Chapter 21
Rory
Of course, I’m pissed at my grandmother. The angry part of me thinks she’s doing this just to mess with me, to push me further to not be alone—her backup plan if Morgan doesn’t work out is at least I’ll have a cat.
But there’s a small, niggling part of me that whispers that Grandma’s getting older, frailer, and she’s relieved to have me close by.
And, also, she’s fucking smitten with my fake fiancé, because when they come out of the den having left the ornery cat behind, Morgan’s got her chuckling.
He offers us wine—he’s bought some special chardonnay for Grandma, which I pass on, preferring my beer—and he entertains us while he cooks.
Princess is out of the bedroom now, and she also charms my grandmother by putting her chin on Grandma’s leg and insisting on pets.
It all feels so domestic. Morgan presses a kiss to the top of my head when he brings me a new beer, and when I stand at the counter to take out plates, he pulls me to him with a hand on my hip.
It’s just a little hip bump, nothing too sexy or romantic about it, but Morgan sells it with his eyes, looking at me fondly, even though I’m pretty sure the angle is wrong and Grandma can’t even see it.
He does this pretending thing so smoothly, whereas I just feel like cringing every time I try to offer the tiniest bit of affection.
I don’t know how to place my hand on his back in a way that feels natural, and when he leans in to put my plate in front of me, I tell him thanks, and then kiss his cheek.
He’s not expecting it, though, so I miss and get his neck instead, which is a whole different kind of embarrassing.
Before I can crawl under the table and die of mortification, Morgan sits down and lifts his glass, waiting just a beat before offering a toast. “To new families,” he says.
Awkwardness forgotten, a teeny tiny lump forms in my throat as I look at Grandma. She’s practically glowing with happiness.
This is why I’m doing it, right? So she can worry about me less, so she knows there’s some hope of me finding love and not being alone.
“Here, here,” Grandma says, and we clink our glasses. I resolve to get my shit together.
I take a sip of my beer—that IPA that I like, which Morgan has stocked in his fridge for me—and Grandma hums in appreciation for the wine Morgan chose.
She sets the glass down. “What about your family, Morgan? When will I meet them?”
I keep my eyes on my fork while I stab some of the veggies Morgan’s sautéed.
“I’m not sure,” he hedges.
“At the wedding?” Grandma prods. “Bridal shower? Engagement party? Don’t take too long or I might die first.”
“Grandma!”
Morgan sneaks a laughing glance at me. “The thing is,” he says, turning back to her. “I’m not close to my mom or brother.”
Grandma narrows her eyes. “Why?”
I hold my breath while Morgan thinks about it. “Rory’s met my brother. He’s not a good man,” he says simply. “And my mother enables all of the trouble he gets into, plus she has her own problems.”
Her eyes narrow even farther. “What kind of trouble?”
Morgan doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Drugs. The law.” He says it with a shrug, like it doesn’t bother him, but I remember that hunch in his shoulders when he was on the phone with his mom and the tired defeat in his voice.
“Grandma, leave him alone.”
Morgan looks up and meets my gaze. His eyes are warm and soft, but then there’s a twinkle and he reaches over to smooth a hand across my shoulders. “Aw, babe, you don’t have to protect me.”
“Besides, he’s going to be family soon. I want to know if he’s ever been in that kind of trouble,” Grandma says.
Morgan takes a bite and chews. “No, ma’am. My friends—especially my best friend, Kit, and his parents—kept me out of trouble.”
“No criminal record?”
“Not even an arrest,” he confirms. “Not even that time that six of us snuck into the lodge and filled the shop like a ball pit.”
Grandma looks at me. “He cooks, he’s got no criminal record, and he’s got a lovely dog.”
I throw up my hands. “One, that’s a low bar, and two, I’m already marrying him, what more do you want?”
Morgan listens with amusement all through dinner as Grandma and I bicker, occasionally interrupting to defend me—or tease me—none of which Grandma fails to notice. When dinner’s over, I offer to clean up while Morgan shows Grandma to her room.
I’m a bit concerned because Morgan’s house doesn’t have many of the accommodations that Grandma’s place has, like a handrail by the toilet and a walk-in shower, but I’m not sure how much Grandma needs those things yet.
Finally, Morgan closes the door behind himself, leaving Grandma alone in the guest room.
I’ve got suds up to my elbows as I wash the wok Morgan used—I have never even owned a wok, so I’d quickly looked up whether I could wash it regularly or if it was like a cast-iron pan—and Morgan ambles over.
He rests his hip against the counter next to the sink. “She’s a handful,” he says fondly.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
“About what?” he whispers back.
“I don’t know, any of it?” My voice has already risen and I check myself back to a whisper. “The cat? Sleeping arrangements for tonight?”
“The cat we’ll figure out later. There’s nothing we can do about that tonight. As for the second, there’s only one bed left, unless you want me to sleep on the couch.”
“We can’t do that,” I say quickly. “Grandma will probably get up in the middle of the night and what will she think if one of us is out there?”
“Well, then,” he drawls. “I guess we’ll just have to share the bed.” The look he gives me is warm and teasing, but also carries something else that I don’t want to think too much about, especially if I’m going to be sharing a bed.
Besides, it’s not real.
Nerves flutter in my stomach, though they have no right to. We’re cool, Morgan’s a friend. And a fake fiancé. This isn’t going to be weird at all. Right?
Grandma goes from her room to the bathroom and then into the den to check on the cat.
Princess tries to follow her and Morgan pulls her away.
Morgan and I finish the dishes and when I go to find Grandma, she’s sitting up in her bed reading.
She’s got an iPad she uses, with the font set up so large that she swipes pages about every ten seconds, but she likes it.
“Do you want to watch something?” I ask, pointing my thumb over my shoulder to the TV.
Grandma looks at me over her glasses. “Something where the screen is too dark and the dialogue is too quiet? No.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Morgan and I are going to watch something. Want me to close the door?”
“No,” she says simply, and returns to her reading.
I’m going to close the door. Why didn’t I just say that? I linger just for a moment and debate closing the door anyway, but then Princess wanders into the room and I don’t want to shut her in, so I leave the door open.
Morgan’s on the couch, the TV on and a slew of streaming service icons across the screen, with an arm over the back. I slump down next to him and he pulls me to him. I glance at the guest room and can just see Grandma’s tablet and one hand.
Princess stands in the open doorway, watching. Her ears flick back and forth, listening while Morgan and I debate what we’re going to watch, and when we settle on a sci-fi TV show neither of us has seen, she spins around and disappears, choosing Grandma.
“Traitor,” Morgan huffs with a laugh. Then he slides his arm off the back of the couch and onto my shoulders, pulling me close. Butterflies take up residence in my stomach.
I shift closer, glancing at the guest room again. I fit just right under his arm, but I’m not sure where to put my hand. It hovers for a moment and then drops awkwardly into my lap.
Morgan picks it up and gives a gentle tug, using it to pull me closer. Then he drops his mouth to my ear. “Come on, my queen. Cuddle me like you mean it.”