Loving the Ladies’ Man by Kristin Canary

Chapter 14

Iabsolutely love Connor’s family.

From his sweet grandma Doris to his crazy Uncle Marty to his brother and sister-in-law Kevin and Lola (and their two adorable children), they’ve been so welcoming, so friendly. And more than one have expressed their surprise—and delight—that Connor showed up with a date. Not just a date, but a girlfriend (a word I still internally squeal at upon hearing). Apparently, he hasn’t brought a woman home since Victoria.

The reunion is at this amazing resort on a lake just an hour north of Fresno. Connor was right—it took seven hours after work yesterday to get here, and by the time we pulled in at midnight, we could barely keep our eyes open. The concierge directed us to our two-bedroom cabin and, after unloading our bags, we went to our separate rooms and crashed.

This morning dawned bright and early, and the view outside my window stole my breath. The lake sparkled like someone had shone a large flashlight on it, and it just beckoned to me. I threw on my jacket, walked through our adorably rustic living room (complete with a fireplace I fully intend to snuggle in front of tonight), and stepped out onto the back deck.

California has always amazed me. It can be beaches and city and sun and surf, but it’s also mountains and pine trees and sparkling lakes. I inhaled the fresh air and listened to birds skittering and singing in the branches above me.

Then Connor woke up, and we got ready and headed to breakfast with his family, who has rented out the entire resort for the weekend. Between aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, there are more than a hundred people here, ranging from Connor’s grandma to Kevin and Lola’s kids Ellie and Tommy. I met his dad briefly, noting the way Connor gave him a stiff handshake before turning to chat with a few of his cousins.

Now, after a day spent hiking around the lake with a group of thirty or so relatives, Connor and I are on a pontoon with about ten people, including Connor’s brother and dad, who is clutching a Bud Light. (Lola stayed back at the resort so the kids could catch a nap.)

For a man in his sixties, Robert Bryant is still very handsome with his tan skin, full head of silver hair, and trim figure. He looks a lot like Connor, especially his nose and mouth.

But he doesn’t have the same laugh lines that Connor does.

This is the first time I’ve spent more than fifteen minutes in Robert’s presence, since he chose to stay behind for the hike. But I find myself fidgeting under his gaze as he studies me while Kevin and Connor shoot the breeze. We sit in a U-shape on the cushions at the back of the boat while Connor’s uncle drives and chats with Connor’s cousins—his sons.

“Man, work has been so stressful lately, so this is a little slice of heaven.” Kevin stretches out and tugs his ball cap down. “How’s work going for you?”

“You know. Same old.” Connor’s face is drawn, lips tight, as if he’d rather be getting an MRI than talking about this with his family.

I grab his hand, squeeze, a show of my silent support.

He glances at me, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses and I can’t see his eyes, I know he’s flashing me a grateful look. Then he coughs, refocusing on Kevin—and his dad, whose interest has moved to him. “I enjoy what I do.”

“You enjoy lying to people?” This from his dad, who takes another swig of beer. “That’s what marketing is, right? Spinning a lie to fit your version of the truth. All so you can sell something—and trashy romance novels at that.” His upper lip curls in disgust.

Hey now. Some of our novels may have steam, but I make sure they’re anything but trashy.

Thankfully, his brother speaks up. “Come on, Dad. Lighten up.”

“How can I lighten up when one of my sons has chosen a career in direct opposition to what I do?”

“What does my being a marketing director have to do with your career?” Connor’s tone has deepened.

Ocean spray hits my cheeks, cooling them from the overhead rays of sun—and the heated battle of words. Land comes into view and I have never been more relieved to see solid ground.

“I help people for a living. You lie to them.” Robert shrugs, as if what he’s just said doesn’t have the power to cut the last string of hope for a relationship strung between him and Connor.

“Books help people.” I can’t help my interjection. All three men turn their attention to me, eyebrows arched as I fidget with the drawstring on my shorts, and I continue. “In my lowest times, reading about other people’s struggles helps me to not feel so alone. And getting swept away in a story is sometimes a blessed escape from the harsh realities of life.”

“Well.” Robert huffs, drains his Bud, and smashes the empty can with his hand. “It’s not like Connor here has anything to do with that part of it anyway.”

