Page 11 of Scotch: Unraveled

And there it is, that Rory-ness. That thing that is simply him. He’s not trying to be slick, he never had to be. He’s just being…Rory. Knowing this, knowing the way he gets to me has always gotten to me, I’d love for someone to let me know why I don’t go running for the hills. Why instead, for some reason that I haven’t figured out yet, I walk around the car—mycar—and climb into the passenger seat. It’s ludicrous.

“What were you looking at?” I ask. “Just then?” Using my thumbs, I shift in the seat to point to the dumpster.

He shakes his head. “It was nothing—I don’t think anyway. Let’s go get the truck.” Rory starts the car, shifting into gear and rolls out.

We spend the next fifteen minutes listening to the classic rock station on a volume soothing to the ears of the little girls in the backseat while he drives us to the next town over. The leaves have started changing interspersing with the greenery still clinging to life, that along with the mountains makes this one of the most beautiful stretches of road in the county.

Staring blissfully out the window gives me time to think. Rory MacGregor and soft decibels doesn’t compute. He always wanted his music loud. The man only fucked to Ozzy. That’s notthisman. As he turns into the Dodge dealership, I smile to myself realizing that I don’t know this Rory MacGregor at all.

“You good with the girls while I get the keys?” he asks, using those clear blue eyes to bore into my soul even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.Shoot.

“Yes,” I answer quickly because I need to get him out of the car. How long has he been this new Rory? Years or since the girls came to live with him? Space. Distance. That’s what I need. Space and distance.

“Why don’t you and the girls follow me back to town afterward,” he says. “Let us take you out to dinner to say thanks. You always liked steak. How about the Roadhouse?”

This is the point where I should sayno. It’s hard to put space and distance between us if I say yes, not to mention unprofessional to go out to dinner with a parent from the daycare. And there’s the little fact that he broke my heart so badly before that I’ve never allowed myself to fall for another man since. But the kindness he shines on me…

I should say it’s a ride and nothing else. I should say I’ll help him set up a nursery for the girls and nothing else. I should say and do all this, yet even as I think it, I know that’s not going to happen. Not with Rory.

“Sure.” The word falls from my mouth with ease. “The Roadhouse sounds great.”

He smiles again, brushes his finger along my cheek, and walks away, leaving me with the girls. About fifteen minutes later, he walks out and jangles the keys. I assume that means he’s ready to leave. I hadn’t even moved back to the driver’s seat yet, which I do. Having to readjust both the seat position, because I couldn’t even reach the pedal, and the mirror. Engine started, I wait.

Rory climbs behind the wheel of a brand new, giant, silver pickup and rolls out first, with me following close behind him. We make the drive back to Thornbriar and head in the direction of the Roadhouse. My stomach growls in anticipation of a dinner with Rory as much as actual hunger.

After he parks, I pull up into the spot next to his. We each go for a carrier and walk inside the restaurant looking every bit like the family I wanted with him so many years ago. And even though he’s holding one of the girls, he pulls a chair out for me to set Macie down on, then pulls one for me and finally Mollie before seating himself.

When the waiter comes to our table Rory orders a beer and me my cherry 7 and 7.

“Did Elise or Caitlin tell you I like those?” I ask.

The stilted look on his face tells me he’s taken offense to my question. “Because we didn’t date for two years?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“So ya’ve forgotten everything about me? How I like my eggs? My favorite drink? What helps me feel better when I’m sick?”

Shoot. He’s got me on that. I remember everything. Everything that made up Rory MacGregor during our time together.

Instead of letting him in on that little secret, because of what it says about me and how much he meant to me, I simply say, “Thank you.”

“Still eat yar steaks mooing?” he asks as our drinks arrive and he takes it upon himself to order for the both of us. Steaks. Baked potatoes. Onion blooms. Creamed spinach. Salad. Artichoke dip to start. Oh yeah, he remembers everything.

“No better way,” I respond, and in return, I get his glorious laughter.

Once the waiter leaves the table Rory takes a pull from his beer and says, “Tell me then, how long ya been here?”

“A few months now. You remember I’m originally from here.”

“Aye, I remember,” he says with a head nod. One might think he’s the epitome of composure the way he sits slouched on the chair, one bent arm over the back. Hell, I’d even think that if he weren’t picking at the paper on his bottle of beer, tearing little strips off the label to litter the table. “Ya got a place of yar own or ya staying with Brighton?”

“You remember Brighton?” Shock doesn’t begin to cover my reaction. I mean, she’s been my best friend my whole life and came up for visits. We’d talked on the phone like every night. But it’s not as if he’d spent oodles of time with her.

“Hard to forget a woman like Brighton. That woman laughed at fucking everything; so loud I heard her through the phone like she was standing in the room with us. Never met a woman who laughed so much—except when she saw me around town.”

How do I respond to that? He can’t blame her. She’s mine, therefore, takes my side in breakups. It’s written on the first page of the best friend’s handbook. Not to mention we’re here, having a good time. Anything I say in her defense will lead to an argument.

Instead, I push a forced smile over my lips and sip my drink, wincing at the pop of fizz going up my nose. “I have a tiny apartment at The Colonies.”

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