Anything For You

The guy was such a prince, it hurt her heart sometimes. He was also a liar. He was best friends with Levi, in love with Faith in such a sappy way that it was a shock that bluebirds didn’t follow them around. Jer was friends with everyone he’d ever met.

As they pulled into West’s Trailer Park, Jess let herself imagine that Jeremy was her boyfriend. That he’d dump Faith and fall for her, and love Davey—he was already good to Davey—and take care of them for the rest of their lives.

“What do you say, Jess? Will you do that for me?”

She cleared her throat. “That’s really nice, Jeremy, but it’s not the money. Philly’s really not my thing, you know? Plus, I’m working that weekend. But thanks.” She blew him a kiss and ran inside before the casual act slipped.

That Friday night, when her classmates were in the city of brotherly love, a huge party of middle-aged fraternity brothers came into Hugo’s, and Hugo gave the table to Jess. They left her a tip of $250.

Too little, too late.

On Sunday she took Davey to the fair in Corning and bought him corn dogs and popcorn and root beer. She screamed on the roller coaster, and he put his arm around her, laughing with glee. He loved when she was the one who was scared and he got to protect her. They both ate candied apples and then scraped the gunk off their teeth with their fingers, Jess more successfully than Davey.

When he wanted to play Shoot the Balloon, she made sure the carny got a good look down her shirt so that Davey won a huge stuffed animal, even though he only managed to pop one balloon.

It was the best day she’d had in a long time.

“I love you,” Davey said sleepily on the car ride home.

In that moment, she was so glad to be exactly where she was, with her brother, her best bud, the boy who’d had an uphill battle since the day he was born.

A battle which was largely her fault.

“I love you, too, honey-boy,” she said back, her voice husky.

Nothing was ever more true.

But as Davey slept, his head against the window, snoring slightly, Jessica couldn’t help wondering about the view she might’ve seen from that hotel, and the little soaps and shampoos, which she had fully intended on bringing home to her brother.

* * *

WHICH IS WHY, at the age of twenty-one, Jessica Dunn had never stayed in a hotel before.

It was three years past graduation, and Jess and Angela Mitchum were the only ones who hadn’t left Manningsport. Angela was a mother now, having gotten knocked up senior year. She lived on the hill with her parents and was going to school part-time to become a nurse. Sometimes, the Mitchums came to Hugo’s for dinner, and Jess always admired the baby, who was really cute.

Jess was doing what she’d always been doing—waiting tables at Hugo’s, doing a little home health aide work on the side, looking after her brother. She still lived in the trailer park, but that was going to end soon; she now saved her money in a bank, and in four more months, she’d have enough to rent a decent place in town. Two bedrooms, because of course she wasn’t leaving Davey at the mercy of her parents’ negligence.

Lately, Dad had been offering him drinks, which Davey was only too happy to take. For some completely unfathomable reason, he worshipped their father, who thought it was funny to see Davey tipsy. Mom wouldn’t like Jess taking Davey, but in the end, she’d give in. Her Vicodin was now supplied by the grungy guy at the laundromat, since the doctors had finally figured out that there was nothing wrong with Mom except addiction.

It was October, always a poignant time of year for Jess. The leaf peepers, those tourists who came up by the busload to see the foliage and drink Finger Lakes wine, were heading home, and aside from the Christmas Stroll, Manningsport would soon be quiet. Hugo closed the restaurant after Veterans Day, so Jess would have to see if she could get more hours as an aide. It didn’t pay nearly as well as waiting tables, but she didn’t have a lot of other options.

Hugo called her into his office before she started her shift that night. “I want you to take a wine class,” he said without preamble. “Felicia kills you in bottle sales, and the markup is incredible. What do you think?”

“Um...sure,” Jess said, scratching her wrist. “But I don’t really drink.”

“I know, honey.” He knew about her family. Everyone did, and just in case they didn’t, Dad crashed into the restaurant at least once a year, asking where his “baby girl” was and wondering if old Hugo would give him a drink on the house. “But you’re twenty-one now. You should know about wine. What goes with different kinds of food, how to talk about it, what to recommend.”

“I just recommend the really expensive stuff,” she said.

