Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
NORA
Cookie is the typical Pembroke orange-and-white, with the addition of a darker mask on her face that makes her look like an adorably misshapen raccoon. She’s small but muscular, and she’s jumping up on Cormac’s legs as if she wants to climb him like a tree.
I smile as he scoops her up into his arms, her head nestling immediately into his neck.
It’s adorable, and I can’t even summon the will to pretend otherwise.
If I could do it without drawing attention to myself, I’d snap a photo of the two of them, but I don’t want him to get the impression that I’m a softie.
“You don’t have to try to walk her,” he says, looking a little embarrassed. “You can just use the ball machine.”
“Let me guess.” I pause dramatically, raising my eyebrows. “The instructions are in the manual.”
He grins. “Sure, but I figured I’d show you too. I did promise to introduce you to a robot. Let’s go outside.”
He steps into the hall, Cookie still snuggled against his neck, and I follow him, feeling more out of sorts than ever.
Cormac snuggles with dogs and has a clean, grown-up house. You think you know a guy, and then he hits you with this…
Cookie peers at me suspiciously over his shoulder as I slip past Cormac and open the door for him.
“I thought I was supposed to open the doors,” he comments as he nods for me to precede him.
My heart beats a little faster as I step outside, but that’s probably because Cookie has repositioned her head against Cormac’s neck to continue watching me intently.
He heads outside after me and sets her down.
She immediately starts barking again, staring at me while she does it.
“I thought she was on two anxiety medications.”
“This is her medicated.” He seems a little embarrassed as he adds, “It’s not because I haven’t tried to train her. We’ve been through several trainers. I adopted her from a rescue program. She had a hard early life, and she can’t forget it.”
Something softens in my chest.
“Just a sec,” Cormac says. He heads to a hip-height storage cabinet on the far side of the covered porch and pulls out what looks like a metal box on wheels. It appears to be some kind of machine, with a large, hollow cylinder tube protruding from the front.
Cookie goes batshit, running in rapid circles around the yard as she barks, although her bark sounds more excited than get the fuck off my lawn, lady.
I watch in fascination as Cormac sets the machine down on the lawn and presses a button. Seconds later, a ball is sucked into the tube and then propelled into the yard. Cookie launches after it.
After she retrieves the ball, she drops it directly in front of the machine. The machine rolls forward a little, and the cylinder in the middle drops until it’s level with the ball. The robot emits a whirring sound, and a vacuum sucks the ball back into the interior.
My gaze flies to Cormac as I hear the thunk of the ball being re-deployed.
“It looks like the robot from that Disney movie.”
He looks pleased or possibly amused. “It has sensors instead of eyes. I don’t believe in anthropomorphizing machines.”
“Actually,” I say, ignoring his buzzkill response, “it throws balls, so it’s more like BALL-E.”
“Leave it to you to give my robot a cutesy name,” he replies with a crooked smile. “At least you haven’t destroyed this one yet.”
“If it can withstand Cookie, it can probably survive me…” I watch in fascination as the robot rolls across the lawn to retrieve the ball. Turning back to Cormac, I ask, “But when did you do this? Your dad said you did something with computers for work.”
“He’s right. I worked in network security.
Tinkering is my hobby.” He lifts his eyebrows.
“You could say I’m preparing for our robot overlords.
Once they’ve taken over the world, they’ll need someone to help tighten the nuts and bolts.
It’ll be my big chance to be a doctor, the way my mother always hoped. ”
When I continue looking at him, obviously not appeased by his joke. “It used to be a hobby, but a big company picked up the mapping model I created for…” His expression turns wry. “BALL-E. I made enough money to retire.”
“You’re retired? But you’re my age!” I’ve never heard of anyone retiring at thirty. “Why didn’t I know this?”
He shrugs. “We haven’t exactly been friends, and my dad’s not chatty. Besides, I might have retired from my day job, but I’ll never stop working. You either.”
I didn’t need to tell him that. It’s just something he knows about me, perhaps because it is one of the few things we have in common. The drive to be productive. To always be making or doing something.
He cocks his head, studying me. “You know, I used to think you’d end up being a criminal mastermind or maybe a lawyer in a sharp suit defending a criminal mastermind. No middle ground for you.”
I laugh incredulously. “I’m going to decide not to be offended by that. I would have been an awesome criminal mastermind.”
