© 2009 All Rights Reserved Connie woke up slowly, gently prodded along by the sunlight peeking through the blinds. She took a moment to orient herself. I don't have piles of books on top of my computer, she thought. Then she remembered where she was and tentatively turned her head. Simon lay behind her, his hand on her waist, sleeping like a log. Her first instinct was to jump out of the bed, but she quieted herself. That would wake Simon up, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that yet. Instead, she carefully moved his arm and slid out of the bed. He turned over but only to burrow back into the pillow and blanket. She smiled as she left the room, making sure the door didn't slam shut. Now what? she wondered. Nothing like this had ever happened between them before. There'd been no awkward moments that she could recall, no hugs that went on too long, no almost-kisses, nothing like that. She'd managed to keep her feelings under wraps. After last night, she wasn't sure she'd be able to much longer. Not when they were planning this charade for the holiday, and not when she'd be sharing a bed with him again. As she got ready for her shower, she could feel her insecurities rising up again. I do not want to deal with this, she thought despairingly. I can't. My boss wants three projects due when I don't have time for one. Mom has been all over me about Simon. Now this... Stepping under the hot water, she decided she just would have to sort it out in her head and talk later. She just needed to get through Thanksgiving, which mercifully was only five days away, and three of those would be occupied with work. It was difficult, though, to ignore what had happened. She'd dreamed about it, hoped for it, and then...she'd almost had it. x-x-x-x Simon woke up and out of habit reached out to smack the snooze button on his clock. Gradually, it dawned on him that it had been quiet before he hit it, and was still quiet. Ah, he thought, it's Saturday. Thank heavens for that. He recalled how Friday had worn him out with meetings and deadlines. He was so tired that he'd almost been afraid to drive home. When he did get home, he felt badly that he could barely keep his eyes open before saying good night to Connie. He had to admit, he was enjoying being her boyfriend. Pretending, he corrected himself, and sighed when he recalled Connie's words the night before. That led to thoughts of what followed and...wow, what had followed had been great. The feel of her next to him, under him, touching him—it had driven him crazy. He wanted it again. That was when he realized Connie wasn't in the bed. He shot upright. Oh, no, he thought, did I just screw it all up? No, he reassured himself after a minute's reflection, he didn't think so. Connie was a fairly early riser, even on weekends, and probably hadn't wanted to wake him after he'd been so exhausted. Would she talk about what happened? He was willing to bet not, at least not right away. After analyzing the situation, and what he knew about Connie, he decided it was best to wait before talking, and certainly before confessing his feelings. If he told her now, he was sure that she wouldn't believe him. She would think he was doing it out of obligation, which wasn't true, but it would be hard to convince her. One thing he'd learned during this rehearsal period was that Connie put on a good front of self-confidence, but it wasn't always true. He didn't want to pressure her. I'll find the right time, he promised himself. It will have to wait, but I'll find the right time. x-x-x-x Thanksgiving seemed to arrive suddenly. They both worked hard Monday through Wednesday as their offices moved to make up for lost time that the days flew by. It seemed to Connie that before she knew it they were in Simon's car, which was larger than hers and more comfortable, and starting on the four-hour drive that would take them to her parents. The night they'd almost made love never came up again, even though Connie had spent two more nights in Simon's bed. When they came home from work on Tuesday, it was to discover that the ceiling in Connie's room was leaking badly and had soaked the bed. There was a problem with the apartment above theirs and although the superintendent was working on fixing it, her room was unusable. There was an unspoken agreement that nothing besides sleep would happen, and they stuck to it. Connie loved sleeping next to him. He made her feel safe, just as she had imagined. She had decided the next day that she would tell him how she felt, but the time had never seemed right. As more time passed, she became less certain about it. She'd been in his bed, letting him hold her. They had been stressed, both of them, and it was only natural—wasn't it?