“Which I appreciate. Still, I want you to do this, kid. It classes us up if you can talk knowledgeably about what people are drinking.”

“Yeah, okay.” It was true. Felicia could sell a bottle of wine to just about anyone, and was full of phrases like “that particular region of France” and “long, lingering finish with notes of fresh snow and blackberry.” It sounded pretty ridiculous to Jess, but Felicia’s clients spent more, and that meant bigger tabs, which also meant bigger tips.

“Blue Heron Winery is having a class next week,” Hugo continued. “You went to school with Faith Holland, didn’t you? Want to go there?”

“I’d rather not take that one,” she said easily. “If that’s okay. Next week is a little packed.”

Hugo nodded. He’d hired her to bus tables when she was fifteen, promoted her to waitress and was now teaching her to bartend. He never asked why she didn’t go to college like all the other Manningsport kids, or enlist, or leave town to find something other than a waitressing job.

He knew why. He probably knew more than she wanted him to, including why she’d try to dodge a class at Blue Heron.

“Okay, kid,” he said with a nod. “I’ll see what else is around.”

“Thank you.” The words didn’t come easily to her, but she rubbed the top of his head, said, “Lucky bald spot,” and went back to work, stuffing down her feelings.

Manningsport was a moderately wealthy town. Full of vineyards and families that went back generations, like the Hollands, or wealthy transplants, like the Lyons, or families whose parents earned a lot of money, like the O’Rourkes.

And scattered in between, like weeds in a garden, were families who were poor, and had tussles with the law, and had drinking problems or drug problems and always, always had money problems. Families where the mother was milking the system, claiming a lifetime disability from a vague knee injury she got four days after being hired at the high school as a lunch lady. Families where the father couldn’t hold a job and had been driven home in a police car more times than a person could count.

Her family, in other words.

But she had Davey. If not for him, she would’ve left Manningsport the second she could drive, moved somewhere far away from anyone who knew why she was called Jessica Does. Maybe she’d live in Europe. Italy, where she’d fall in love and learn the language and become a clothing designer or something.

But there was her brother, and he was her responsibility and hers alone, so none of those thoughts were worth more than a few seconds. Davey made staying worthwhile and then some.

A week later, Hugo handed her some papers and walked away. “Don’t say no,” he said over his shoulder. “You can figure it out.”

The first page confirmed her enrollment in a day-long wine class at the Culinary Institute of America, down in Hyde Park, a good four hours’ drive.

The next page was a hotel reservation at the Hudson Riverview Hotel.

He was putting her up overnight.

Hands tingling, Jess went into the office, which was empty, and Googled the place.

It was beautiful. A four-star hotel overlooking the Hudson. Full complimentary breakfast and a welcome cocktail. The beds were king-size; Jess still slept in a twin in the room she shared with her brother. A huge tub and a fancy, glassed-in shower. A flower arrangement in the lobby the size of a small car.

She turned around and saw Hugo, smiling sheepishly. “I thought you might like to get out of town.”

“Hugo,” she began, but her words stopped there.

“Just promise you’ll go. I can even check in on your brother, okay? And don’t you cry! Are those tears in your eyes? Don’t you dare, or I’ll fire you.”

A few days later she kissed her brother, pried his arms from around her neck, told him Chico Two would take good care of him, warned her parents to stay sober, reminded her mother of the heating instructions for the casserole she’d cooked the night before and got in the car.

She was going to a hotel. The class would be fine, sure, but she was going to stay in a hotel.

The four-hour drive flew by, and as the miles passed, Jessica felt...light. Yes, she was worried about Davey, but she’d be back tomorrow afternoon. She fully intended to sleep late and eat that breakfast. But she would be staying in a gorgeous hotel near the Vanderbilt Mansion and the Culinary Institute of America. She planned to have dinner in the hotel dining room, and if there was a wedding there this weekend, she might peek in the ballroom—because her hotel had a ballroom! A bath in that tub, definitely. Her house didn’t have a tub, just a shower with mold growing on the caulk, no matter how much bleach she sprayed on it.

When she finally got to the hotel, it was even prettier than the internet pictures. Her heart pounded as she walked in. She should’ve brought a suitcase, rather than her backpack, but hey, it was fine. She looked casual, that was all.

