“That wasn’t very nice.”
“Maybe not, but it sure was funny.”
Rory tried to hold back a smile, but one slipped over her face anyhow. “Yeah, you’re a real comedian. Come on, now. Let’s get in there before the croissants are all gone for the day.”
She stepped out of the car and waited for Gran in front of the café. Gran hooked her purse in her elbow, stepped onto the sidewalk, and…walked right past Rory.
“Gran,” Rory called, glancing back at the café door before hustling after her grandmother, who was already halfway down the block. “Don’t tell me your sight’s goin’ bad. The café’s back there.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the quaint place the girls all went for lunch every week.
“I’m well aware of that, sugar. But the café doesn’t serve Bloody Marys.” With a grin tossed in Rory’s direction, Gran hefted open the door to The Willow Tree and stepped inside without another word.
Their lunch had lastedhours thanks to the Bloody Marys Gran had ordered for them both. Finn had only winked at his soon-to-be grandmother-in-law before depositing two on their table. After one sip of the cocktail, Rory had known exactly what the wink had been for. Double the vodka.
Considering Rory’s big alcoholic splurge came in the form of maybe a few glasses of wine each week, she’d nearly toppled off the chair by the time she’d gotten to the bottom of her drink. And while the burger and fries weren’t quite as refined as the chicken salad sandwich on a flaky, buttery croissant she’d planned to indulge in, she couldn’t deny the food was delicious.
“Gran, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask, and I’ll even give you my opinion for free.”
Rory smiled. “Do you think I can build a business from my designs? A real business—one that can support the girls and me.”
Gran hummed, her unwavering gaze focused on Rory. “Do you remember how much you loved ballet?”
“What’s that have to do with my question?”
“Just answer it, little missy.”
Rory huffed out a laugh. Didn’t matter that she was in her thirties—she’d forever be a little missy to her grandmother. “Course I do.”
In third grade, Rory had fallen head over heels in love with ballet. Posters had covered her walls, and ballet shoes had decorated her bedroom. Music boxes and figurines…even bedding. She’d beenenamored.
She’d taken lessons all year leading up to a recital. She’d been so proud of her hard work—had loved every second of it. And she hadn’t been able to wait to share what she’d done with her family.
Except, the night of the recital, her daddy had never shown up. Momma had made excuses for him, but he’d made his stance on the subject quite clear—ballet was too froufrou, and it wasn’t worth his time to attend something as silly as a recital.
As a little girl, that had crushed her. That her daddy—the man she’d looked up to more than anyone—didn’t consider something she loved to be worthy was a huge blow to her self-esteem. And all she’d wanted, for as long as she could remember, was recognition from him.
“Watchin’ your face right now is like relivin’ it all over again,” Gran said, an angry thread to her voice.
“Relivin’ what?”
“Your first—andonly—recital. When my jackass son didn’t deem his little girl’s love to be worth his time.” She shook her head, lips pursed. “I tore him up one side and down the other that night, but it didn’t matter. Don’t ask me how he grew up to be so ornery and bullheaded.”
Rory snorted, because that was Gran through and through. The big difference between them was that Gran didn’t use those characteristics to hurt others and tear them down.
“It was no big deal,” Rory said, repeating the same thing she’d told herself a hundred times. “I was only nine anyhow. Lots of hobbies still to come.”
Gran hummed, her eyes narrowed and assessing. “Back to design…what’re you so afraid of?”
Rory huffed, shifting in her seat. Feeling like she was under the world’s largest microscope. “What’s with all the questions, Gran?”
Gran didn’t dignify that with a response, instead just sitting primly in her chair, hands folded on top of the table, staring straight at Rory.
She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes, thankful she still had enough of a buzz to let the words flow freely. “Daddy’s always said designin’ could never be a legitimate career.”
“Your daddy’s said a lot of dumb-ass nonsense in his sixty years, and you, of all people, should know better than to listen to a single word of it.”
Rory’s shoulders sagged, because she knew Gran was right. But that didn’t make putting it into action any easier.
