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Chapter 9
“Be sure to let us know if we need tickets to any of the festival events,” his mother chirped over the phone. “Can’t wait!”
“Looking forward to it, Mom,” Grant lied. He hung up the tavern’s landline phone and turned his attention back to the artichoke soup simmering on the stove.
Though his mother had orchestrated this whole visit in a masterful display of interference, Grant was not entirely convinced that she wouldn’t drag Edward to Bali just to prove a point—if she thought she wasn’t welcome in Bliss Cove.
Keeping her happily occupied was Grant’s main goal. Nathan had practically prostrated himself with gratitude for his rescue from the Joanna Taylor juggernaut, and now he and Alice were ensconced in their honeymoon suite where—Grant was certain—his brother was having no issues with erectile dysfunction.
Also, Rory had considerably eased Grant’s concerns about his parents. Not only had she played her role to perfection at the wedding, he’d enjoyed her company. He’d enjoyedher, from her good-naturedness about letting his mother drag her along on a spa day to her care over extracting herself from the wedding pictures to her willingness to dance even though she had no idea how.
His instincts had been right about asking her instead of, say, Madeline Fox to pretend to be his girlfriend. Rory made thepretendpart easy.
Maybe a little too easy.
After adding more salt to the soup, he returned to the dining room. A talkative lunch crowd filled the tavern, and the servers wove between the tables with trays of plates and drinks.
He was halfway to the bar when unease tugged at his gut. He scanned the room, his gaze skidding to a halt on a table by the window. Rory, dressed in a rose-colored blouse with her hair fastened into a tidy ponytail, sat perusing the menu.
Grant’s brain clicked into gear. She always lookedgoodto him, no matter what she was wearing or how messy her hair was—in fact, he liked her disheveled look a lot—but today she’d clearly made an effort to look extra nice. She was even wearing earrings.
What was she doing at a table set for two? She always either sat alone at the bar or at a corner booth with her sisters and friends.
His unease deepened. He started toward her. The front door opened, bringing a rush of cool autumn air. Forcing himself to veer toward the entering customer, Grant turned.
“Hey, man.” Max Weatherford, the local veterinarian and Grant’s occasional fishing buddy, extended a hand. “Good to see you. I’m renting a boat this weekend, if you want to head out to catch some salmon.”
“Maybe. Thanks for the offer.” Grant grabbed a menu from the hosting station. “Table for one?”
“No, actually, I’m meeting a woman for lunch.” He tilted his chin toward the bank of tables beside the windows. “According to Destiny and the Oracle cards, I’m supposed to have a lot in common with Rory Prescott.”
Grant’s back teeth snapped together. “And Destiny is just telling you this now?”
“Yeah.” Max shrugged. “Something to do with Mercury in retrograde and Rory’s aura.”
“Didn’t know you believed in that kind of thing.”
“I don’t, but it’s no hardship to have lunch with her.”
Grant slapped the menu on the table. Rory looked up, her eyes widening slightly.
“I…uh, I thought since you worked the early shift, you’d have the afternoon off.” Her gaze skidded past him to Max.
“Nope.” He stepped aside.
“Hi, Max.” Rory stood and extended her hand, leaning forward to embrace him at the same time. Grant caught her scent—pineapple and mangoes. No wonder he always wanted to eat her.
“Good to see you, Rory.” Max regarded her with appreciation. “You look beautiful.”
“I’ll get you some water.” Grant edged between them, breaking their hand-holding, and picked up an empty glass. “You want a beer, Max?”
“Sure. Corona.” Max shed his jacket, waiting for Rory to sit again before he pulled out his own chair. “Anything you want, Rory?”
So the vet was agentleman, too, huh? Grant had seen women giggling over him at the tavern or the docks, but he didn’t know much about the guy’s social life. Apparently he wasn’t attached, if he was out with Rory.
“I’ve got mine already, thanks.” She indicated her pale ale.
Grant strode back to the bar, stopping to take a couple of orders along the way. No harm in making Max wait a few minutes for his beer. Didn’t look as if the guy was expecting it immediately anyway, given the way his attention was fixed on Rory.