—that in those circumstances, they would turn to each other for physical comfort. Comfort, she decided, was probably exactly what Simon had been offering, and she left it at that. Simon wondered what Connie was thinking, but didn't ask her, as he was pondering a few things himself. Although they had both avoided discussing the previous Friday night, there had—amazingly—been no tension between them. Mostly there was no time for tension; neither of them had gotten home before seven for the past three nights. Simon had also sensed that Connie needed to think about it before she could talk about it, so he didn't press her. We have a few days with no work ahead of us, he told himself. I'll take her for a walk, or something, just the two of us, and then we'll be able to discuss it. Simon hoped that if they were doing something like that, just walking, then she'd see that he was quite serious about loving her. He was afraid that if he said it while he was hugging her—or more, should more happen again—she wouldn't believe him. I'll be so glad when this game is over, he thought to himself. Pretending had mostly been his idea, he knew, even though Connie had made the suggestion. He, however, had pressed the issue and convinced her, so he felt like the fact that they were at this impasse was his fault. Not for much longer, he promised himself. x-x-x-x "Connie!" Emily shouted at her sister happily while sitting on the front porch. Connie grinned as she stretched. She hadn't seen Emily in months. She got a shock, though, when Emily stood up—Emily was pregnant! "Em!" she called, running over to hug her sister. They embraced, then Connie stepped back, looking at Emily's slightly rounded figure. "When did this happen? How far along are you? Why didn't you tell me?" Emily laughed. "Slow down, sis. I'm about five months along." "So why didn't you say anything?" They linked arms as they walked into the house and sat on a couch. "Is everything all right?" Connie asked concernedly. "It is now," said Emily. "I'm sorry, Connie. It wasn't that I didn't want you to know. There were just some complications at the beginning, and then I had to have an amnio and we were worried about the results. We didn't tell anyone except Mom and Dad and John's parents before that. But the results came back fine and now we're getting all excited." Emily fairly beamed. "Oh, I'm so glad everything's all right," Connie said with relief. "Congratulations! Boy or girl?" "We don't know yet," said Emily. "We can't decide whether to find out. I'll show you the ultrasound pictures later. I just had a checkup a couple of days ago." "This is so great," Connie said happily. "I can't believe I'll be an aunt!" "Will Simon be an uncle?" Emily teased. "Well, honorary, I guess." Connie looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?" "Sweetie, I'm the one who's supposed to be a little slow these days," said Emily. She winked at her sister. "Mom told me about you and Simon—and it's about time, I say. You guys have danced around it for years. I'm glad you finally got together." "Oh." Connie hadn't told Emily about the arrangement. At the moment, they were alone, but she could hear Simon and her parents outside. Emily's husband must have run an errand for their mom, as Connie hadn't seen him or their car. "The thing is—" Connie started, but before she could continue, her parents and Simon came in the house. "Where's my mouse?" their father's voice boomed. Edward Davetsky was a large man who put one in mind of Santa Claus, despite looking nothing like the traditional images. He was tall and lean but it was his spirit, Connie thought, that brought Father Christmas to mind. He called Connie his mouse because she'd been so small when she was born. "In here, Grampa," she teased. She stood up and ran back into the foyer, Emily following more slowly. Her parents stood there, with Simon behind them. "Well, come on, hug your old man," he instructed with a grin. Connie did, tightly. She missed her parents, and it was especially acute around holidays. "It's good to see you, hon," said her mother. The girls looked like an exact cross between their parents. Black hair from their father, green eyes from their mother, and height fixed firmly in the middle. "You, too, Mom," Connie said. Her mother smiled happily and held her arms open. Connie hugged her and stepped back next to Simon. "Wow, Emily," Simon exclaimed. "Look at you. How did you get that basketball to stay put under that shirt?" He grinned at her. Emily came over and hit him playfully on the arm, then gave him a quick hug. "Double-sided adhesive tape, nosy. How else?" Simon laughed. "Seriously, congratulations!" He put an arm around Connie's waist, almost unconsciously. "Thanks," said Emily. She glanced quickly at Connie, who looked slightly uncomfortable. Well, perhaps she wasn't comfortable with affection in public. What had she been going to say before they were interrupted, Emily wondered. She smiled inwardly. Simon would be good for Connie. "Now, let's get these bags up to your room and then you can help me with dinner," said Lydia briskly. "How was the trip?" her father asked, grabbing one suitcase. Simon grabbed another one and a smaller travel bag. They started up the stairs in a line, Emily remaining behind when her cell phone rang. "Good, thanks," said Simon. Connie nodded in agreement. "We left early and there was hardly any traffic," she said. "I guess everyone did all their driving yesterday." Connie and Simon had decided to leave early Thanksgiving morning, as they were so tired from work and didn't want to fight the onslaught of holiday travelers. It had worked out well. They'd managed to leave before eight, stopped once for restrooms and food, and had arrived before one o'clock. "You made good time," said her mother. "Dinner will be around four. I've invited Sophia, from down the street." "Oh, that's nice," said Connie, dropping her bag on a chair in the bedroom. "I haven't seen her for ages. How's her son, Ben?" "Ben will be here, too," her father said, his voice oddly flat. Connie studied him curiously for a