Chapter 14
fourteen
. . .
SUMMER
When Rory showed up last night, my instinct was to turn him away. I’d even rehearsed it in my head a dozen times, but when I’d seen him standing there, hopeful, and sincere, all my practiced words scattered. Because pushing Rory away is exhausting. He’s got too much resolve.
So, I’m trying a new tactic: let Rory have his way so he thinks he doesn’t have to try so hard. Maybe then this odd acquaintance of ours will quietly fizzle.
But damn those pickles he brought me were good. So good that I ate a couple with my breakfast burrito this morning.
Will you come to dinner with my parents?
In the moment, it had been an easy answer, so it’s confusing to me while I’ve been stewing over it all day.
While I walked the dogs this morning.
As I painted alone on the beach with my paints from Scarlett that Rory had recovered after the break in.
Even when I helped Cal bring his fishing equipment to the bench where he sits on the boardwalk.
The situation with Rory’s parents sounds eerily like the one I’ve experienced myself.
I recall the out-of-body experience of watching my parents and Tripp gathered around the dining table, talking about my life like I wasn’t an active participant. My mom was practically planning our wedding. My dad all grins and hearty laughter as he and Tripp discussed Tripp’s promotion in the company. My family’s company. The one my grandfather started, but that had no place for me because Tripp was the man and he’d be taking care of me.
“Let Tripp take care of you. It’s better that way. And then you can do your little paintings.” My mom had smiled so unaffectedly, like what she was offering me was all I could ever hope and dream for.
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.
“Another Chardonnay.”
Her assumption that I’m part of the wait staff is clear.
I stop at her table and pluck the uncorked wine bottle out of the chiller resting there.
“Certainly,” I say with a saccharine smile, refiling her a glass. Then I grab an unused glass and pour some wine in it—just a splash for me. “Cheers.” I lift mine and walk away, ignoring her gasp.
Was that rude? Maybe. But so was her assumption that anyone not dressed in Vineyard Vines should be serving her.
Wine glass in hand, I scan the room again. I’m expecting to hear his warm, resounding chuckle or see a beacon of light guiding me to him, but I got nothing. No Rory.
But then, I spot him through the window at a table on the patio. Or at least I think I do.
The man’s broad, athletic body is draped in a suit, but his shoulders are tense.
The shape of him is right, but the way he’s holding himself is all wrong.
I didn’t realize I knew that much about Rory’s body and the way he carries himself until this moment. This man’s posture is nothing like the Rory I know.
Pushing through the door, I slam back my wine before setting the empty glass on the server station as I pass by. Rory’s back is to me, so it’s his parents who see me approach first.
His mom is perfectly pressed in a cream linen dress, his dad’s salt and pepper hair and tan skin stand out against his white and blue striped shirt and coordinated baby blue blazer. They look like they’re fresh out of a Southern Living catalog.
I take a moment to observe their tight, strained faces before I proceed toward their table. As I’m walking over, both of his parents’ mouth stretch with beaming smiles as their attention shifts to the brunette who has appeared on the other side of Rory.
“Daphne.” Rory’s mom’s face lights. “What a wonderful surprise!”
Still positioned behind Rory, I see his back stiffen further before he woodenly reaches for his water glass. Daphne’s already taken the seat next to Rory, and with her hand coquettishly draped over his arm, she leans in closer.
From what I know about the situation, Daphne’s appearance isn’t a surprise. It’s the reason he invited me, to throw a wrench in their plans to reunite him and his ex. All he wants to do right now is focus on swimming, but his parents are making it difficult for him.
With all the stressors in my life, my van being broken into and the fact that I can barely keep myself above water with mounting bills and expenses, I wouldn’t trade it for the situation I see Rory in right now. The freedom to make choices in my life and not be beholden to others is something I set as a standard for myself when I left my old life years ago.
And the way I don’t even recognize this version of Rory is a fucking devastation. The protective instinct that urged me here tonight is now at an all-time high.
Having dealt with my own controlling parents and their manipulation, I hate seeing it happen to someone else. Most of all, I hate seeing it happen to this kind, generous man that from what I’ve seen always plays the peacemaker and does what he’s told.
The good news is that I don’t have that problem. I couldn’t care less what Rory’s parents think about me. That will make foiling their plans even sweeter.
Finally, my lingering presence is acknowledged with a hard stare from Rory’s mom. “Did you need something?” she asks, acid on her tongue.
“Oh, me?” I press my fingers into my sternum while batting my lashes innocently. “Yes. I’d like this woman to take her hands off…”
At that moment, my attention shifts to Rory, who has just turned in his chair. The moment he sees me, something shifts. The stiff line of his back eases, his shoulders drop, and that slow, familiar smile pulls across his face—real and grateful. The kind of smile that feels like it’s just for me.
My body tingles at the sight of it.
With my hesitation, Daphne’s face pinches with annoyance. I don’t know if she’s constipated or if that’s her reaction to being challenged. Though judging by her irritated expression, I’m guessing that doesn’t happen often. I want to smack it right off her. I also want to taze her hand that is latched onto Rory. Watch her silky blow out go all wiry from the electric shock.
I have no idea if that’s actually what happens to someone when they’re tasered but it brings me pleasure to imagine it anyways.
Rory had asked me to be his date , but from the tension at the table, I realize that’s not going to cut it.
From what I know of Rory’s mom, she’s the type to plot against a girlfriend that she doesn’t approve of. Even in her floral Magnolia & Rowe dress, I can tell Daphne is a woman that has no issue fighting for what she believes is rightfully hers. And from the look of her possessive arm cling, she believes that about Rory. I can’t leave any room for opportunity. To truly get his parents and Daphne off his back, I need to crush all hopes of a reconciliation.
I need to go all in.
“…my husband.” The words tumble from my lips with thrilling satisfaction.
At my announcement, three sets of eyes bulge.
“W—what?” his mom stammers.
“Rory, who is this woman?” his dad demands.
Rory’s lips twitch, likely fighting the desire to break out into a huge, conspiratorial grin, except he had no way of knowing I was going to do this because up until ten seconds ago, neither did I. He stands and wraps an arm around my waist. One of those muscular forearms he possesses, and I do my best not to squirm with giddiness at the contact. It’s a challenge. After all, my body is highly aware that we’ve never touched like this before, but we can’t let them know. It would ruin the fun.
Rory clears his throat. “Mom, Dad. This is Summer.” He beams down at me before turning the same proud smile back on his parents. “Summer Shields, my wife.”