“How are you today?” asked the older man behind the counter.

“I’m just fine,” she said. “Jessica Dunn.”

He clicked a few keys on his computer. “And I see all expenses are covered by a Hugo’s Restaurant?”

“Oh. Um, yes. My employer.”

“What do you do for them?”

For a second, she was tempted to say she was a manager, or the sommelier, not that Hugo had one, or the chef. “I’m on the waitstaff.”

He gave her a quick once-over, then handed her a key. “I’ve upgraded you to a junior suite,” he said. “Enjoy your stay with us. I’m off at seven. Perhaps I can buy you a drink.”

“I’m afraid I have plans,” she said, “but thank you. I really appreciate the offer.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he said.

The one thing her parents had given her was good looks. That, and Davey. She knew she was beautiful, and at this moment, she was glad. Sure, the horny old guy was hitting on her. But it had gotten her a junior suite, whatever that was. It sure sounded amazing.

And it was. It was flippin’ huge. There was a couch—a sleek gray couch with orange pillows, and the bed was like an ocean of white with an orange throw draped across the end. Flat-screen TV! There was a Gideon’s Bible in one night table drawer, and an “intimacy kit” in another—condoms and massage oil. Ahem. There was even a minibar! Not that she drank, but it was pretty anyway, all the top-shelf booze and snacks. Nine dollars for a pack of M&Ms, imagine that.

The towels were pure white, and the bathroom had so many light switches—one for the shower, one for the mirror, one under the counter like a night-light or something. And holy heck, a bathrobe made of cotton so soft it was like a cloud. Slippers! And the shampoo and shower gel and conditioner were all L’Occitane, which Jess assumed was really expensive and sure smelled that way.

She went to the window, which overlooked a small park and the Hudson River. The day was gray and a little cold. It was maybe the prettiest view Jess had ever seen.

She went back into the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the enormous tub.

This was going to be the best weekend of her life.

As the tub filled, she called home. As expected, Davey answered. He was a total phone hog.

“Hey, Davey,” she said.

“I miss you. When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow. You know that. You want to hear about my hotel?”

“Okay.”

“It’s got a big bed. Really big. Bigger than Mom and Dad’s.”

“Did you jump on it?”

“Not yet,” she said with a grin. “And a tub. I’m going to take a bubble bath.”

“That sounds fun.”

“We’ll have a tub in our new house.”

“Okay! What else is there?”

“Room service, where they bring you food on a tray.”

“Did you get some? Do they have cheeseburgers? And cake? That’s what I would get!”

Someday, Jess thought as she talked to her brother, she’d bring Davey wherever he wanted to go. Disney World, probably, and they’d stay in a nice hotel like this one.

But this weekend was just hers, and to someone who didn’t have a lot that fell into that category, it was a very nice thought, indeed.

CHAPTER FOUR

Eleven years before the proposal...

WHEN JESSICA DUNN walked into the room where Connor was teaching Wine 101 at the CIA his senior year, he didn’t recognize her at first.

Instead, he felt an instant crush of heat and attraction. It took him a full three seconds to realize who it was—three seconds of Holy Mary, she’s beautiful before he realized who it was. Not that she had changed; just that it was so strange to see her here, at his school.

The other thing that surprised him was the surge of happiness that followed the knee-jerk attraction.

Most of the students for this kind of half-day class were older people, interested in wine now that they had some time on their hands and money to spend. A lot of couples, a lot of girlfriends looking for something fun to do.

He would guess that Jess wasn’t here for any of those reasons. She drifted near him, clearly alone in this class of pairs and groups.

“Hey, Jess,” he said when she was within three feet of him.

She was equally unprepared to see him, it seemed, because she jumped a little, her cheeks turning pink. “Hi, Connor. I...I forgot you came here.”

“It’s my last year. How are you?”

Almost without thinking—almost—he hugged her. She didn’t pull away but she didn’t exactly hug him back, either, just patted his side.

“Sorry,” he said with a grin. “It’s good to see a face from home.”

“Yeah,” she said, but something flickered in her eyes.

Right. She never did like him.