“I never implied otherwise. But everyone at school knew about your ginger beer. It’s pretty cool that you stuck with it.”
My mind dips down, pulling up memories of the early days. My first home brew batch. The way the flavors lit up my mouth. A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember everything.”
Does he remember refusing to spend seven minutes in heaven with me?
It’s stupid for that to still matter to me, but God, it really does. The rules of seven minutes in heaven were considered sacrosanct back then, so much so that my friend Rachel had even gone in there with Jones Mitchell, who always smelled like beef jerky.
Cormac had rejected me in front of everyone. He hadn’t even paused to consider it. And I was teased about it for weeks. It felt like everyone was poking me in a raw wound because I hadn’t just been embarrassed. His rejection had hurt.
I look away. “Yeah, I liked to brew ginger beer. It was something my mom and I did together. It started when she got me one of those make-it-yourself kits, and I loved it. It felt pretty close to magic. And then I figured out you could make alcoholic ginger beer.”
“You made it in college, didn’t you?” he asks with a knowing smile.
“Of course. I knew it would be successful here, especially after the first few craft breweries took off, and it was like this light went off inside my head. I wanted to be the one who made it work.” I shrug self-consciously. “It’s like that with me sometimes. I can’t let go of a good idea.”
“Or a poor one.”
“Obviously.”
He watches Cookie chase the ball again. It’s an endless dance, back and forth, though she doesn’t seem the least bit put off by the hustle.
“Life feels like that sometimes,” I comment without intending to. “Like you’re chasing balls that keep getting lobbed in different directions, and it doesn’t matter to anyone but you if you catch them.”
“Are we back in fuck the glass territory?” he asks. “Because you’re right, of course, but you’re missing the important part.”
I peer into his gray eyes. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“It’s not all about the outcome. It’s about the thrill of the chase.”
For half a second, I think it’s some kind of hidden message. Like maybe he wants to chase me. The thought zips through me like an electric current.
But that’s ludicrous, of course. Our mutual disdain is practically canon now. All of our friends know about it. So do our parents. So he must be talking about seeking professional success. Still, I keep staring at him, unable to look away.
He averts his gaze and rubs his jaw. “I…I changed the sheets on my bed. You can sleep on it. It’s more comfortable than the bed in the spare room, but if you think that’s weird or anything, I—”
“Thank you, Cormac. That was thoughtful of you.”
I don’t mind the thought of staying in his personal space.
I want to learn more about him, to fill in the blank I’ve been carrying around for years.
Because we may have existed in the same sphere since I was a little kid, but I’ve never understood him.
He’s been a puzzle with missing pieces for as long as we’ve been in each other’s orbit.
He hesitates, shifting his weight uneasily. “Look…I hope you don’t think I overstepped, but you seemed really concerned about this pads lady.”
“Pansy?” I ask with a laugh, honestly delighted by the nickname.
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, and my gaze is drawn again to that rolled-up sleeve and the flexing of his bicep beneath it. “So…”
I snap my attention away. “You want to talk about her?”
“We probably should. I took it upon myself to do a little research. Do you think your friend knows she’s been engaged two other times?”
“Seriously?” I ask in disbelief. “What happened to the other guys? Did they die mysteriously?”
“You sound hopeful.” The only sign that he’s amused is the slight curling of his lip. So much of Cormac’s humor goes unnoticed, I’m starting to realize.
I nudge him with my hand. “I’m not! It’s just…you have to admit it would really vindicate me if she were a murderer.”
“Sorry, but there were no signs of murderous intentions. I couldn’t find much else about her previous relationships, but the licenses that had been filed had lapsed.”
“Still, that’s definitely weird. I’ve got to tell him,” I say, already pulling out my cell phone.
Cormac lays his hand over mine, and a rush of awareness prickles my skin. “Don’t.”
It takes me a moment to process what he’s saying. “Why the hell not?”
He swallows, his stormy eyes fixed on mine. “If you tell him, and he already knows, he’ll think it’s a sign that you don’t like her.”
“I don’t like her.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “And do you enjoy being told what to do, Nora Leigh?”
His words stir something inside me, but I collect myself and say, “No one does.”
“We’ll try to figure out if he knows while we’re on this double date. I’ll ask questions about the engagement. If we catch her in a lie, we’ll have a better case.”
“You’re good at this.”
“I’m good at a lot of things.”