“A good salesman finds the people who need the product—who the product can help.”

“Bah.” Connor’s dad waves his hand, dismissing me. “He should have been a doctor. We”—he indicates himself and Kevin—“help people. But Connor had to go off and do something embarrassing. I’d rather tell my co-workers and friends that he’s a drug dealer than in marketing.”

“That’s enough, Dad.” Kevin rolls his eyes. “Connor wasn’t even going to come this weekend, but I convinced him that you would be civil.”

“I am being civil! But what else can I say when my son chooses such a disgraceful career?” He laughs, and it’s harsh and grating against my ears. “At least he didn’t end up writing the books. Now that would be a true embarrassment.”

Now Connor is gripping my hand so tightly I nearly cry out in pain. “You know what, Dad? I actually did.”

His dad straightens. “What are you talking about?”

The boat’s engine cuts out and I see that we are almost to dock.

“I’m an author. My book—a romance novel—is with a few agents right now.” With every word, a throbbing vein in Robert’s forehead gets more pronounced, but Connor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He’s on a roll now. “In fact, I’m hoping to be a full-time author someday.”

He is? He has never expressed that to me. But his book is good enough. He is good enough.

And if that’s what he wants to do, I will fully support him.

“You …” His dad sputters just as the boat butts up against the dock.

Our escape is imminent. I can feel it.

“And”—Connor stands and hauls me to my feet—“I’m using my real name. So who knows? Maybe one of your co-workers will buy my book someday and discover your dirty little secret.”

“What secret?”

“That you actually have two sons, not just the one you claim publicly.”

* * *

Iam hovering over a bed of cotton, my skin light, my hair fluttering. I am warmth and glitter and all the good things. And yes, I know I’m dreaming, but this feeling—of full acceptance, of brightness, of energy—is worth holding onto.

“Evie.”

And someone wants me to let go. I frown, shake my head. “No.”

“Evie.” There’s a poke in my side, and dreamland floats away as I open my eyes. The room is dim, with curtains drawn, but I can see Connor lying right next to me on his bed.

That’s right. After his epic fight with Robert, we headed back toward our cabin. Connor was quiet—distant—the whole walk, but as soon as we got inside, he pulled me into a fierce hug. And I don’t think he cried, but his deep shudders told me he wanted to. I let him bury his face in my hair while I rubbed circles on his back.

And then, he started to lead me to his bedroom.

When I hesitated, he shook his head. “That’s not … I just want to hold you.”

So we snuggled together on the bed and he tucked me against him. “I want to do things right with you, Evie,” he whispered in my ear. “Which means we take our time. There’s no rush for anything more than this. I’m not going anywhere.”

Oh, how I love this man, I thought. Then we lay there until I apparently fell asleep.

“Hi.” He trails a finger down the side of my face. “I hated to wake you, but we’ll be late for dinner if we don’t get up soon.”

I frame his face with my hands. “How are you?”

“Been better. But watching you sleep cheered me up a bit.” He kisses the tip of my nose.

We stand and get ready for dinner, then head over to the main resort hall, which smells like a roast and mashed potatoes. It seems like most of his family is already here, because the place is crowded with some people sitting at large rectangular tables, kids running around playing a game of tag, and other relatives chatting in groups off to the side.

Lola and Kevin’s four-year-old daughter Ellie comes running up to Connor. “Hunky Con-Con!”

He chuckles and swings her up onto his hip. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite niece.”

“I’m your only niece, silly.” She makes a funny face and he makes it back. My stomach twinges as I picture Connor with our little brown-eyed children someday.

Am I getting ahead of myself? Well, if I am, it’s only because the man invited me to a freaking family reunion and then had the gall to stand there looking adorably dad-like as he plays peekaboo with his niece.

Somehow, Lola finds us in the crowd. “There you are, Elle Bell. I told you not to run off.” She shifts eight-month-old Tommy from one hip to the other. “Oof, this guy is heavy.”

“Here, let me.” And I, the woman who has held maybe two babies her entire life, take Tommy from Lola as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I clear the drool from his lips and tickle his belly, making him laugh, and his laughter is light pinging through me.

So is the look Connor gives me—he looks the way I imagine I did seconds ago when picturing us having a family together someday.