Since the day her dog bit him—well, since the week after her dog bit him—Jessica had given him a wide berth, which made him a rarity among the males of their class. She was never rude to him after that one aborted punch, but she never talked to him, either. Not willingly. Even so, it felt as if an invisible copper wire connected them, occasionally flaring with electricity and light. He could sense her sometimes, just on that particular buzz.

If she felt it, too, she was excellent at ignoring it.

During chemistry their junior year, they were lab partners, and she talked to him then. But only about the lab, and after class, she’d always zipped out, always moving fast, always on her way to meet—and possibly sleep with—some other guy.

Yeah, she was the class slut...very well-liked by the guys because of it. The girls, not so much. Connor couldn’t figure her out. She was tight with Levi, and they slept together, too, but she was never Levi’s actual girlfriend. And even though she slept around, she had that aura around her—Connor thought of it as her three feet away face. Her personal space bubble that was only ever entered with blatant invitation. For someone with the nickname Jessica Does, she sure was...aloof. She worked more than most kids in their class. She never seemed bitter, though...just busy. And she never really spoke to Connor if she could avoid it. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like him; it was as if he were invisible.

Until chemistry. God, Connor loved chemistry. It was a tough class, and when their final exam results were given back, Connor watched her as the teacher passed their reports. “Only two of you managed to understand the assignment,” Mrs. Riordan said wearily. “I’m very disappointed in the rest of you.” She handed Jessica her paper, and Jess glanced at the grade then covered it with her hand. Peeked at it, covered it again.

Then she looked over at him and smiled, and it felt like all the blood in his body stopped for a minute, then flooded through him in a torrent.

Connor was used to As. He had the feeling Jessica wasn’t. She was never on the honor roll, and yes, he always looked. But she was smart, and he’d been careful to let her do her share of the work, not just carry her, make sure she understood the Krebs cycle in all its glory without overtly teaching her.

That smile made him feel like he’d just won the World Series.

Then Big Frankie Pepitone said something—something dirty, probably, because it was about all he said—and Jess turned to him.

And that was pretty much the end of their interactions. She sure as hell never slept with him, something that a couple of the other guys mentioned once in a while. Nope, Jess might raise her chin at him or say hi in a group, but otherwise, nada.

Wine lovers were milling around them, sitting at the rows of counters in the test kitchen.

“So are you the teacher?” she asked.

“Yep. I’m actually filling in for a buddy of mine. It’s a pretty basic class, though. Plus, growing up where we did, we all know way too much about wine, anyway. You probably don’t need to take the class. It might be boring for you.” He could hear Colleen’s voice telling him he had no game. In this case, she’d be dead-on.

“Hugo wanted me to come,” she said.

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess I should get started.” Real smooth.

He went to the front of the class, cleared his throat and smiled. Three women sat up a little straighter. “Thanks for coming to the CIA,” he said, and for the next two hours, he talked about grapes and regions and the different characteristics of wine. Poured and schmoozed, praised people for their excellent use of adjectives—though someone used the word dewdrops to describe a flavor, and even in wine circles, that was a little extreme.

Jessica took notes and tiny sips, unlike the rowdy group from Connecticut, a book club, they cheerfully told him. He served cheese and bread made at the school, talked about the texture of wine, the legs, the nose, the body, finish and color and mouth-feel, clarity, harmony. If he felt a little bit like a huckster at a carnival, it was okay. Everyone was happy.

He tried not to look at Jessica too much. It wasn’t easy; she was so still and gorgeous, focused on the task at hand, occasionally answering the couple next to her with a smile. He’d seen her two summers ago at the Cork & Pork festival, which was a wine and barbecue event in Manningsport. Her brother was with her; the kid was a teenager now, or close to it. When Davey saw Connor, his expression tightened, so Con didn’t bother saying hi, just kept going, feeling like dirt.

But he was teaching this class, so he bent over her shoulder and looked at her notes. Jam, black licorice, kind of smoky, she’d written for the shiraz.

“Good comments, Jess,” he said, and she looked up at him.

Her eyes were green and clear, like sea glass.

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I was just making it up.” Then she smiled, just a flash, there and gone.

“Not at all.” At least, that’s what he thought she said, but she smiled at him, and just like in chemistry class, his blood seemed to stall then rush cheerfully south.

