"Are you sure this ain't too much, Rissa?" Ed asks worriedly.

"There's still room in the cart," I assure him.

"But we're only in the kitchen area. You said the kitchen, living room, and upstairs bathroom all need to be done," Ed points out.

"And we can't half-ass it! Conner can't see the beauty yet because he doesn't have the eye I do. Once I put my touch on things, he'll even like the wallpaper."

Ed chuckles as I survey the shelves. I spot a cute yellow vase and add it to the cart. The kitchen wallpaper has a green border with yellow sunflowers, so this will be a pretty touch. I make a mental note to grab some fresh flowers before we check out.

My phone goes off and I unlock it to find a text from Conner.

"You'll see," I say as I put my phone away.

***

When Ed and I pull back up, a truck is leaving, and Conner is outside waiting for us. He's wiping a bit of sweat from his forehead, and his curly hair is all messy.

I climb out of the car, and Ed gets out, popping the trunk as he does. Conner heads towards the back of the vehicle along with Ed, and I hustle over to join them.

Conner looks so relaxed today. He's dressed down from his standard look and looks good in the jeans he's wearing. I see he's put on a hooded sweatshirt over the sweater he wore earlier. I follow the two of them to the back and giggle at the loud groan Conner lets out as he looks into the trunk.

"I'm not moving in here. How much stuff did you buy?"

He turns to look at me, and just as I am about to defend my very necessary purchases, I see something that stuns me. My mouth is agape as I step closer, squinting at that logo... it's faded, but I recognize it all too well.

"That sweatshirt. Where did you get that?" I manage to make words come out even as goosebumps start forming on the back of my neck.

"This?" he looks down and laughs. "It's an old printing company I worked for during college. The pay sucked, but they loved giving out crap with their logo on it. This is actually the older one. I lost the one I got my last year there."

Lost it... as in on a bus?

"That place is it here in Minneapolis?" I question.

"Was. They moved to Roseville a few years back, why?"

"No reason," I say quickly and then ask. "Did you... ever take the bus to work?

"Sure.  I couldn't afford a car in college." He furrows his eyebrows. "Again, why?"

"You always ask me tons of questions. It feels like my turn," I explain hastily.

"Okay..." he looks confused but chuckles. "Can you ask me random questions later?  It's kind of cold out here."

"Yeah... sure," I mumble, shell-shocked as I stand there and watch Ed and Conner start unloading the trunk.

The shirt has the same logo as my comfort shirt. My yellow umbrella.

Is Conner's old shirt?

How can this be?

It's like—

No! I scream internally. Do not finish that thought. It is not fate; it's a weird coincidence. Maybe it's not even his shirt. There were probably others who rode the bus that worked there. One of them might've lost it, right?

Right. That has to be it.

But the idea of it being some random person's shirt suddenly feels like a punch in the gut.

Stop it, Rissa! I tell myself. It can't be fate. Conner could never like me like that. We might be friends now, but I'm still a project to him—something broken that needs fixing. Even if he did say not to use that word.

I stand numbly, watching Ed and Conner fill their arms with bags.

"You going to help us, or just stand there looking pretty?" Conner teases as he walks by me.

Pretty? He thinks I'm pretty?

Rissa-  get it together!

"Oh, uh yeah, sorry..."  I mumble as I slowly get closer to the trunk to help.

Meanwhile, my head is running faster than I can keep up with.

Knock it off, I tell it silently, of course. The sweatshirt is not my yellow umbrella.  I need to stop pretending life is a cheesy hallmark movie, like Mel likes to accuse me of. With that thought comes a sudden surge of sadness, and I frown as I grab the last few bags from the trunk.

The sweatshirt was a sign. It was meant to show me that coincidences are not fate and that it's time to think about things more realistically.

Everything — like I'll never afford one of those old Victorian mansions. I blink back tears at the idea of giving up that long-term dream.

Stepping inside, I start towards the living room when I hear Ed laughing.

"Rissa! Why is there an entire bag of pink books?" Conner calls out.

"For the aesthetic, I'm going for,"  I say as I step in and see him frowning at a pink book with an ice cream cone on the cover.

"This is a children's book."

"But it's the color I need. There are some other colors in the red and pink family, too. It'll all blend when I'm done. Let me do the bookshelf. Everything needs to go just so."

"I—but it's a kid's book," he mumbles, shaking his head, as Ed chuckles again.

