I may have thought about this too much.
Finally, Rory looks up. Her mouth hangs open, and yeah, I know that feeling. The ring is shocking as hell. She probably thinks it’s fake though. Who would believe a small-town bartender like me has a giant diamond ring just lying around to use as a prank?
She stares at me for a beat. And then she says the last goddamn thing I expect to hear.
“Yes.”
Noise erupts all around us and I stare back at her. She said yes?
She said yes!
I throw back my head and laugh.
“No, wait!” she says, eyes widening even farther, but it’s too late. No one but me can hear her over the noise of cheering and congratulating. She reaches out and grabs my collar, pulling me toward her. “What the fuck, Morgan?” She has to shout over the noise.
“You said yes!” I shout back. “No take backs!”
“That’s not how this works!”
She starts dragging me down the bar by my flannel, her long strides and narrowed eyes making everyone move out of her way. They were up on their feet anyway.
When she gets to the pass-through, she steps behind the bar and pushes me toward the storage room. Over her shoulder, I see Hunter slip past the crowd at the bar and give me a chin lift, letting me know he’ll take care of things out here.
My shoulders hit the door. Rory flings it open and we both go stumbling in. It bounces off the wall and closes behind her, muffling the noise of the bar and cutting off all the light.
“Fuck,” she says in the dark. “Where’s the light switch?”
“It’s over—” I reach for the wall toward the door and bump into Rory reaching in the opposite direction. Our arms tangle, and I hit something soft.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry.”
“That was my boob!” Her voice is full of indignation.
I try again, dodge a flailing arm, and we take steps toward each other.
Instinctively, I reach out to steady us both, and the ring, which I somehow managed to hold on to all the way around the bar, flies out of my hand and clinks on something.
I’ve got my hand on Rory, though, and any other thoughts fly out my head, including the light switch. My hand settles on her waist, just above the band of her jeans and somehow tucked under her leather jacket to that sliver of skin that shows when she puts her helmet on or takes it off.
I may have watched her from the window a few times.
Rory slaps around until she finds the switch and we’re lit up in the fluorescent glow of the storage room.
“What. The. Hell.” She punctuates each word with a light back-handed smack on my chest and shoulders.
I grab one of her wrists and hold it above our heads. She smacks me with the other one, but it’s got less oomph to it. “Me? What about you? You said yes!”
“And I clearly didn’t mean it!” She’s given up on smacking me but I keep ahold of her wrist.
“How was I supposed to know that? Or anyone else in the bar either?”
“Why on earth did you do that?”
“Because I thought it would be funny.”
Now I get the eye roll I was expecting. I let go of her hand.
