Anything For You. Kristan Higgins

temples, a warning sign that he was mad. Brain-Vein, his irritating twin called it. He took a slow breath, looked around the room, trying not to lose his temper. The dining room...maybe that had been a mistake. It wasn’t exactly warm and romantic. No pictures on the walls. His whole house looked like a furniture showroom, now that he thought about it.

      Certainly, there were no pictures of him and Jessica.

      He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you see us going forward, Jess?”

      She was as cool and still as a stone in Keuka Lake. “What do you mean?”

      “You and me, our future, our relationship, not that you can really call sneaking around at the age of thirty-two a relationship.”

      “I see us doing this. Getting together when we can. Enjoying each other’s company.” She wasn’t the type to be goaded into an argument, that was for sure. Pity. A little yelling and some Olympic make-up sex would be more Connor’s style. And that ring on her finger.

      He made sure his voice was calm. Jess didn’t do anger. “Do you ever think about us living together or marrying or having kids?”

      “No. This works for me.” She twisted the silver ring she wore on her thumb and gave him a pleasant smile.

      “It doesn’t work for me. Not anymore, Jess.”

      A person would need a magnifying glass to see any reaction from Jessica Dunn, but Connor was something of a student of her face. Right now her lips were pressed together the tiniest bit, indicating a disturbance in the Force.

      “Well, thanks for letting me know,” she said smoothly. “I’m sorry to hear that. You said you understood how things were and how they had to be. Nothing in my life has changed, so I’m not sure why you thought things would be different now.”

      “Davey can adjust.”

      “No, he can’t, Connor. He has an IQ of fifty-two. And he hates you, or have you forgotten that? He can’t even see you in the grocery store without having a meltdown. You remember the head-banging when he saw you with our dog?” Yes, Connor remembered. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life, as a matter of fact. “I don’t have room for marriage and kids,” Jess continued. “My brother is my responsibility in more ways than you could ever know. I’m surprised you brought marriage up at all. We’ve had this conversation a million times.”

      “Actually, we’ve never had this conversation.”

      Her cheeks were getting pink. Finally, something more than calm, cool and collected.

      Good. It didn’t seem fair that he was the only one feeling something here.

      “Well, I thought you knew,” she said. “I’ve always been very clear.”

      Blood thrummed through his temples, too hard, too fast. Another slow breath. “You’re using your brother as an excuse. He’ll adjust. He’s held you hostage for years now.”

      “Do not go there, Connor.”

      “What I mean is—”

      “What you mean is, put him in a home.”

      She was really digging in now. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I bought this house with you in mind. There’s an apartment upstairs, in case you forgot. It’s for him. I love your brother.”

      “No, you don’t. You’ve never even had a conversation with him, and he certainly doesn’t love you. And let’s not rewrite history. You decided to buy a two-family house without even talking to me.”

      Fair point. But it had seemed like a perfect solution; him and Jess downstairs, Davey upstairs. Instead, his sister had moved in after Jess turned him down.

      Jessica sighed, some of the steel leaving her posture. “Connor, look. I think it’s sweet that you made this gesture. Maybe it’s because your sister’s pregnant and you’re feeling sentimental, but this just can’t work. And I also think you’re saying it because you’re sure I won’t say yes, and you’re right. I won’t.”

      “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to say yes, Jessica.”

      Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the hateful device. “Great. Davey clogged the toilet, and Gerard can’t get the valve to shut off. The last time the bathroom flooded, and I had to pay to replace the whole floor.”

      “Jess, I want you to marry me.”

      “I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday, okay? This was a nice thought, Connor. I appreciate it. I really do.” She stood up, kissed him on the head like he was a dog—which he basically was, just some half-brain Labrador retriever you could ignore until you were lonely, and it was always happy to see you and would cheerfully forget the fact that you’d locked it in the cellar for a year or so. She grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door.

      “Jessica.” He didn’t look at her, just stared at the candles flickering on the table. “This will be the last time you break up with me.”

      Well, shit. He hadn’t really planned on saying that, but now that the words were out, they sprang up between the two of them like an iron door.

      She froze for a second. “What do you mean?”

      His head was killing him, every heartbeat stabbing behind his eyes. “I’m talking about all the times you’ve broken up with me, all the times you said life was too complicated, and you couldn’t make any changes. I want a wife and kids and to be able to kiss you in public. If you leave now, make sure you mean it.”

      “Are you breaking up with me?” She actually sounded indignant.

      “I’m proposing!”

      “Well, I have no idea why!” she snapped back. “You know this is the best I can do.”

      “Okay, then.” His jaw clamped shut.

      Her mouth opened a little. “Really.”

      “Yep.”

      “Fine,” she said. “Do what you want.”

      “Thanks. I will.”

      “Good.”

      “Fine.”

      She gave him a long look. “Have a nice night, Connor.”

      And with that, she left, and he picked up the stupid little black velvet box and threw it across the room.

       CHAPTER TWO

      Twenty years before the proposal...

      CONNOR MICHAEL O’ROURKE fell in love with Jessica Dunn when he was twelve years old.

      The feeling was not mutual.

      He couldn’t blame her. After all, he killed her dog.

      Well, he didn’t actually kill him. It just felt that way.

      The fateful, terrible day had been a Friday afternoon in April, and he and Colleen had been riding their bikes home from school, a new privilege, and one their parents gave only if they rode together, which took away much of the thrill. It was the curse of being a twin, Connor often thought. It would’ve been so much cooler if he could’ve ridden to the village, maybe bought some candy at Mr. Stoakes’s store or found a snake by the lake to put into Coll’s bed.

      Instead, they were together. Colleen talked all the time, usually about things he didn’t have much interest in—which of her friends had gotten her period, who flunked the math test, who liked whoever else. But that was the way it was—Coll talking, him half listening, the occasional mild sibling violence that marked a healthy childhood.

      But even if she drove him crazy most of the time with her talk of magical twinsy bonds, which yeah, they did have, and the way she