Page 129 of That Fake Feeling

Everyonein the shop launches into a rhythmic clap and chants, “Kiss!Kiss!Kiss!”

Iwrap my arms aroundConnor’sneck. “Mycoat’s making your shirt damp.”

“Couldn’tgive a damn,” he says as he pulls me to him.

Mylips melt into his, my body sinks into his, my heart beats in time with his.

Theloudest cheer comes fromAuntJen, who rallies everyone with the cry of, “ACatastropheKiss!”

34

Two Months Later

ROSE

Thecool autumn air hits me asIwalk up the subway steps.Ican’t believe it’s already halfway through the fall term.

WhatIdo know is that life could not be better.Beingable to focus entirely on schoolwork without having to race out of lectures to get to one job then the next, and being able to read a textbook without fear of nodding off becauseI’mso exhausted, has been life changing.

AndIcouldn’t appreciate it more.Iknow how very, very luckyIam to be in such a privileged position, soI’vedoubled my volunteer hours atTheLearningVillage.

Thanksto the cash injection fromBigBrainToys, the half-finished construction has now been completed, with the addition of extra space for an art room onConnor’sorders.Heleads a group there once a week.Hesays it helps build confidence in the kids to know that even if they’re struggling to read or write, they can still put something creative and meaningful on paper.He’dhave made an awesome teacher.

Theongoing support from such a big corporate name meansTheLearningVillagehas been able to attract other valuable donors for their project to build a much-needed new location in theBronx, and they’re now at the stage where they can actually start looking for a site.

SinceConnor’sbeen able to step back from work, he’s focused on building a portfolio to get into an art foundation program next year.He’staking some classes and has turned the library room of his house, with its beautiful light, into a makeshift studio.

Afteran exhaustive search for the right person to lead the company, he could not be happier with the newCEO.Connorstill has to go into the office several hours each week while he brings her up to speed, but they’re getting closer to him being able to hand over the reins entirely.Andthe most important thing is that he’s sure she has the right values and will take the company in exactly the right direction.

IntypicalConnorstyle, he says she’ll undoubtedly run it better than he ever has.

Thedifference in him already, now that he’s able to spend large parts of his days doing what hewantsto do rather than what he thinks heshoulddo, is miraculous.Goneis the look of tired sadness behind his eyes thatIspotted during our first “date” inCentralPark.

It’sbeen replaced by the spark of life and joy and endless possibility thatIfirst saw whenIwalked intoTheLearningVillageand he was playing guitar and singing to the kids.

And, of course, every time he’s there, they want him to play and sing with them again.And, of course, he always does.

Ishiver a little as the low sun disappears behind a cloud whileImake my way home.Ishould probably wear a jacket whenIgo to school onMonday.

Iopen the little gate, step up to the shiny blue front door, and slide my key into the lock.

Janglyguitar music floats up the stairs from the kitchen, along with the smell of something that involves onions and garlic.That’sanother thingConnor’sbeen doing since he stopped working all the time—cooking.It’slike stepping back fromBigBrainhas gotten all his creative juices flowing again, as if the job had been stifling every part of the real him.

Idrop my bags, kick off my shoes, and skip down the stairs.

Couldthere possibly be anything hotter than a man with jeans hugging his thighs and butt, aT-shirt stretched snuggly across shouldersIstill obsess over, who’s smiling and singing along to a song, all while cooking what smells like a delicious dinner?

Helifts his head from whatever he’s stirring in the pot.

“Well, if it isn’t the woman of my dreams arriving home from another day flexing her brain muscles and looking forward to making the world a better place.”

Icircle his waist from behind and kiss the flesh of his bicep where it emerges from his sleeve. “Iknow who’s making my stomach a better place.What’sfor dinner?”

Heaffects an exaggeratedItalianaccent. “Pastae fagioli with escarole.”Hebends around till his face is level with mine. “Basically, beans and a bunch of vegetables with pasta.”Hepresses his mouth softly against my lips.

Nomatter how many times he kisses me, the touch of his lips against mine always hits me in my heart and my core.Islide a hand under hisT-shirt and over his warm, firm back.

“Hey.”Heplants a kiss on the end of my nose. “Don’tdistract the chef when he’s near a naked flame.Theremight be a terrible accident.”Henods toward an open bottle of white wine on the counter. “Iused that for the sauce.Whydon’t you pour us a glass from what’s left?”