Page 15 of Cream & Sugar
The microwave dings. Rory’s mouth remains open for a second, like he’s going to finish his sentence. Then he looks away. “Never mind.”
He removes the steaming Tupperware from the microwave and squirts some ketchup on it. Setting the bottle down, he turns to look at me, his face in deep thought.
“Don’t you hate coffee?”
“Desperate times.” I place my elbows on the counter, leaning forward. “Look, I want to stay, Rory. If I have to pretendto like coffee for four shifts a week, then so be it.” I grimace. “If you’ll have me, of course.”
Something glints in Rory’s eye. It’s not pride—that would require a full personality transplant—but at a stretch, you might call it basic human respect. A win is a win.
“I start tomorrow,” I carry on, striking while the iron is hot, “and I hate to ask, but I really need some new jeans. These ones are more hole than not.”
“Right…”
He’s going to make me grovel. I try to look as pathetic as possible. “So, can I borrow twenty quid? You can add it to my digs for next week.”
Rory impales a piece of chicken on his fork. “Just borrow a pair of mine.”
“You’re about four sizes bigger, I’ll look like a borrower.” I see the corner of Rory’s mouth twitch. Playing to his bodybuilder ego usually scores points. “Plus, I want to look professional.”
There it is. The silver bullet. Rory’s all about appearances. He cares about his suit almost as much as what’s under it, and for the first time, I’m talking on his level.
He chews slowly, his wide jaw grinding away at the meat. As he swallows, he pulls his wallet from his pocket. He fishes out a few notes and hands them to me.
“That’s fifty,” he says. “Shops will be closing soon. Get something smart.”
I take the cash. “Thanks Rory. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“Oh I know you will. Your lodgings depend on it,” he says, returning to his meal. He’s about to take another bite when he hesitates and lowers his fork. “Youaretaking this seriously, aren’t you?”
I place my hand over my heart.
“I swear I am taking this seriously. But asking me not to flirt is like asking Claudia Winkleman to lose the fringe. It’s just not going to happen.”
Rory sighs. “Flirting with your boss is like asking for your P45.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
My brother pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever heard of not shitting where you eat?”
“I mean, yeah…” I haven’t, but I assume it’s a given. What kind of animal eats in the bathroom? I swear Rory speaks his own language sometimes.
“Just be careful.” He stirs his food and looks up at me again. “If you get fired because you say, or do, something inappropriate, that’s on you. I’m not going to bail you out again because you couldn’t hold yourself back.”
I chew the inside of my lip. Holding back is going to be tricky, especially when my boss is as gorgeous as Shaun, but I guess Rory has a point. If I get sacked, I’ll be back to square one and the pit in my stomach from this morning has only just been filled. Still, I’m sure there’s a middle-ground to tread. If Shaun ends up making the first move, I can hardly be blamed—or fired—for that now, can I?
“Understood.” I give Rory a salute, though the fingers of my other hand are crossed, hidden from view under the breakfast bar.
Rory nods, satisfied. “Do you want a lift back into town?”
“Nah, it’s okay,” I push back from the bar and go to grab my jacket. “The snow’s stopped.”
“Fine, but take a scarf. It’s freezing.”
I frown and Rory’s eyes dart to the floor. Without asking, I know we’re both thinking the same thing. Those words aren’t his own. Nostalgia fills the room like a raincloud.
“I’ll be fine,” my voice sounds small and distant. “I’m a macho man.”
Rory lets out a dry huff of laughter. “Sure.”
