He can’t. Not now. Not here, where it smells like sweat and Doritos. Not while Weezer is playing. No. We’ve discussed this. He told me to expect the proposal around the holidays. He said we’d go ring shopping this fall so I could pick out exactly what I wanted.
“Connor, no,” I say quickly. “Don’t do this.”
“I got a job offer,” he blurts out. “In New York. And I’m taking it.”
I snort-laugh. “Riiight. Of course. And I’m going to open that roller-disco restaurant, too.” I poke his chest. “Ryan dared you to do this, didn’t he? Traitor.”
Connor’s face is frozen. He’s impressively committed to the bit.
“Ruby,” he says softly. “It’s my buddy Scott’s firm. Remember Scott? He, well—it all moved so quickly. They want me to start next month.”
This time, my laugh is more of a wheeze.
It’s a joke. This must be a joke.
Connor and I started dating the summer before my thirty-first birthday. We had Lakeville in common—along with nearly everything else. We didn’t so much fall in love as we did fall in step, joining the same gym and picking up identical lunches and moving in together, until, eventually, our lives were braided together.
Two years ago, I left my first firm to work with Connor at his dad’s firm. We’ve spent years preparing to eventually take it over together and settle down in our hometown. It’s what we both want. The practical choice. The logical step before marriage. Before kids.
I shiver involuntarily. “You’re not serious.”
“I am.”
“What about your dad? And our plans?”
“My dad is supportive,” Connor says, and his smile breaks through. “He agrees that now is the time to try something new.”
He keeps talking, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. Dazed, I watch Connor’s mouth move. It’s the same mouth that waited three dates to kiss me. The one that pressed against my shoulder while we slept in his childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve. The night he promised that someday, that house would be ours.
“—and we can do long-distance,” he says. “If you don’t want to move just yet.”
That I hear loud and clear.
“What? Connor, we’re not doing long-distance. And I’m not moving. Ever.”
“But the firm says they’re happy to meet with you, too.” His wide, hopeful eyes search mine. “We can make this work.”
I stare, open-mouthed, at whatever idiotic demon has possessed my boyfriend.
He means it. He’s proposing not marriage, but a long-distance relationship. That, or a whole new life. In New York. One that ignores and upends every one of our well-laid plans.
And he seriously thinks I’d consider it—that I’d be thrilled to accept what’s basically a courtesy interview. And live hundreds of miles away from here. Away from Bridget. Away from Ryan.
“No.” The word bursts out of me. “Absolutely not.”
Connor sits back. “You don’t even want to hear about the opportunity?”
My laugh is incredulous. “The opportunity to abandon everything and everyone? The chance to throw out all our hard work? For what?”
“For an adventure.”
I squawk. “Since when do you want adventure? You iron your T-shirts.”
He ignores me. “Scott told me it’s the best move he’s ever made.”
Scott, if I remember correctly, is a douchebag.
I tally the obvious on one hand. “You have an acute aversion to crowds. You hate smells, and the Yankees, and you don’t even like pizza. Isn’t New York like eighty percent pizza?”
