Page 94 of Rafferty's Rules
‘How’s it going.?’ His gaze is sort of imploring.
‘Plans are going well,’ Amber replies with a smile. ‘Despite the resistance I some quarters.’
Byron groans. ‘It’s not resistance if you haven’t got time to form an opinion, darl.’ He reaches out to strokes his hand through her fiery hair. ‘And you know I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, what with the start of the vintage being late this year.’
‘We could have postponed the wedding,’ she says softly.
‘Not happening,’ he says with a smile just for her. A smile that seems to hold a whole silent conversation.
‘You’ve got your brothers,’ Sally says, ignoring the couple’s moment, which makes me think their moments must be numerous. Personally, I can’t help but smile at the obvious love these two have. The fact that the conversation is carrying on around the table without their attention just shows what kind of relationship they have.
‘You should use them while they’re here, By,’ Sally argues. ‘Delegate.’
‘He’s already got me sifting through the job applications for the café,’ Flynn complains. Chastity is inside settling down “baby”, though I note she took her glass.
‘I said I’ll interview.’ Amber’s head whips around without missing a beat. So much for my theory of the pair being too immersed in each other to hear anything.
‘He’s gonna interview for cellar door sales. The staff for the café can wait until we get back from the honeymoon. Don’t worry.’
‘Where are you going?’ I ask as Rafferty throws his arm around the back of my chair.
‘Bora Bora.’
‘Oh, I—’ I stop right there. This is an admission not for this audience. It’s not even an admission. I haven’t been there, I was just supposed to visit.On my honeymoon.
Have you been?’ Sally asks eagerly. ‘They’re going to stay in one of those overwater huts you see on the telly.’
‘I haven’t.’ I got close once, if getting as far as the cruise ship terminal at Sydney counts. ‘I’ve always wanted to, though.’
I smile brightly, wondering if my face is red. When I turn to Rafferty, he’s not smiling back.Strange.He’s been quite reticent since our afternoon delight. He’s still Rafferty, ready with a quick smile and an even quicker quip, but it’s almost as though he’s been holding back since. We’d laid in bed for a while, content in the other’s company, in each other’s arms, but then we’d showered, and the atmosphere had changed. He said he had work to do.Fine.And he’d pulled out his laptop. No problem there. Then he’d proceeded to mostly ignore me until dinner time. Since he’s been very solicitous. Lots of hand-holding and wine pouring, lots of little touches accompanied by taut smiles. I keep wondering it could be.
Maybe it’s my imagination playing games with me.
‘You’ll have to take Lissa there on your honeymoon,’ Tom says from across the table, though it sounds more like goading. But whatever, Rafferty doesn’t bite. He doesn’t even respond.
Maybe it’s not my imagination at all.
‘Fellas, what’s with the T-shirts?’ At Tom’s words, the men at the table all glance down at their chests.
‘You can thank Tee,’ Roman says, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. The rebel. Every family has one, right? Guess I’m my family’s rebel now.‘Thank Tee for the T.’ He chuckles, straightening out his black T-shirt for all to read.
The script is white, the font a rip-off of the National Geographic channel, only instead it readsNational Pornographic. And there’s no silhouette of animals grazing on the savannah. Unless you count a couple of copulating rhinos screen-printed underneath.
‘How can I thank him if I didn’t get one?’ Tom complains vociferously. ‘I thought we were mates!’
‘I’ll give you mine if you like.’ This from Flynn, who’s navy-coloured T-shirt reads; 30% stud, 70% muffin. ‘You’re a cheeky bastard, you know that, right?’
‘I call it as I see it,’ Rafferty responds with a sly grin. ‘What do you think, Chas?’ he asks as Flynn’s wife slides herself into the chair next to him. As she places her empty glass down, Flynn reaches for the wine bottle, taking the high-tech baby monitor from her other hand.
‘Thank you, darling.’ She leans into him, pressing her lips to his cheek. ‘And what do I think of what?’ she asks with the quirk of one highly defined brow.
‘What do you think of Flynn’s T-shirt?’
Her eyes dip to the area in question before rising, her expression benign, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
‘Well, the key to a successful marriage is letting things go. Clearly, my love is starting with himself.’
Laughter breaks out around the table as she pats Flynn’s flat torso with her hand.