moment, but his face was unreadable. She shrugged to herself, figuring she had simply misread his response. "I thought Ben was overseas," Connie said. "The last I heard his unit had deployed to Iraq." "He was injured," said Lydia. Connie gasped. "What happened?" she asked. "Is he all right?" "He is," her mother assured her. "But he had to be discharged. His unit was ambushed." Connie glanced from her mother and then to her father, looking for more details. "He lost an arm, Connie," her father said gently. "It was an IED. Otherwise he's fine, and he's bearing it very well. Insists on being called 'Lefty,' actually." Connie giggled. That sounded like something Ben would do. "You'll like Ben," she said to Simon, who had laid his suitcase on a small table by the bed. "He's a lot of fun." "I'm looking forward to meeting him," Simon said. This is nice, he thought. So far it was all going well. Lydia hadn't said anything to hurt Connie's feelings, the ride had gone well, and he was glad to have a change of scenery. With an early dinner, perhaps he'd be able to steal Connie away before it grew too late. He supposed he could wait until tomorrow, but wanted to talk to her sooner. x-x-x-x Connie had been right, Simon thought. Ben was a nice guy, and they had a mock serious argument on the merits of the Mets versus the Yankees, and then about the National and American Leagues in general. Dinner was a lot more comfortable than it would have been with his family, Simon reflected. Especially with whatever disagreement he was having with his brother. He honestly wasn't sure what had started it. Politics, probably, he decided. He and Jason were frequently opposite on issues, and although Simon tried not to talk about it too much, sometimes he couldn't help it. Jason tended to take a difference of opinion as a personal offence. Presumably Simon had questioned Jason's position on something, and Jason had responded by ceasing communication. He generally got over it, but Simon had learned the best thing to do was apologize quickly—which he had—and then wait for Jason. Ah, family, he thought, all dysfunctional in their own way, like Tolstoy said. The only thing wrong with dinner was that Lydia took any opportunity to get Ben and Connie talking together. That had made Simon not a little jealous, although he didn't say anything. Still, he thought it was rude, to be encouraging someone's girlfriend to pay attention to another man when her boyfriend was right there. Connie and Ben noticed it, too. They rolled their eyes and chatted when directed, but would soon fall back to previous conversations, usually Ben with Connie's father, and Connie with Emily. Did Lydia not think he should be with Connie? Simon wondered. Had Ben and Connie ever been an item? He didn't think so; Connie never mentioned it, and he was sure she would have. After the eating was done and most of the dishes cleared away, Sophia and Ben said their good-byes. Simon felt his heart rate speed up slightly as he began to figure out how to pry Connie away for a talk. His hopes were somewhat dashed when Lydia asked Connie and Emily to go with her for a short visit to another neighbor down the street. "The poor Fishburns," Lydia said. "He fell and hurt himself, although thank heavens he didn't break a hip. But he needs a walker for the moment, and when her arthritis acts up, she can barely hold a cup of water. Come with me, girls, and help me take them some leftovers, will you?" "Sure, Mom," said Connie. She grabbed the opportunity to postpone talking to Simon. It was silly, she knew, but her nerves were getting the better of her. The women packed some turkey and side dishes into some plastic containers and put them in a cooler to take down. "I'll carry it." Connie teased Emily, "You shouldn't carry anything heavy in your condition." "Oh, don't you start," groaned Emily, rolling her eyes. "If John had his way, I'd be on bed rest." "Don't knock it," said her husband. "I'd stay with you." He came over and put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. Connie quashed a pang of jealousy. "I'll be back soon," she said to Simon, and gave him a shy kiss. She'd never kissed him in front of anyone else. "I'll be here. I'm going to clean up the table with John and your dad when we play poker." He gave her a quick squeeze, wishing he had time for more. "Ha," said Emily. "Where were you when we really had to clean the table?" Her husband laughed. The women set off for the Fishburns'. Connie and Emily were very fond of them. They had been surrogate grandparents to every kid on the block while the girls were growing up. After a bit, Emily proposed that she and Connie return while Lydia visited for a while longer, saying she was tired. Connie suspected Emily was using the pregnancy as an excuse to get her alone. She was right. Emily grabbed her sister's arm as they started walking. "Okay, Connie, what's going on?" "What do you mean?" Connie wasn't trying to play ignorant, but she wasn't sure what Emily was getting at. "You started to say something earlier, when I remarked about you and Simon," Emily reminded her. "What was it?" Connie sighed. "It's going to sound silly." Emily shrugged. "Well, you see, we're just...pretending." Emily stopped and stared at her. "What are you talking about?" "I talked to Mom about three weeks ago," said Connie, resuming their walk. "She was pushing me about the last guy I saw, his name