“What would you pair this with?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. He could smell her hair, a lemony, clean smell, and see the different shades of blond, from almost white to honey-colored, straight and smooth and, he’d bet, silky to the touch, the kind of hair that would run through his fingers like water.

“Uh...sorry. Leaner red meat, brisket, lamb, bison, just about any kind of beef, really. There’s a nice spiciness to the wine, so you need a meat that will stand up to it. Sausage.” Great. He sounded like an ass.

“So not with KFC, then.”

She was joking. With him. “No, that’d be a white, maybe a rosé.”

“Connor?” asked one of the women who’d been eyeing him. “Can you give me some advice on a nice wine to bring to my parents?”

“Duty calls,” Jess murmured, writing something else in her notebook.

He tried to think of a clever comeback and came up empty, but he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he left.

Glanced back.

She was looking at him.

When the class was over, Connor made sure those who seemed tipsy weren’t driving, shook hands, accepted compliments and recommended local restaurants. Jess was putting on her coat. He hesitated for a second then said, “Would you like to have dinner?”

She hesitated.

“It’s okay if you don’t. It was just good to see you. Someone from Manningsport. You know. But if you don’t, that’s fine.” There was the babbling again. And to think he made fun of Colleen for the same thing.

“Are you homesick, Connor O’Rourke? I’d think your sister would be here every other weekend. And your mom, too.”

“Not really. I mean, yeah, Colleen’s a pain and shows up here from time to time, but my mom... Oh, you were joking.”

She gave a small smile, and his stomach tightened.

“Is that a no?” he asked.

She fixed the collar of her jacket and flipped her hair out of the collar. “Well, the thing is, I’m staying at a really nice hotel, and I kind of want to soak it up, you know?”

“The Riverview?”

“Yeah.”

“Great place. I interned there last year.” Not that she’d asked. But she hadn’t rolled her eyes and walked out, either, so what the hell. “Did you drive over?” The Riverview wasn’t more than a mile from campus.

“No.”

“Maybe I can walk you back, then.”

She hesitated. “Sure.”

It was nearly dark outside, and they walked side by side, shoulders occasionally bumping. Connor racked his brain to ask an innocuous question, but everything seemed loaded. How’s your family, what have you been up to, how’s work, got any plans... Everything seemed wrong.

“Do you like going to school here?” she asked.

“I do. I love food.”

She laughed, and there it was again, that tugging sensation in his gut. “Most people do, I guess.” She looked up at him, her hair fluttering in the cold wind. “I would’ve guessed you’d end up in law school or medicine or something with your grades. Never saw you as a chef.”

“Neither did my parents.”

“Are they mad?”

“‘Extremely disappointed’ was the phrase my father used.”

She didn’t say anything at that.

“I wouldn’t think you’d need this class,” he said, more to keep the conversation going. “You must know a lot about wine.”

“I didn’t grow up in that part of Manningsport, Connor. Wine tastings in the trailer park were few and far between.”

“I meant working for Hugo’s all these years, Princess Defensive.”

She gave a half smile of acknowledgement. “I know a little. I don’t sell enough wine, though, so he thought this would help.”

They’d reached the hotel’s long driveway, which meant his time with her was winding down.

“How’s your brother?” he heard himself ask. Kind of hard to stay away from the subject, after all.

“He’s good.” Another pause. “How’s Colleen?”

“She’s good, too. Jessica...” He stopped walking. “I always felt so bad about your dog.”

She looked at the ground. “It wasn’t your fault. Actually, it was mine. I tied Chico up that day. I knew the railing was rusted.”

“You’re the one who got him off me. Probably saved my life.”

She looked up, her face unreadable. “Let’s not talk about it, okay? What’s that up there?” she asked, pointing ahead.

“Oh, that’s really cool. It’s an overlook. Want to see it? There’s a great view of the Hudson.”

He heard Colleen’s voice in his head. Trying too hard, idiot. Yep. And why would Jessica want to hang out with him? She was just being polite, letting him walk her back to her hotel, where some rich George Clooney older guy would ask her to have dinner with him, and he’d order a $500 bottle of wine, and by the end of dinner, he’d want to marry her and Jess would become his trophy wife, and who could blame her, she’d drive around in a little BMW and have a maid and go to Turks & Caicos and—