Page 69 of Dandelions and Smoke

“Why, is all this for little old me?” she asks with a flair of dramatics, leaning against the rail and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead with an impish grin.

“Sweetheart,” I drawl slowly as I walk my way around the rig.

Her eyes widen, and she skips down the stairs once she sees me.

“Garre-Bear!” she exclaims with a warm laugh before she’s in my arms. “What a pleasant surprise.”

I lift a brow and drop my chin, but she remains unaffected. She simply smiles widely back at me before kissing my nose, completely disarming me.

“Do we get to call you Garre-Bear too?” Billy teases, but Rory cuts him with a look.

“You try it, and I’ll never tell you where I hid your pink dildo,” she fires back without missing a beat.

Billy’s expression crumples from entertained to utterly baffled. “Wait… What?”

“I would have thought you’d be more of a skin-tone-over-pretty-colors kind of guy,” Mark baits him.

“Shut up.” Billy punches Mark in the arm and turns back to Rory, who’s watching this exchange with glee. “I don’t own a pink dildo.”

“Yes, you do,” she states matter-of-factly, hopping down from my arms. “I got it for you on Black Friday, and if you don’t behave, Playboy, it’s gonna be one of your floozies who finds it before you do.”

“She’s a menace,” Billy states firmly, pointing at her while he looks at me.

“As long as she’s my menace,” I shrug, earning myself a smile from Rory with a playful glint in her eye.

“So,” Levi’s voice carries over all of us, sounding bored. “Is there a fire or are we done here?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Levi. Don’t worry.” She walks over and pats his chest like she’s placating a child. “I know how devastated you’d be without me.”

He tries to hold his flat expression, but no one is a match for Rory. She’s managed to melt the hearts of all of us, even Levi.

“Ah, see.” She gleams, pointing at the way he’s struggling to keep from smiling. “Told ya.”

He shakes his head, but with a smile, he walks away and gets back into the truck.

“Laters, Pinky,” Billy calls out, everyone waving goodbye as they get back into the rig and head out.

Once they’ve vacated the driveway, she turns a Cheshire grin my way, a mock of innocence.

“What happened?” I hold my arm out, a gentle ease settling inside me as she takes her place snuggling beneath it, joining me as we walk inside and out of the cold.

Hers and Blake’s house is near the lake, and there’s nothing but thick woods separating the lawn from the now icy shore. Stopping on the porch, I take in the lake lying still beneath a blanket of ice, its glassy surface mirroring the pale winter sky. As the wind sweeps across it, carving ripples through the powdery snow, I pull Rory closer. The sun breaks through the clouds, and its rays scatter across the frozen surface like handfuls of crushed diamonds. In the distance, the snow-covered pine trees ring the water, their dark green branches a striking contrast against the endless white.

The view is breathtaking, no matter the season, and Rory must agree because she doesn’t pull us out of the cold immediately to seek refuge inside the warmth of the house. Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with the brisk mountain air before exhaling, appreciating how effortlessly it puts me at ease.

The breeze brushes stray pink curls across the gentle curve of her cheeks as she raises her gaze to me. The pale winter sky dances in her eyes, turning the turquoise in her irises almost luminous against the dark blue rim surrounding them. I’m completely mesmerized by her, and the little giggle that escapes her tells me she knows it.

She intertwines her hand with mine and leads me inside.

“I was looking for an outfit for our Valentine’s date later this week and couldn’t find the right shoes, but then I remembered that I have a really cute pair of earrings that will go nicely with the dress and tights I was thinking I could wear,” she rambles on as we walk through the kitchen, each of us opening windows to let out the smoke that’s accumulated inside.

“And how did this set off the fire alarm?” I ask, coughing and confused.

“Because before I started looking through my closet, I was in here making pancakes,” she states, like it’s obvious and I’m the weird one for not following the dots.

“I see…” I nod, though I don’t actually, but I’ve learned to trust the process. “And where are these pancakes?”

I look around, but her innocent smile falters into a guilty grin as she fishes a frying pan out of the sink.