If I accept it. Which I can’t, of course. It’s too much.
“Are you sure he didn’t, you know, tell you anything about this? Maybe leave a note?”
That was the problem with a man who was more comfortable with silence than chattiness.
A chatty man would send a text or an email. Something. Anything. Explaining why he bought me a building.
Something like, “Hey, Poppy. Just wanted to tell you I left you a building. Think of it as a tip because you did such a great nanny job, and I’m super rich, so this is a rich-person-type tip. Totally normal. Nothing unusual here. And the building definitely isn’t a tip for the great sex we had. Because that would make you a prostitute.”
But noooo, I had to like a quiet guy. So he just leaves me with a cracked heart and a key to my dream studio and no other contact. Darn quiet, grumpy, wonderful man.
Why did he have to leave?
I feel a tear I didn’t even realize I had shed track down my cheek. Conner looks scared.
“He did write a few things about it,” he admits grudgingly.
“Really?” I say, practically jumping on him.
“He said…” He fiddles with his phone for a minute or two. “Here it is. He said this is his Christmas gift to you from Belle and him, and that you can’t turn down a Christmas gift. But that you wouldn’t want to take the building, and if you argued, to tell you that you can pay it forward by keeping on with your art lessons at the Kids Creativity Center. To take the studio for them. And that when he was younger, he wished he had someone in his corner like you. So this is his way of giving back. He said you can’t turn down a gift for the kids and that you should just say thank you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, even though Ronan is a whole world away—in Hollywood, of all places.
I try to stop the tears, but it’s no use. I sniffle.
“He also said that he didn’t want to force you into anything, so if you didn’t want to accept his gift, that you could just consider this a rent-to-own lease. And that any rent you pay will go toward the Kids Creativity Center.” Conner looks up. “He said it’s your choice.”
“Why does he have to be so damn perfect for me?”
Conner looks pained. He throws his hands up. “I’m successful. I own my own house. I have a great real estate business. I drive a Tesla, Poppy,a Tesla. I’m a nice guy. Did you know that I’m considered a catch in Snowflake Harbor?”
“I’m sure you are. You’re very good-looking, also,” I add. Positive reinforcement and all.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So why is it that I don’t like any of those other girls throwing themselves at me? No, I had to like you, Poppy. I can’t compete with a movie star who buys you a building.”
I sigh. “He’s wonderful, isn’t he?”
“I mean, his muscles. I can’t compete with those muscles.”
“And those eyes.”
“He’s so tall,” Conner says glumly.
“But you aren’t competing. I don’t have Ronan. He left me. He’s gone. He’s back in LA, and he doesn’t plan on returning. Whatever we had was just short-term, and we didn’t even get that. We didn’t even get our last week.”
“So you’ll go out with me?”
I smile sadly. “Conner, you’re a great guy. But you’re right. I’m head over heels for Ronan. Even if there’s no hope, it’s going to take me a really long time to get over him. I may end up an old maid with lots of cats. But I know you’ll find another girl with no problem.” See? There, the compliment sandwich at work.
He nods and thinks for a minute. “You’re right. Hey, do you think Sadie would go out with me?”
Damn. I wish I could cure my broken heart as easily as Conner just did.
But there’s no cure. I’ve moped around Snowflake Harbor since they left, feeling lost. The worst part is not knowing how Belle and Ronan are doing. I’ve now got a sick little internet addiction. I’m on everyWanderersand Ronan Masters fan site to try to find any teeny tiny tidbit of gossip that could give me a clue. I had no idea Ronan had so many Tumblr accounts dedicated to his abs. I get it, though. He’s got really great abs.