was Ron." She told Emily what Ron had said, and Emily's eyes narrowed. "Jerk," said Emily. "Yep," said Connie. "Too bad I never see it soon enough." She continued before her sister could interrupt. "Anyway, Simon and I were talking about the holiday, and I said he should pretend to be my boyfriend, to get Mom off my back for a while. I was kidding, I swear!" She held her hands up to ward off protests. "Honestly, Em, I didn't mean it. But then Simon said he'd do it and then...well, here we are." She shrugged and looked away. "It sounds nuts," Emily said, "but there's more, right? You sound like there's more." Like Simon, she knew the signs when Connie was trying to avoid a subject. "Come on, tell me." Connie sighed and kicked a rock on the sidewalk. "It was going fine. We were 'practicing.' Simon called it 'rehearsing.' We went on dates and acted like a real couple. Then a few nights ago, I was afraid I was going to have a nightmare." She described Simon's offer to sleep together, and what had almost happened, in broad strokes. "You're adults, you know," said Emily. She kept Connie walking past their house. This was obviously a conversation in need of more distance. "There's nothing wrong with what you did." "I know," said Connie. "It's just...well, I guess it's two things. First, I freaked out about my leg." "You have to let that go," Emily interrupted gently. "Simon is not the type of guy to care about that." "Yeah, I know," Connie agreed. "He even said so. That's totally on me. But the other thing is..." she swallowed. "I love him, Em. This whole time, it's been fun and killing me at the same time. I know I need to tell him, but I'm so afraid he doesn't feel the same, and then everything will change. He's been my best friend for ages. What do I do?" "You tell him." Emily was never one for hemming and hawing over an issue. She looked at, saw a course of action, and took it. "You have to take the chance, Connie. It's stupid not to." They stopped and she studied her sister, seeing the full extent of Connie's apprehension for the first time. "Besides," Emily continued, "I don't think you have anything to worry about." "What?" said Connie. Emily laughed. "I may be pregnant, but I'm not blind, Connie. Simon's got it bad for you, he has for a while. I saw the way he looked at you. That's not someone pretending." "You really think so?" Of course she does, Connie thought. Emily didn't say things she didn't mean. "I know it's hard," said Emily gently. "I know you're afraid. But you have to try. I really, really think it will work out for you. You just have to take the chance. Talk to him. Soon. Tonight if you can." "I want to," said Connie. "I'm just not sure we'll be able to tear him away from his poker game." She gave her sister a tentative grin. Emily had made her feel better. She was still nervous, but not as much. "Are you kidding?" Emily asked, turning back around so they could walk to the house. "John will mop up with him. Simon won't know what happened." x-x-x-x Emily had proved prophetic. Despite Simon's grandiose claims, John had wiped out both him and Edward in a few short hands. He was more than happy to see Emily and Connie return. Lydia came in a few moments later, and headed into the kitchen to make coffee and tea to go with their pumpkin pie. Overstuffed from dinner, there had been unanimous agreement to save the pie until it could be properly enjoyed. John pulled Emily to the sofa and refused to let her go, so Connie went to help her mother. "Things going well between you and Simon?" asked Lydia. Connie nodded, her guard up. She wasn't sure how to handle these questions, so she needed to answer carefully. "Yes. It's been very nice." That much was true. "It seemed rather sudden, though," said Lydia. "I mean, you've shared the apartment for so long but nothing's happened before." She stopped and looked at her daughter, brushed blonde hair back from her face. "Has it?" "What?" asked Connie, startled. "No, nothing before. We were just...I don't know. Just talking one night and we decided to take a chance on it." Okay, that's a half-truth, Connie comforted herself. We were talking. And I will take a chance on something. "Ben's nice, don't you think?" Her mother changed the subject abruptly. "He's handled his injury so well." "He seemed in good spirits about it," said Connie warily. Where was this going? "I always thought you and Ben would make a good couple," her mother said. "Especially now." "Why now?" asked Connie. She and Ben hadn't been close, but they'd been friends. She'd never had any interest in dating him, but he wasn't a bad guy. "Well, you know," said Lydia, reaching for a tray. "His injury, your injury. You both must know what it's like to go through something difficult like that. That's not an experience everyone shares." "Um, yeah," said Connie, unsure what to say to that. She had an ugly suspicion where the conversation was heading, and hoped she was wrong. She took some spoons out of the drawer, slowly, trying to concentrate. "Simon is very handsome," her mother commented. What is it with the non sequiturs? Connie wondered in frustration. Out loud she said, "Yes, he is. I've always thought so." "Do you think you'll have some pie?" her mom asked. "I mean, you must be watching your weight more than ever now." "What do you mean?" Connie asked. "Well, Simon, of course," said her mother, taking down dessert plates and laying them