Missed Connections
Missed Connections
Edited by Tan-ni Fan
A fleeting glance across a crowded space. Trains passing by in the night. Paths that once split unexpectedly cross again. Old friends reunited. Sometimes rediscovering a person and having new feelings can be just as intense as an initial spark. Less Than Three Press presents an anthology of stories about people who get a second chance to connect...
Missed Connections
By Tan-ni Fan
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Cover designed by London Burden
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition October 2014
Marooned!
Copyright © 2014 by Diana Sheridan
In Deepest Waters
Copyright © 2014 by Angel Propps
Fumbling Toward Crescendo
Copyright © 2014 by Jamie Sullivan
Past Due Diligence
Copyright © 2014 by Elena Alexandrescu
Savior
Copyright © 2014 by Mina MacLeod
Captive Heart
Copyright © 2014 by Cassandra Pierce
First Guy Kiss
Copyright © 2014 by Cecil Wilde
Evergreen
Copyright © 2014 by Cari Z
Love Among the Pines
Copyright © 2014 by Caitlin Ricci
Beware of Doors
Copyright © 2014 by Sara Fox
Don't Talk to Strangers
Copyright © 2014 by C.J. Munoz
Lesson on Giving
Copyright © 2014 by Valerie Mores
Rab+Rob 4eva
Copyright © 2014 by Lucy Kemnitzer
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN 9781620044537
Print ISBN 9781620044544
This anthology would not have been possible without the help of all the members of LT3, for letting me oversee and run this anthology, for teaching me each step of the way, and helping me whenever I was unsure about any part of the process.
I'd like to thank all the authors and editors who worked on this, y'all are awesome!
And finally, I'd also like to dedicate this to the friends that have encouraged me each step of the way, and listened when I panicked and had minor breakdowns.
Diana Sheridan
The fog was so thick that it seemed to have palpable weight and bulk. Connor felt as though he would have to slice into it in order to move through. Emerging from his car on the deck of the ferry, he looked around but could see only two cars ahead. Everything beyond that was shrouded in the dull grey dampness that lay heavily on the ferry, its passengers, and the waters of Ogumconquit Bay.
The ride to the island would take a little over two hours, Connor knew from having vacationed on the island for the past three years. The previous three years, he had shared the rented cabin with Michael, but he and Michael had broken up nearly six months ago, and there was no one new in Connor's life as of yet. This year he would be staying in the cabin alone.
Not wanting to spend the over-two-hour-long trip crunched in the front seat of his Toyota needlessly, Connor headed to the snack bar. Seated at a table there, he could stretch his long legs while he chowed down and perhaps strike up a conversation with a fellow passenger to make the time pass more easily. He made his way to the snack bar counter and perused the menu, which was posted on a chalkboard over the cash register.
Good! They still offered pizza dogs. He and Michael had always devoured the pizza dogs in the ferry's snack bar during the crossing each way. This year there was no Michael—a thought that brought an involuntary sigh to Connor's lips—but he'd still be able to enjoy what he thought of as the snack bar's specialty.
There was only one empty table, he observed after he ordered. He was hungry. He would easily be able to devour two pizza dogs and a large orange soda. When he paid the requested amount, he noted that the prices had gone up since last year. But then, that was hardly a surprise. The price of the cabin rental had gone up, too.
As he waited, a muscular fellow with curly brown hair and a thin moustache walked up next to him and peered up at the menu. Then he turned to Connor and asked affably, "What won't give me ptomaine?"
Connor laughed. "For a snack bar, the food isn't half bad. I'm partial to the pizza dogs myself. I always get one or two."
"You take this ferry often, then?"
"Every summer, for the past…well, this will be my fourth year."
"Are you vacationing on the island too, then?"
"Yes, I'm renting one of the cabins. And you?"
"I'm staying at the guest house."
The counterman briskly advanced to take the newcomer's order.
"I haven't decided yet. Give me another minute," the fellow requested.
"Okay. I'll be back," the counterman said.
"What do you recommend?" the brunet asked Connor.
"Have the pizza dog," Connor suggested, just as the counterman returned with a small cardboard tray bearing his order.
"Are those pizza dogs?" was the next question.
"Yep."
"Okay." As the counterman was walking away, the brunet called out to him, "Buddy? Can I get one of what he's having? And a cup of coffee, milk but no sugar."
"Enjoy your lunch," Connor said as he picked up his tray. That one last empty table he had noticed was still available, and he walked over to it, put his tray down at one of the four places, and yanked the wooden chair out decisively. Easing his lean frame into the chair, he hitched the chair into the table and took a swig of his orange soda before digging into the fancified hot dog.
He was about a third of the way through that first hot dog when the stranger appeared at the table. "Mind if I sit here? There are no other empty tables, and—"
"Sure. Grab a seat."
The brunet put his tray down, pulled a chair out next to Connor, and seated himself heavily. "Paul," he said, thrusting out his hand to shake.
"Connor." Connor grasped Paul's outthrust hand and shook it heartily. As he did, he noticed that one of Paul's eyes was a seafoam green while the other was hazel. Connor let his hand linger in Paul's grasp, and Paul seemed none too eager to break the connection either.
"So what's in this thing, anyhow?" Paul asked, jerking his thumb toward his pizza dog. He took a sip of his coffee while he waited for Connor to answer.
