Page 44 of Is This for Real?
“Oh, so you want to play dirty,” Rory says and grabs me around the waist from behind. I use my self-defense class move and go limp. We both tumble down onto the carpeted, padded floor, Rory taking the brunt of the fall as he shifts so that he is on the bottom. The doorbell rings. Olivia yells that it’s open.
Rory’s arms are still around me. And the heat of his body envelops me. I shift off him to the side, so that I’m lying alongside him. His hair is messed up and I want to smooth it back. His gaze is warm and intense.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine.” I give him a wicked smile. “Are you? I fell on you.”
“I’m good.” Rory smiles. It’s a full smile, not his half-smile.
“I still have my balls,” I say.
“And I still have mine,” Rory says, his eyes twinkling. “But you won’t have yours for long.”
He tickles me. I laugh, shrieking, “No, no.” I twist so that I cover the balls.
“Get the balls, Thomas,” Rory yells.
“Help!” I say to the girls.
Jamie’s voice sounds above, “I thought this was a PG-rated brunch with the kids.”
We both still.
“This is about as PG as it gets,” Rory says.
Rory’s hand is on my back. The heat of his hand sears my consciousness. Whereas before it was play, now it feels like more. I sit up, trying to tame my curls, straightening my shirt, which had ridden up in the struggle, but I think all that was showing was my back. Still PG.
Rory takes my hand and pulls me up. But he doesn’t let go of my hand. I lean against him.
“Uncle James,” Thomas says. “Another boy on our team.”
Jamie pats him on the head. “Only if I’m on Penelope’s team.” His tone sounds almost flirtatious.
Olivia emerges from the kitchen with a platter of omelets. “What’s going on? Brunch is ready. C’mon and eat while it’s hot.”
The kids gather up the snowballs while Rory and I pick up the pillows and arrange them back on the couch.
We join Olivia in the kitchen, offering to help. Jamie sits at the dining table with the four kids. The dining room is an alcove off the living room, next to the kitchen. I carry out the milk and fresh orange juice pitchers from the kitchen, followed by Rory with a quiche. Olivia brings out a tray of sliced bagels and toppings and sets it down on the sideboard, moving her wedding picture off to the corner. A coffeepot and hot water dispenser, tea bags, milk, and sugar for the taking are already set up on one half of the sideboard.
We all sit. Rory serves both of us food. Olivia is a good cook, so silence reigns as we all take our first bites of the quiche.
Jamie gives us an update on Theresa’s health. She’s home but still weak, so that’s why she didn’t come. He has to go out to Fire Island to clean the house, remove the food, bring in all the deck furniture, and generally close up their summer house so the electricity and water can be turned off.
He asks, “Do you know anyone who does that? I’m worried I don’t have time.”
Fire Island in the cold? No way. The icy wind off the ocean seeps into your bones. The one time I made the mistake of accompanying Theresa out there to close up their house in a wintry October, I felt chilled for days.
Both Olivia and I shake our heads.
I announce thatMini Maniais going to do a feature on one of my blog storylines and how I am pitching my book to a publisher, but that means I only have a month to finish it. I sound panicked. Rory squeezes my hand under the table.
“But can you do that? You don’t want to publish something that’s not good,” Olivia says.
“I am worried about that.” Especially given my writing schedule. I twist my napkin in my lap.
“Strawbundle Publishing will only publish it if they think it’s good,” Rory says. “And if they reject it, then you still have two months to revise it. It’s a good marketing opportunity.”
“Is it? Do dollhouse enthusiasts read romantic comedy?” Jamie takes another half of a toasted bagel.
