Page 109 of And I Love Her

“Whoa.” Grant turned from setting a drink in front of another customer and squinted at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong? I just want a scotch.”

Grant tossed a towel over his shoulder, his eyebrows pulling together beneath his wavy, chestnut hair. Though at thirty-five, he wasn’t that much older than Rory’s thirty, he’d always had a penetrating way of looking at her, like a wise old owl who saw more than he let on.

Sometimes she didn’t mind it because no one got past her shield if she didn’t let them, so it didn’t matter what Grant thought he saw. Other times, she wished he’d just give her what she asked for and go away. She liked knowing he was always here, but she didn’t want him getting too close.

“Five years I’ve owned this place,” he said, “and you’ve never ordered a scotch.”

“How would you remember that?”

He tapped his temple. “It’s my job.”

“Scotch. Straight up.”

With a shrug, Grant poured her drink and set it in front of her. Somewhat unnervingly, he stood there watching as she took a swallow. The liquor burned down her throat.

“What?” she snapped.

Grant folded his arms over his broad chest. “You okay?”

“Of course I’mokay.” Rory pulled her phone out of her back jeans pocket. She was always okay. As the middle sister of three, she was the independent one, the peacekeeper, the sister who didn’t need anything.

Acutely aware of Grant’s stare, she ducked her head and pulled up an app on her phone. He turned and walked away. At least the phone trick always worked to get rid of him. Technology was to Grant what DEET was to mosquitos.

Rory scrolled the local apartment listings. None of them would offer her a short-term lease. All of B&Bs and the Outside Inn had been booked up for weeks, thanks to the influx of students, the upcoming parents’ weekend at Skyline, and then the Harvest Festival.

Tossing her phone down, she swallowed more scotch. She could leave Bliss Cove early, but she needed to give her mother time to find and train a replacement at the Sugar Joy Bakery. And truth be told, Rory needed time to get used to the idea of leaving again.

Two years. She had moved back to Bliss Cove from San Jose after her father had died almost two years ago.

She’d expected to stay for a couple of months. She’d help her older sister Callie deal with the paperwork, support their devastated mother, and work to keep Sugar Joy open when Eleanor Prescott wanted to shut the bakery down for good. Then their sister Aria left town, and Rory had felt obligated to stay for just a little longer.

“A little longer” had turned into two years. Rory had been working part-time at Sugar Joy and spent the rest of the time writing technology articles and staying up-to-date on all the changes in the high-tech industry. She’d taken online courses and completed several remote contract jobs.

Now Sugar Joy was thriving, and Eleanor was involved in a relationship with a very nice man, Henry, whom she’d met last spring. Aria and Callie were both blissfully happy in their work and personal lives. The pain of Gordon Prescott’s death was giving way tolifeagain.

All of which meant it was time for Rory to leave Bliss Cove and return to her own version of life.

Even if it did involve little toads who thought it was okay to send her suggestive messages and winkey-face emoticonswhen she had just been hired to work on their team.

She downed the rest of the scotch as Grant appeared in her peripheral vision again.

“Another, please.” She indicated the empty glass. “And a fried onion.”

Frowning, he refilled her glass. “Is this dinner?”

“Well, it’s not brunch.”

“I do serve excellent food here.” He rested his hands flat on the counter and leaned in to study her with his shockingly green eyes. “Not that you’d know since you never eat it.”

“Last I checked, fried onion blossoms were still on the menu.” Rory hauled the glass toward her. “Are you bringing me one or not?”

Irritation flashed in his eyes, but he shoved away from the bar and strode to the kitchen. Rory ignored a stab of guilt and checked her phone again. After buying the Mousehole five years ago, Grant had revamped the basic menu of burgers and fries. He’d retained upgraded versions of the Mousehole classics while adding stuff like filet mignon and grilled salmon. The only item that stayed the same was the world-famous artichoke soup, whose secret recipe was handed down from owner to owner.

Rory didn’t like artichoke soup. And she had no interest in Grant’s fancy gourmet food.

“Rory! I have some wonderful prospects for you.”

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