"It's a hot dog with marinara sauce, mozzarella cheese, and pepperoni slices. It's pure junk food, but it's seriously delicious."
Paul took a cautiously small bite, chewed, swallowed, then took a larger bite and mumbled an "Mmm-
hmmm!"
of agreement.
"I'm surprised you got only one," Connor commented.
"I wanted to see if I liked it, first. I do! I may go back and get another one—although this is awfully filling. You may have to roll me back to my car if I have another one."
Connor chuckled. "So this is your first vacation on the island?" he asked. "And your first time on this ferry, I take it?"
"Yes to both. But you've been there before. What's it like?"
"Peaceful. Foggy mornings till around ten. Then the sun breaks through. It seldom rains this time of year. You can swim in the bay, fish from the pier or rent a boat, or just go out in a boat without fishing, of course. You can lie on the beach and soak up rays or hike in the woods. I think the guest house, where you'll be staying, has a pool, too—an advantage we cabin dwellers don't get to enjoy. I think the guest house owners have bonfires on the beach some nights, too. It's a good opportunity to get back in touch with nature. I like it."
"Do you live in the city, then?"
"Yes. And you?"
"Yes," Paul answered. "Us too."
"'Us'?"
"Patrick and I. Patrick's—umm—kinda—well, we've been together almost five years now." A troubled shadow passed across his face.
Connor was disappointed. He'd been intrigued with Paul and had been hoping this conversation was going somewhere. He'd already been envisioning the two of them spending time together during his week on the island. But now it seemed there was a Patrick in the equation. He couldn't help but notice, however, the expression on Paul's face. "Why the look? Trouble in paradise? Or am I overstepping my bounds by asking?"
"Yes to the first question and no to the second. Well, not exactly trouble, but…. Let me see. How do I put it? No relationship is perfect, but ours is even less so. The spark is gone. We get along fine, we don't fight, and we enjoy many of the same things, but…well, sometimes it feels more like I'm living with a roommate, or a brother."
"No sex?"
"Occasional sex. And just barely satisfying."
"Then why do you stay?"
Paul seemed to be thinking the question over before he answered. "A combination of inertia and gratitude, I guess."
Connor cocked an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Inertia in that it's a pleasant enough relationship, easy enough. I know there should be more to a relationship than that, and I know I'm missing out on something better that's out there somewhere, but it's easier to just keep going along. It's stress-free and familiar and…well, easy."
"You mentioned gratitude?"
"Two years ago my dad had a massive heart attack. He's a self-employed sole practitioner, a business consultant, and he had been laid up for quite a while and had no money coming in as a result. My folks had already gone through all their savings because of the recession, and I was strapped, too. Patrick stepped up to the plate. He loaned them ten thousand dollars—interest-free, too. They're still paying him back. I was and still am extremely grateful. I didn't even ask him to help them. He volunteered."
"And your dad?" Connor asked. "He's all right now?"
"There was lasting damage, but he's essentially okay."
"I can see why you'd be reluctant to leave Patrick for no apparent reason."
"Yeah. It's not like we had a fight or—or—well, you know, like something went
wrong
between us. How do you tell a guy, 'Well, it's been a nice five years, but I think I'll be moving on'? Especially after what he did for my family."
"It's tough," commiserated Connor. Then he asked, "So, where's Patrick now?"
"Stretched out in the back of the van, catching a nap." He took the last bite of his pizza dog. "Gonna go get seconds. Can I get you anything while I'm up?" he offered.
"Not unless they're handing out new stomachs. This one's pretty filled." Connor thumped his belly loudly with his hand. "I don't think I can even finish my soda."
"I'll be back. Do you wanna stick around, even though you're done eating? I'm enjoying talking with you."
"I'm enjoying talking with
you,
" Connor answered, spontaneously adding, "I like your smile."
Paul's mouth seemed turned perpetually upward, and his eyes sparkled. Connor found this very attractive. He also admired Paul's loyalty in not wanting to leave Patrick after what Patrick had done for his folks—although the selfish side of him wished Paul
would
leave Patrick. He thought he and Paul might make a good couple.
When Paul returned to the table, he had a fresh tray with a new pizza dog on it. "I think my eyes are bigger than my stomach. I'm not sure I can finish this. Want part of it?" he offered.
Connor laughed and shook his head. "I'm stuffed to the gills," he protested. Then, as Paul bit into his pizza dog, Connor added, "You know, you're quite a fellow."
"I like you too," Paul said softly, placing his hand on Connor's arm. He let it rest there, and Connor felt warmth and a strong current flow from Paul to him.
"I'm sorry you're spoken for," Connor said softly, putting a hand on top of the hand that was resting on his arm.
"I'm sorry too," Paul said in a voice laden with emotion.
"What do you do back home?" Connor asked, feeling a change of subject was in order. He found himself wanting to get to know Paul better even though a relationship seemed out of the question.
"I'm a salesman in a high-end jewelry store. And you?"
"I'm a cameraman at the TV station. I work one of the studio cameras for the morning show and the noon news, and in between I go out and cover events as they happen. I work from five AM till one in the afternoon. It's a great shift if you don't mind getting up early—and I don't mind. I have morning metabolism anyhow."