on the tray. "You want to look your best for him, don't you?" "He likes me the way I am," Connie managed to sputter out. "Of course, he does, dear," said Lydia. "But it never hurts to be in shape. Women do a lot to keep men happy, you know. I go to the gym every day to keep fit for your father. Clothes, too. We should go shopping while you're here." She poured cream from a carton into a pitcher and set it on the tray. "Right," said Connie. The implications were making her feel ill. You're not pretty enough for Simon, her mother was saying. Better dress the part if you don't want to lose him. "I think long dresses are back in style," Lydia went on. "And I've seen some lovely slacks and outfits in the stores. I know you don't go in for short styles, and I understand." Connie, near tears, said nothing. She doesn't know, Connie thought desperately. She doesn't know how hurtful this sounds. It's twisted, but she's just saying these things because she thinks they'll help me. She clung to those thoughts while getting out dessert forks for the pie. "Ben doesn't strike me as the type who cares about those things," said Lydia. "He seems very laid-back, very accepting of things. Of course, I'm sure being in a war zone gives you a perspective on things that the average person doesn't get." "Knock it off, Mom, for God's sake!" Emily's voice startled both of them and they spun around. "Emily!" said her mother in shock. "Can't you see how much you're hurting Connie's feelings?" Emily demanded, walking into the kitchen. "What is it with you, Mom? Simon cares about her, and she cares about him. There's no need for Connie to change or hide anything about herself." Emily had heard the better part of the conversation and gotten progressively angrier. As always, Connie had tried to roll with the punches, but for Emily, it had become too much. "Emily," said her mother calmly, "I've been around longer. You two are always looking through rose-colored glasses. I've seen how things work. People with figures like Connie—and me—have a harder time than more slender people. People with visible disfigurements also have difficulties, let's not pretend they don't." "Connie has a scar on her leg from an accident, Mom," snapped Emily. Her eyes, green like Connie's but lighter, were nearly sparking in anger. "She's hardly the elephant man. And while she may not be a size two, she's very pretty and Simon loves her for it. It's also insulting to Ben," Emily continued. "He may have lost an arm but he's got no less right to happiness than anyone else. Whether they have scars or not." "I never said otherwise," Lydia pointed out, her voice level but heated. Her eyes were narrowed, but she was keeping calm. Still, it was obvious she and her older daughter were ready to keep going at it. "Just let it go, Em," Connie spoke up. "It's all right. Let's just go eat. Please, the guys are waiting." The other two women stared at each other for a moment longer, then nodded wordlessly. Emily went to round up the men, and Connie and her mother arranged the food and dishes on trays to carry in. "Connie," said Lydia, "you know—" "Don't, Mom," said Connie softly. She sighed and then turned to look at her mother. "I know you probably don't realize it, Mom, but when you say things like that, it really hurts me." "I'm only—" Lydia tried to say, but Connie shook her head. "I know," said Connie. "You're only trying to help. You're only saying these things because you care. I understand. The problem is, they don't help, and I don't know if you understand." Lydia stood silently. "How do you think I felt," Connie asked, "knowing that you were trying to get Ben and me together, when Simon was sitting right there?" Her temper was rising but she held it in check. Angry words wouldn't help anything. "Knowing that you think I'm not good enough for Simon? That he'll drop me for a prettier girl?" Connie shook her head sadly. "How do you think it feels, Mom, to know that you think I'm just not good enough?" "That's not what I think, sweetie," Lydia said quietly. "I'm just trying to protect you. Simon is a wonderful man, we've always liked him. But sometimes, things just don't work out." Connie sighed again. This was useless. She loved her mother, but this was the last time she would have this discussion. "Please, I don't want to talk about it any more," she said. Lydia nodded and they took the food out. x-x-x-x Simon could tell something was up. He heard some raised voices in the kitchen after Emily had gone in but couldn't make out words. Emily came out to announce dessert, and although she was friendly enough about it, she seemed disturbed by something. Connie and Lydia brought out the pie, coffee, tea and plates and laid them on the table. Neither said anything. There was a definite undercurrent of tension as everyone sat around the table. Connie sipped at her tea and picked at her piece of pie. Normally she loved pumpkin pie, but the conversation with her mother had killed her appetite. It seemed like every insecurity she ever had, and some she didn't know of, were eating her alive. Funny, she thought, how we grow up, but in some ways, we're still the little kid looking for approval. She looked over at Simon, who gave her a smile and squeezed her hand. The little gesture made her feel better. She was torn between believing Emily and believing her mother. She wanted to believe her sister. Out of habit, it seemed she was