“You love it.” I fling the door open, and we step out into the bar as a newly engaged couple to the sound of catcalls and cheers.
Morgan
* * *
I’ve got Rory’s number.
Literally and figuratively, and it’s adorable.
We swapped digits so we could plan the Big Reveal to her grandma and it’s obvious that her grandma is a soft spot for her.
In a weird way.
Rory texts me the address where we’re going to meet and follows it up with a bunch of rapid-fire warnings.
My Queen
Meet me at noon at the Buckingham.
It’s the fancy restaurant in the building. The front desk will tell you where to go.
You know what? I’ll just meet you out front.
At 11:55
Can you dress up?
Do you own a tie?
If you flirt with my grandmother I swear to god I will stab you with one of the fancy forks I never know when to use.
GRANDMA WILL INSULT YOU. DO NOT ENGAGE.
I mean it, Morgan.
Texts like that come through all the way up until I leave for lunch on Sunday. Hunter’s watching the bar for me, and I told him I’d be back in the afternoon before happy hour starts. It’s been two weeks since my proposal to Rory, and it’s been the talk of the town.
I drive my truck up to the main building of the community. It’s a whole damn complex out here—there are signs directing cars to places like Honor Garden and The Dr. and Mrs. Goldstein Active Gymnasium. It’s half apartment complex, half university campus. I never knew a hideaway like this existed out here.
Before I even park I spot Rory at the front door at the drop-off carport. Her arms are crossed and she’s scowling at me—or maybe she’s just scowling at the wind playing with her loose hair.
I pick a spot and hop out, jogging to greet her.
“Hey.”
She looks me up and down. I’m wearing blue slacks, a white button-down, and a festive, ski-themed tie. It’s not Christmassy, it’s just bright. The blue of the scarves the skiers are wearing matches my pants.
Rory rolls her eyes, pressing her lips to hold in a smile.
I chose not to point out my matching socks to her. I’ll save those for later as an emergency eye-roll contingency plan.
“You look great,” I tell her. She’s wearing wide-legged slacks and a blouse, both black. Her hair is neither in braids nor a windblown mess like every other time I’ve seen her. Instead, it’s smoothed down, the waves falling over her shoulder, though the breeze is toying with it. Her finger’s bare, though. “Where’s the ring?”
She pats her pocket. “I’ve been with Grandma all day. I thought it would be better if we tell her together.”
Aw, she needed her emotional support fake fiancé with her.
“You got it. I’ll follow your lead today.”
