Page 56 of Beyond the Stroke

Fuck that.

The memory has my heart pumping vigorously.

Is that what Rory’s dinner with his parents will be like?

I wipe down the recently vacated table, my arm working in a quick motion as my mind vacillates between annoyance that Rory even asked me to go to dinner with his parents—because we’re not that close, I’ve known him less than a week—and a niggling sense of something that feels a lot like protectiveness.

As another table turns over, the latter is becoming stronger, because if I don’t show up for him, who will? And how has this man, this charming, affable man, managed to wriggle his way under my thick, reptilian skin so quickly?

Is it the fact that even though he paid to have my van door lock fixed, he still refuses to let me stay there alone? Or is it because I can’t stop conjuring the vision of him shirtless on my van floor with Edgar cuddled under his arm? Or the memory of how my fingertips brushing ever so slightly against his bare chest last night had sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

No. That’s not important.

The real issue is Rory’s kindhearted. Unselfish. The kind of guy who means it when he says he wants to help. And all he asked was that I come to dinner to be a buffer with his parents.

The weight of these thoughts has my resolve crumbling so fast that I rush over to where Darcy is resetting a table.

“Hey, Darce, can you close for me tonight?” I ask.

“Hot date?” She smirks, reorganizing the sauce caddy. She’s been adamant something is going on between me and Coral Cove’s golden boy, but I refuse to admit anything because that would be acknowledging Rory Shields has a way of making me think about him when he’s not around. Like right now, I’m wondering if he’s miserable. If they’ve guilted him into giving up his dreams. Or worse, if his ex is there already, smiling sweetly and stroking his arm like they’re a couple again.

“I need to take care of something.”

Rory, that’s what.

But I keep that thought to myself because I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do, what Rory needs from me, but the fact that he asked me to be there tonight, I know it’s the right move.

“Go,” she nods toward the exit, “I got you.”

“Thanks.”

In the back room, I untie my apron and toss it in the laundry bin.

“Where are you off to?” Mick asks.

“I have an appointment,” I say, grabbing my things from my locker.

“A date?” He grins which looks odd on his usually stern face.

“It’s not a date,” I call as the back door slams shut behind me.

It’s not a date.

“Miss?” The Matre’d gives me a once over. I didn’t have time to change, so I’m still in my red Salty Pirate Café polo and black skort. I catch the way his nose wrinkles in disapproval. “May I help you?”

His tone is clear.You don’t belong here.

Part of me is annoyed at his judgment, but another part of me is filled with satisfaction that I don’t look like I belong here. It’s what I’ve been working toward the past few years to distance myself from my old life.

And the way he’s looking at me makes me think his version of helping would be to usher me out a side door, so I decide to bypass him altogether.

“No.” I wave him off and move toward the dining room.

“Miss!” He’s quick to call after me, but the appearance of two appropriately dressed guests suddenly has his attention pulled elsewhere.

In the dining room, a few heads swivel in my direction as I search for Rory and his parents.

I’m passing by a table when a woman lifts her wine glass in my direction.

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