falling for what her mother said. Not fair, she thought. Not fair at all. Then she forced herself out of her thoughts. It was a holiday, she was with family for the first time in a while, and Simon was there. Even if it was just pretending, it was good to be with him. Edward made a remark about babies, and the talk turned to baby names, room colors and baby necessities. The tension seemed to dissipate a bit, if not entirely, and soon they were all yawning. "Well, this baby is wearing me out already," said Emily. "I'm going to bed." She stood and John rose to join her. They said their good nights and went upstairs. Connie saw that her parents looked beat. Her mom had been cooking a lot of the day, and her father had been running errands. "Why don't you two go up?" Connie said. "I'll take care of these dishes. I'm not quite tired yet." Simon raised an eyebrow at that, not sure he believed her. "Are you sure, hon?" asked her mother. "You could leave them until the morning. They aren't going anywhere, after all." Connie recognized the peace offering. "No, it's okay, Mom," she said. "It'll be nicer for you to wake up to a clean kitchen. Besides, you did all the cooking. I can at least clean up." "Well, thanks, sweetie," said Lydia. "I won't look a gift horse in the mouth." She came over and hugged her daughter. "I love you, Connie. I'm so glad you came home." "Me, too," Connie said. Her dad kissed her on the cheek and they went to their room. "So, looks like it's just you and me," Simon said. "Great," said Connie, "you can help with the dishes." She smiled and started piling plates on the trays. Simon helped and they took them into the kitchen. Connie loaded what she could into the dishwasher, but washed the china plates by hand. "You know, we need to talk," said Simon when they were finished. He caught her hand in his. "I've been wanting to talk all day, but we've been busy." "I know," said Connie. "I've wanted to talk to you, too. Let's go upstairs, okay? I want a quick shower first." "Okay," said Simon. He stared at her for a moment, and Connie was sure he would kiss her. Then he stepped back and said, "Go on, I'll come up when you're done." Connie nodded, then started up the steps. She put her fingers over her mouth, imagining the kiss she hadn't received. x-x-x-x Connie let the water run down on her from the shower head after she'd finished. The hot water felt wonderful after such a long day. She turned off the water, then wrapped her hair in one towel and grabbed another for her body. While she'd been in there, she'd gone back over what Emily had said. Her sister was right. She needed to tell him, and tell him now. She tucked in the corner of the towel and stepped quietly into the hallway, then tiptoed down the hall to her room. Connie nearly shrieked when she found Simon in the room. She hadn't thrown on a robe because she assumed he'd still be downstairs, listening for the shower and then giving her time to dry and dress. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. She watched him watching her, then saw his eyes move downward. Suddenly she was mortified; although the towel covered her completely, her scar was visible. And Simon was looking at it. Simon studied the scar she'd unintentionally revealed. It wasn't so bad, he thought. It ran from just above her ankle all the way up her leg, the top part on her thigh hidden under her towel. It reminded him slightly of a rope, but otherwise it just looked like a thick line. It had faded some, he figured, because it was almost a shiny pink as opposed to a red or dark pink. He remembered getting his appendix out and the way the scar had first looked. Years later, it was smaller and had turned to the same light shade as hers. Connie made a strangled sound in her throat and Simon yanked his eyes back up to her face. He felt terrible when he saw her blush with embarrassment. There was no reason for it. "Connie," he said, taking a step towards her. She shook her head and tried to press herself into the wall. "Please," she said, her voice tight. "I need...I need to get dressed." "Connie," he said, "you—we—can't keep running away like this. We have to talk." He kept his voice even and comforting as he stood before her. "What's to talk about?" she asked, her shoulders slumping. Now that he'd seen it, he'd never be interested in her again, she was sure. It's good we're only pretending, she thought. If it had been for real and he told me he didn't want me, I don't know if I could take it. "What happened last Friday, for one thing," he said. "That was...an accident," she said, staring at the floor. "A nice accident, but we both know it didn't mean anything...more than that. You were trying to comfort me, and I appreciated it. I still do." Simon was silent, watching her. She didn't really think that, he was sure. She was...well, he didn't know what she was doing. Staving off embarrassment? Letting him down easy? Avoiding her feelings? "How do we know that?" he asked quietly, taking another step closer. "You haven't asked me. I haven't asked you. So how do we know?" Connie stood silently. She had no idea what to say. She was battling two competing impulses. One urged her to be honest with Simon, the other called for more caution. But was there anything left to be cautious about? Was there any going back to their former friendship after what had happened? Suddenly she realized that Simon had not agreed