"You two need me for anything else?" Ed asks.

"No, we got it from here. Thanks, Eddy," I say with a smile toward the older man. "I'll call you later when I'm ready to go home."

"I can bring you home," Conner says, glancing at me and then Ed. "Ed, go enjoy your Saturday."

"Thanks!" Ed says, nodding at us before heading out.

"But Emma–"

"Doesn't need to know," Conner cuts me off. "No one's going to notice me drop you off at your apartment, especially when I'm not even coming from my own. Besides, it's early enough in all this. Nobody cares about my Instagram yet."

I shrug it off, along with those nagging thoughts I can't seem to get rid of.

"So the couch..." Conner continues. "I think it's ugly as hell, but it looked like you'd like it, and the roses match the stupid wallpaper —"

"The couch!" I forgot all about it. I quickly turn around, and once again, my jaw drops.

He found the perfect piece for this room. It's cream-colored but with a beautiful rose pattern, framed with dark etched wood, giving it an old-school handmade look. A coffee table in that shade of wood sits in front of it, and a plush recliner sits next to it. The chair is a plain off-white color, but I'm glad it's boring, so it doesn't take away from the couch.

"This is incredible... it's like it was made for this room," I mumble. "How did you - you said they didn't have anything like this."

"I went to an antique shop," he explains. "I knew you didn't really want a white couch."

"You did? For me?" I ask.

"Better than hearing you whine about the boring couch all the time," he says with a tiny smirk.

Of course. He didn't do it for me. He did it to keep me quiet. That damn sad feeling washes over me again, but I force it down as I give him my best attempt at a smile.

"Well, let's get this place together," I direct all business as I shove my feelings down. "You can start in the kitchen if you want, but don't hang anything up until I say."

"Yeah, sure. Are you alright, Riss?" he asks as he studies me. You don't seem... you."

"I'm fine, just tired, I guess," I say as I quickly turn away, heading towards the bookshelves. He stands still behind me for a few moments, and I wonder if he'll say something else.

He doesn't, though. He leaves, and I let out a ragged sigh once he does.

**

I try to distract myself as I work, but I can't. Decorating is one of my favorite things in the world, yet enjoying it's so hard. Being more logical and reasonable about my goals and dreams is good, but it still hurts.

Even more than admitting I was a dating failure did. At least that can be fixed with Conner's help.

The big old house with the ballroom is all I have ever wanted.

... but I work at a call center, the new logical side of me reminds myself.

For now, old me chimes in. The bar...Derek said I'd make more money there and have more fun.

Could make more money, but it's still a huge risk working for tips, new me butts back into the conversation.

"Will you shut up already?"

"What?" Conner pops his head into the room. "I didn't say anything."

"I was, uh, roleplaying," I explained hastily.

"By yourself?" He asks as he tilts his head.

"Yup."

"It didn't sound like it was going well." He steps into the room. I turn away and start fidgeting with the books. They are perfect and don't need any adjustments, but I need something to do with my hands.

"Rissa." He's right behind me, so close I can smell his piney cologne. "I know something's wrong. What's going on?"

"It's nothing," I say as I push past him. I make my way to the couch and sit down. "The couch is perfect. It's even comfortable, too. Some might think rose wallpaper and a couch with roses is too much, but I think they complement each other."

"I can see that," he admits as he surveyes the room.

"You're just saying that to humor me, but thanks," I say.

"No, I actually... like it. It's dated, but not in a bad way. It's classic," he ponders. "I still think the kid's books are weird, but I do like how you staged the bookshelves."

"I want to add some plants, too, that'll add more life to the room, and we need an area rug to warm it up."

"Send me what you need, and I'll get it ordered," he says so easily.

He is such a good guy; it's a shame he doesn't date. My mind wants to go down a road it shouldn't with that thought, so I quickly stand up.  "Let's go check out what you did in the kitchen."

"In a second." He stops me. "You love this stuff, shopping, and decorating."

"Yeah, so?"

"So what's with your mood? Did something happen at Target or something?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, too bad because that's what we do. Now talk to me," he demands.

"I talk to you about dating stuff, but this isn't exactly that."

Conner is Mr. Logical, and I know exactly what he'll say. He'll agree that I should set my sights lower and aim for a house I could afford someday. He'd probably also think it's a foolish move to leave my job. I'd rather not hear it, although maybe I need to.

