Page 24 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
“Help me find the ring. I dropped it in here somewhere.”
We fall to our hands and knees (after Rory huffs in exasperation) and start looking. The storeroom is full of standing shelves with dry bar supplies. The ring can’t have gone far, but it’s dark beneath the shelves and also a bit grimy so Rory pulls out her phone and turns on the flashlight.
After a few minutes looking for the ring, I start to get nervous. What if we never find it? Jesus, no wonder Uncle Robert told me not to count on the money until I actually had it. I’m sweating thinking about the windfall I might have lost in the deep dark corners of this place.
Rory sits back on her heels. “What does it look like?”
My face is pressed against the floor, my fingers running along the far wall. If either of us were in our right mind, I’d probably tease her about staring at my ass, which is pointed right at her while I’m hunched over. “You just spent like five minutes gaping at it, you don’t know what it looks like?”
“I was stunned speechless by the sheer audacity of your confidence.”
“How about if you find any ring, you run it by me and I’ll tell you if it’s the right one.”
“Smart-ass,” she mutters. Two seconds later: “Found it.”
I yank my hand back from underneath the shelves and tell myself I’ll talk Hunter into hiring Kit to come in and do a deep clean back here. “Thank god. Where is it?” I’ve got a bar rag in my back pocket, so I take it out and wipe the cobwebs off my hands.
I shift around so I’m facing her and she points. There’s a mug on one of the shelves that we use to store Sharpies and pens to label boxes and fill out inventory, and the ring is caught on one of the pens, the diamond sitting on the lip of the mug like a cheeky little fucker.
“Jesus Christ. If that had fallen into the mug we never would have found it.”
“That’s concerning,” Rory remarks.
She stands and leaves it to me to pluck the ring out.
“Okay,” I say, staring at the ring. “We know why I asked you. But I still don’t know why you said yes.”
“I’m not going to marry you.”
I shrug. The lady doth protest too much. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe?” She’s getting worked up again.
“Maybe it was a Freudian slip?” I raise both hands in a what-are-you-gonna-do gesture. “And you still haven’t answered the question.”
Rory looks away, crossing her arms and biting her lip.
I wait.
“My grandma’s sick, okay?” she tells the floor.
My face falls. “Oh, shit. Is she gonna be all right?”
“Maybe. Probably. She’s normally in pretty good health for her age and I think this is just an infection.” She kicks one of the shelves gently with the toe of her boot. “It’s just the two of us, and she’s always ragging on me to find someone. She doesn’t want me—she doesn’t want to die alone.”
Rory finally looks up at me. “I’m sorry, all right? It was just a weak moment. It would make Grandma happy and I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
I look down at the ring in my hand. I’m not alone in life—I have my friends, and every day I get to see familiar faces.
Herevians that love me and care about me.
I don’t know what Rory does for a job, or where she lives, or who her friends are. But if she’s that desperate . . .
This time, I do it properly. I get down on one knee. Rory glares at me. “Rory Fox, will you marry me?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” I protest. “Well, kind of. Look, if this is something that would make you happy, let’s do it. Let’s pretend a little. Let’s tell your grandma we’re engaged, and let her enjoy it for a while.”