Sweet mother of pearl, I’ve got to stop thinking about making babies with Connor Bryant.

Cheeks warm, I shift my focus back to Lola, who is eyeing the two of us and smiling. “So, how was your afternoon? Did they sleep for you?”

“Yes, like the dead. Thank goodness.” She raises an eyebrow. “I heard I missed quite the outing, though.”

Connor frowns and then kisses Ellie before putting her down. “I’ll be right back.” He leaves me standing there with Lola and the kids.

“Poor guy.” Lola plays with Ellie’s braid before the little girl darts away again. “Much as I love him, it’s not like Kevin is perfect. But Robert’s always been so much harder on Connor. It kills Kev that the two guys he loves the most don’t get along.”

I run my finger through Tommy’s soft curls. “It kills Connor too. I think he just wants to be accepted, you know? Like his mom accepted him.”

Before Lola can respond, there’s a shout from somewhere in the crowd and her neck swivels in that direction. “Sorry, looks like Ellie has found dessert before dinner has even started.” She puts her hands out for Tommy, and I reluctantly give him up. “I’ll look for you after dinner. You still need to give me all the deets about you and Connor.” With a wink, she’s off, leaving me grinning.

I stand on my tiptoes to find Connor and spot him talking with Grandma Doris. Despite being ninety years old, she’s not a frail little thing, and her voice is strong and sure as I approach. “I just wish you and your father could bury the hatchet once and for all.”

“Grams, don’t you think I’ve tried?” Though I can’t see Connor’s face, I can hear the frustration in his voice.

“Not hard enough, obviously.” Doris presses Connor’s right hand between her palms. “Your mother would roll around in her grave if she saw the way you two treat each other.”

He stiffens. “That’s not fair.”

I’ve almost reached them now, but it feels intrusive to interrupt. So I hang back, wondering if I should cover my ears. But judging by the looks and leaning of those seated in the immediate vicinity, I’m not the only one listening.

“What’s not fair is life,” Doris says. “Life took your mother too young. Life requires hard work, and even then sometimes our dreams don’t come true.” She’s momentarily distracted by something behind Connor, behind me. “Ah, Robert, there you are. Come here.”

Connor’s dad shuffles forward to join their little huddle. “What is it, Mom?”

I really should turn away. But then one of Connor’s cousins—Tiffany, maybe—pushes out the chair beside her and whispers that I should sit. Then she turns her attention back to the trio. Weakly, I sink into the chair.

Connor has turned and I can see his stony face as he regards his father. “Maybe we should talk about this in private.”

Doris dismisses this idea with a wave. “It’s good to have witnesses. When I’m dead and buried, the family will hold you accountable.” Oh, she’s good at heaping on the guilt, isn’t she? “Robert, what will it take to resolve this feud between the two of you?”

Connor’s hands are fists at his side. I long to go to him, to comfort him somehow. “Grams, there’s no f—”

“Shh. Well, Robert?”

“Like he said, Mom, there’s no feud. I just want …” Robert wobbles a bit on his feet, but rights himself just as Connor is reaching out to do the same. “I want to be proud of my son. And the only way that’s gonna happen is if he stops ‘following his heart’”—he says this in such a mocking voice, I want to weep for my man—“and gets serious. Stop chasing women, stop chasing foolish dreams, stop being less than you’re capable of being. Stand up and be a Bryant.”

“And that means being a doctor, right?” Connor spits out the words.

“Connor,” Grams warns.

“Sorry.”

Even his dad has the decency to look a little bit contrite. His repentance is tiny, but it’s there. “I suppose it’s too late for him to go to med school at this point in his life. Kevin pointed out that Connor’s job may be more prestigious than I thought. Even told me he was up for a promotion. And if he can actually follow through with that, instead of going off half-cocked like he did when he ran off to the wrong college chasing the wrong girl, then …”

The listening crowd seems to draw a collective breath.

“I’d be proud of him.”

And then Connor’s family is applauding and Doris is beaming and I want to shout at how wrong it all is—that they’re asking Connor to put back on the facade he’s had to wear his whole life in order to be deemed good enough.

I turn sympathetic eyes to my boyfriend. But instead of eyes full of fury, his are … hopeful.

My stomach sinks, and I pray he hasn’t once again bought into the lie.