with her "accident" statement. Instead, he had questioned it. The glimmer of hope she'd had in the shower resurfaced. As she stood there, Simon remained quiet, wanting to put his arms around her but fearing it was the wrong thing to do. An accident? If it was an accident, he thought dryly, it was a mutual accident. "What happened in the kitchen?" he asked, trying to break the tension. "What did your mom say?" "Oh." Connie was startled at the change in subject. "She, um..." She took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "She pointed out some of my flaws, and I think was trying to prepare me for the idea that I'm not good enough for you." She tried to joke, but her smile was gone when she finished speaking. "What?!" Simon gripped her shoulders. His voice was quiet but inwardly he was seething. How could Lydia think that, let alone say it? "She invited Ben here because she thought since I had my scar and he'd lost his arm, we'd have something in common," Connie said. She couldn't keep the anger out of her voice entirely. "Imperfect people, perfect for each other, I guess." Simon was quiet again, pacing the floor a little. Connie clutched at her towel but didn't move. When he stopped and faced her again, she was struck by the intensity in his eyes. "Connie, I don't want to pretend any more," he said. "It's not working." Connie nodded. Of course. Emily had been wrong. "All right," she said, surprised she could speak. "I'll just throw some clothes on and go downstairs. I can sleep on the couch and get up before Mom does. She'll never know." "Why would you do that?" Simon asked, nonplussed. "It's easier," she said. She glanced at him but looked away quickly. "But, um, I think maybe we should keep things up for the next couple of days, at least during the day, okay? I just couldn't take explaining things." "No, Connie." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "You misunderstood me." "You said you didn't want to keep pretending," she said, puzzled. His hands felt warm and slightly rough on her bare shoulders. She tried to focus on the words instead. "That's right," he confirmed. She still looked confused. He smiled gently. "I want to do this for real, Connie. I want to be your boyfriend for real." "You do?" she asked in a whisper. He nodded. "I should have said it a long, long time ago. I especially should have said something after last weekend. I was afraid you would think I was only saying it out of obligation, so I held off. I'm sorry." He raised his hand to her face, and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I love you, Connie. Very much." "I love you, too," she said. "I wanted to say it, but I was afraid of messing up what we had." "I had the same feeling," Simon said, laughing softly. "God, we're a couple of idiots, aren't we?" Connie nodded, "I guess so." Then she got nervous again. "You're not...bothered?" she asked, gesturing at her leg. "By this?" "Lord, no," he said. He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be gentle and reassuring, but suddenly he was holding her tightly, kissing her deeply. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead on hers. "I was so scared that night. I thought you would die. I had nightmares about it for years. The only thing that says to me is that you're alive and I should never take you for granted." Connie was silent as she stood with her arms around him. She was trembling with relief and happiness. Simon loved her, just as she'd always hoped. "I think we should finish what we started, don't you?" Simon asked. His eyes were nearly black with desire, and Connie loved how he looked at her. She nodded. "I'll lock the door and get the light," she said. Simon heard the click of the lock, and watched her turn out the overhead light. One small reading lamp on a nightstand provided soft lighting. "Come here," Simon said before she could turn that one off. She did, and he could tell she was nervous. He took her hands and turned her so that she faced him with her back against the wall. "I love you, Connie," he said, and found her lips with his. Connie felt herself melting into his arms. She was emotionally exhausted and was content to let him hold her up. It felt good to be held, to be wanted. She parted her lips and sighed as his tongue dove past them. She moved one hand to his face, gently tracing his jaw and feeling the slight stubble that meant he needed to shave. She hadn't realized at first that he was no longer standing in front of her. He had left her lips to kiss her neck, her shoulder, and then her chest above the towel. Now he was kneeling in front of her. She felt his hand on her leg and instinctively jerked away, but he put his hands on her hips and held her in place. "Hush," he soothed. "It's all right." He stared into her green eyes, which were wide with surprise, and slowly ran his hand up her leg, over the scar. She watched him, mesmerized. She could only feel it in certain spots; there were a lot of dead nerves. Still, she couldn't believe he was touching her there. When he lowered his head and kissed her leg, starting at the knee and slowly moving up her thigh, tracing the outline of the scar, she gasped and closed her eyes. "I told you," he said, raising his hands so he could remove the towel. She opened her eyes and met his, unnerved by the desire she saw. "It doesn't bother me." The towel fell and he kissed her stomach, moving down until he could slip his tongue between her legs. He moaned softly as he tasted her. So sweet, he thought. He pulled back and looked up at her. "You're so lovely." Then he went back to using his tongue to tease her, feeling her body heat up the more he did. Connie closed her eyes and lowered a trembling hand to his head. No one had ever done this for her, certainly not so well. When he brought his hand up to touch her as well, she couldn't help but gasp. She lost track of everything, caught up in the sensations he was wringing from her body. