once or twice, to make sure Mom was “okay,” which Mrs. Cooper knew meant awake and sober.

      “You bet, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I owe you from all the times you watched Sarah.”

      The restaurant was jam-packed, and Jess knew everyone. Gerard Chartier talked her into joining the volunteer fire department, Colleen was making everyone laugh, Jeremy Lyon came back for the weekend from medical school, and this time, seeing him and Faith Holland together—still sticky-sweet in love—didn’t give Jess a pang.

      She had a guy now, even if it was on the sly. And Jeremy had always been too perfect, anyway. Leave him for Princess Super-Cute.

      That night Connor occasionally came out of the kitchen to press the flesh, and every time, his eyes found hers and rested a beat too long, and that wonderful, hot tightening would start in the pit of her stomach, making her feel what she imagined drunk felt like—not like her parents’ version of drunk, but happy and loose and hopeful.

      The food was amazing. And free. Crab cakes, creamy lasagna, tiny cheeseburger sliders, quesadillas, salads, shrimp wrapped in prosciutto, slices of bread stuffed with garlic and spinach...every bite succulent and filled with layers of flavor. Colleen, ever gorgeous and lively, was putting on a good show, sliding beers down the bar, spinning martini shakers, but it was Connor’s food that practically brought people to their knees.

      O’Rourke’s would be a smashing success; Jessica could see that. Because of Connor. Colleen was great, and Jess had always liked her, but Connor was the real star.

      And he was hers.

      The thought made her heart feel almost too big for her chest.

      When the grand opening wound down, Jess waited in the park by the lake until the lights went on in Connor’s apartment, and then knocked at the back door.

      A minute later Connor opened, hair wet from a shower, jeans on but not buttoned. No shirt, his muscular chest utterly perfect, the smooth skin on his ribs begging for her hands.

      Her knees were already soft with want.

      He leaned in the doorway, and a smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

      “Jessica Dunn. What are you doing here?” he said, and his voice scraped against that soft, aching place inside her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him.

      Good God.

      She spent the whole night.

      A thought occurred to her in the dark, after Connor had made love to her for the second time and was sleeping, his heavy, beautiful arm around her, a dangerous thought, the kind she knew she shouldn’t think, piercing into her brain like an ice pick.

      She felt safe.

      The thought itself made her almost jolt up in bed.

      That was usually the forerunner of doom.

      She’d thought she was safe when she was nine and her father actually won seven thousand dollars on a scratch-card, and that money was going to help them get a better place to live. It would be the start of a new life for them, where Dad could get a job he’d keep; he’d always thought he’d be a good mechanic, and they made lots of money, and Mom would sober up if they lived in a real house because it wouldn’t be so depressing, and Davey could get into that nursery school with the nuns who’d help him more than the public school, where he was always pulled out for speech therapy or put in time-outs.

      That weekend, her father went to Rolling Thunder Casino and lost the seven grand plus eight hundred more...everything they had. The electricity had been turned off for six weeks, and Mrs. Cooper brought them food.

      She’d felt safe, too, when Mom had three months of sobriety when Davey was six and Jess was thirteen. She’d lain there in bed, Davey’s soft little snores so sweet and lovable just a few feet away, and it dawned on Jess that at last, she wouldn’t have to be the one in charge, that maybe she could stay after school for extra help in math, now that Mom was sober and life was normal.

      The next day, Davey had an outburst in kindergarten. Mom was called in and after she collected Davey, stopped at the package store for a handful of little Popov vodka bottles. When Jess got home, Davey was asleep on the couch in front of Terminator II, his face covered with dried snot from crying, and Mom was passed out in bed.

      When she was sixteen, she’d felt safe after her mother’s mother came to stay, a woman Jess had only met once before. Mom was in the hospital with jaundice, and Dad was who knew where, and all of a sudden, Grandma had pulled into the trailer park with three bags of groceries. She cooked for Jess and Davey and did the dishes, too, and said she respected Jessica for having a job. She wasn’t a warm and cuddly grandmother, but she was there, she was sober and she took charge. Davey was scared of her, but he’d get over it, and it was so, so nice to have a real adult in the house. On her second night with them, around 10:30, Grandma looked at her and said, “You have to get up early. Why don’t you go to bed?”

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