"This is going to extend way beyond dating stuff," Conner says. "It's you getting to know yourself first, remember?"

I let out a huffy sigh. It looks like I'm going to get that lecture after all. "I'm just starting to realize my delusions don't end with men."

"You mean your job?" he asks. "You know that after all those years, you can and should demand a raise and promotion, right?"

"That's not how the corporate world works, Conner."

"That's exactly how it works, Rissa. They'll respect you more if you demand it."

"What if I don't want to have to do all that? What if I just leave instead?" I toss the words out there for the first time, and they're scary. They almost feel like physical things hovering and buzzing around me.

"It's your decision, Riss, but if you think that makes more sense, then that's what you should do."

Wait what?

"Really?" I study his face and see no hint of sarcasm there.  "You wouldn't tell me to have a backup plan and something stable lined up first?"

"If I had a backup plan when I quit my job, we wouldn't be here right now. It's what led to my book."

"You had a job you quit before you were a writer?" I sit up straighter, my mood lifting some as I find myself engrossed in learning more about Conner.

"I took the advice of a mentor in college and decided to go to school for accounting to secure a career until the writing dream hopefully took off or in case it didn't. I did well in school and got a job right out of college at this big firm in New York. The benefits were good, and the pay was great, but it wasn't my dream. I was saving all this money to publish books that I had no time to write. Finally, one day, I just quit right there and then with  no backup plan."

"Seriously, you?" I am stunned. "I can't see it."

"I had a little convincing," he says. "On my lunch break that day, I was walking around the city.  I came across this guy sketching on the sidewalk. He looked so peaceful, and I couldn't remember the last time I felt that way, but I knew it was when I was writing. I called my mom and vented about how miserable I was. She told me to quit the job and come home."

"Go, Mom!" I exclaim. "Mine would never. She'd  put my dad on the phone to talk some sense into me."

"Dad was all for it too. They hated me being so far away," Conner explains. "I did quit my job that day and had planned on leaving New York, but I didn't then."

"Why not?"'

"When I got back to my apartment, which was above a coffee shop, I saw they had a help wanted sign up. It felt like fate to stay in New York, work below my apartment, and spend my spare time writing," he explains. "I had to turn my alcove into a makeshift bedroom and get a roommate, but I made it work. If he had anyone over, I'd go downstairs and write in the coffee shop."

"You quit a long-term job and made a dream come true," I murmur, impressive.

"It didn't happen immediately, but yeah, that's what I did," he says.

"You wrote the book while you lived there and then moved back home?"

"Actually, at that time, I was writing something else," He says, and a slight blush touches his cheeks.

"Writing what?"

"It was a series of books about a dragon shifter," Conner stuns me by dropping that, and I think my eyes must bug out because he laughs and then adds. "I didn't start out wanting to be a self-help writer, Riss."

"No way! Really? How can that even be possible?"

"Believe it or not, there's an imagination under all this beige," he says, and I have to snort back a laugh of my own.

"Where can I buy them? I have to read them!"

"You don't look like a fantasy fan, Rissa."

"Is there any romance in it?"

"Well, yeah, eventually... It's more of a coming of age, as he realizes what he is in book one, but as the series goes on, he finds a love interest."

"I need to read these books!" I cry out, jumping on the new couch in excitement. "How come I've never seen them under your name online?"

"They were self-published long ago but never really sold that well. When we started writing Dating with a Purpose, I was convinced to unpublish them. She said they were off-brand for what we were trying to do." His eyes dim, and there's a bitterness to his tone.

"Wait, we?" I question as I arch a brow. "Who is this she?"

"I had a partner on the book, Serena...it didn't end well," he says in a stifled tone.

"She made you take down your books? I hate her too." I declare.

"I don't hate her. I strongly dislike her, though. She wasn't just my partner in the book. She's my ex, too."

"I'll just hate her for both of us then," I offer.

"Let's not get into her right now," he adds.

"We're already on the topic," I deny his request and continue. "So you two wrote the book together? How did you go from writing fantasy to self-help?"

"At the coffee shop when I was working, I'd catch these second-hand stories about dates, good and bad. I filed some of them away and kept notes. I thought someday I'd switch gears from fantasy and try a comedy, maybe a tongue-in-cheek guide to dating, or something like that, but it was just this vague idea then. Then, I met Serena through friends. We clicked and started dating."

"So you did date once."