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect concert and she whispered his name as she came. He held her up as her legs trembled. Holding her steady, he stood up, trailing kisses back up her body. When he was standing, he wrapped his arms around her. She rested against him, trying to steady her breathing. "I think you should take these off," she said when she recovered, moving to unbutton his shirt. Simon complied as quickly as he could, then pulled her to the bed with him. He bit back a cry as her hand traveled over his chest, her fingers tracing gentle circles. "I have been dying for you to touch me," he said when he trusted his voice again. Even then, it was rough. "Last time, you said stop," she teased, moving her hand down lower and wrapping around him. He jerked involuntarily, then rose up on one arm and kissed her hard. He wanted to feel every inch of her warm, soft body pressed against him. "Last time, I wasn't sure there would be a next time," he said. Her hand moved slowly up and down. Simon bit back a groan as she kissed his neck, every so often letting her tongue peek through to find a sensitive spot on his skin. As she moved to his chest, he hissed out a breath and held her sides as he lay back on the bed. Connie kissed and nipped her way down his body, loving how strong he felt to her touch. She traced her fingernails lightly over his sides and felt goosebumps rise on his skin. She smiled to herself when he gave a wordless cry as she took him in her mouth. Torture, Simon thought. She's torturing me. It was all he could think as Connie's mouth covered him, as her tongue slid up and down. He gripped the sheets to keep from grabbing her. After what seemed like hours, he had to make her stop. As she moved back up to look at him, he managed to focus and took her face in his hands. "I meant it, Connie. I love you. I should have told you and avoided this whole ridiculous pretending thing." "Well, let's pretend it was real the whole time," she suggested. She slid her hand back down, found him still hard, and smiled as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Then she was serious. "I wasn't always pretending." Simon opened his eyes. "Neither was I." He let Connie touch him for a few more minutes, then stopped her hand. "This is what I wanted to do last week," he said. He rolled so that she was under him and slid inside. They both stilled, savoring the feeling of their first time. Simon kissed her cheek and nuzzled her ear as he began moving his hips gently. Connie matched his movements. "I love the way you move," he said. He kept his pace as steady as he could, and was unable to stop dropping kisses on her face and neck. Connie couldn't talk, too overwhelmed by the emotional and physical sensations washing over her. Simon whispered something and almost before she realized it, he had carefully rolled to his back, keeping her with him. "You're absolutely beautiful," he said. He ran his hands up her sides and cupped her breasts. She gasped his name as his fingers played over her nipples, biting her lip once more. He didn't think he had ever seen anything as lovely as Connie as she looked down at him. Finally he could take no more and he muffled his cries of release against her shoulder. They curled up in the bed, awake but companionably quiet. Connie occasionally stroked his arm, if only to confirm to herself that he was there. More importantly, that he was going to stay there. "We'll have to rearrange things when we get home," Simon said sleepily, stroking her hair. "What do you mean?" she asked. "We have to decide whose room we'll sleep in," he said. "I'm sure not sleeping without you again." "My room," she said with no hesitation. Then she giggled. "You can drop some clothes on the floor if it makes you feel more comfortable." She stifled a squeal as he tickled her ribs. "So, what shall we do tomorrow?" Simon asked around a yawn. "I don't know," she said, teasing. "I have to wash my hair." She expected to be tickled again, but he surprised her with a deep kiss. "That's fine," he said, settling back and pulling up the covers. "As long as I get to help." x-x-x-x Once again, Connie tried to warn Rachel about the speeding car. Once again, Rachel panicked and the car went flying. Once again, the car splatted onto the pavement, upside down, pinning Connie under metal and plastic. Pain started in her back and rapidly radiated through her body. She couldn't stop the tears. Simon, she tried to call out but her voice wasn't even a whimper. Simon, please, find me. Help me. Please. She lay there, crying silently, but something was different. She heard voices approaching and felt her fear abating, just slightly. Then someone took her hand. She opened her eyes and turned her head carefully. "It's all right," said Simon, squeezing her hand gently. "I'm here." Connie smiled in her sleep and snuggled closer to him.