"Did, being the key word," he says with a dry smile.

It's her fault he doesn't now. I just know it, and it makes my blood boil even before knowing what happened.

"Serena was a relationship therapist and had wanted to write a book about dating for some time but didn't have the writing experience. She'd bounce ideas off me, and I'd help her out. One day, she came across my notes about the dater's stories from the coffee shop. She convinced me to write a real dating guide. I was doubtful at first, but I eventually agreed. We bonded, working on it together. Or so I thought." A sadness flickers in his eyes.

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter. It's over, and I'm better off without her. I'm much happier here than in New York."

"It does matter," I argue.  "Tell me."

"Rissa- I asked you what was wrong. How are we talking about Serena right now?"

"I'll tell you what has me down if you tell me what happened with Se-mean-a."

He laughs at that and then lets out a small sigh. "Fine. If you want to know the story, I was an idiot."

"I don't believe that."

"Well, I was. I thought we were getting serious. We'd discussed moving in together. We got a nice advance from the publishing company when they picked up the book. I felt like we lived the words in that book like we were the successful couple everyone could be. Everything was great in my blind eyes, and then I picked up her phone one day."

I tense up, prepared to hate her even more. "And?"

"The publisher's office was calling and texting us both a lot then. Final decisions were being made, and stuff for the book was happening fast. She was in the bathroom when her phone went off, and I assumed it was about the book. I picked it up and opened a text chain she never wanted me to see."

"She was cheating?"  I nearly explode at the idea of someone hurting him like that. My fists clench as my body tenses.

"She'd been seeing the guy for months behind my back," he confirms.

"What the hell!? How could she do that to you?"

"She gave me a crappy speech about how she never meant for it to happen and felt so terrible about it. She claimed she wanted to tell me but couldn't find the right time."

"When after you all moved in together?" I shake my head in absolute disgust.

"I think she planned to end it after the book took off and she had a name for herself. I found out later she'd already started her next book," Conner says.

"I don't even have words for what she is," I mutter.

"It got messy, and I admit I didn't handle it that well. I saved all the texts and threatened to expose her as a cheater if she forced the issue of us publishing the book as a couple, which is what she wanted. I refused to live a lie like that. In the end, she's getting a lot of the profits, but at least her name is not on the cover with mine."

"Wow, just wow," I glance at him carefully. "Do you ever talk to her now?"

"Never. But I've heard through the grapevine that she's been talking a lot of shit about me."

"For what?" This woman is something else. If I ever see her, I think I'll throw something at her.

"In the final edits, we took out everything she wrote and only left what she and I wrote together, which wasn't much. It made more sense to have it have one voice since we wouldn't be adding her name to it. She took offense to that and likes to say the book would have been better the way it was.  She wants to make sure she outsells my next book. I can't let her," he says with a determined look. "I'm over it, but after everything she did, I can't let  her win."

"You won't! We will not let that woman win. I promise Conner that this book will blow anything she tries to write away. I am one hundred percent in this with you." I assume him wholeheartedly. 

"I didn't tell you all that to guilt you about the book." He frowns.

"I know, and it's not guilting me. I was always on board, but even more now. You are the nicest guy, and based on what you did Friday night, I know you treated her well. You didn't deserve it, and I won't let her win."

He runs a hand through his hair and settles into the chair as his gaze meets mine. "Thanks for that. For this. I was never sure about being a self-help writer. But at this point, it's— a pride thing."

"I get it," I say, even though I don't really. I've never been betrayed like that, but I can imagine how terrible it would feel. "I still want to read your old books. I know I can't buy them, but do you have copies I can read?"

"I doubt you'd like them," he said sheepishly.

"Conner, stop gatekeeping!" I demand, and he lets out a small chuckle.

"I'll bring them with me next week," he relents.

"And the dolls, too, you're gatekeeping them as well."

"I don't want to give them up. I kind of got used to them on my island."

"Not fair!" I tease, but secretly, knowing he likes them that much feels nice. "We should trade off. You get a week and then I get them a week."

"A custody arrangement for build-a-bears?"

"Yup," I chirp as I pop up. "Now on to decorating the kitchen!"

"Wait a second," he says as he grabs my arm to stop me. "I didn't forget our deal."

"What deal?" I smirk.

"Your turn, Rissa," he says pointing at the couch. "Sit down and start talking."

This convo continues in Conner's POV in the next chapter!