Yet Rory never treated me that way. He lit up around me, pure enthusiasm and energy, and I was quickly becoming addicted.
To how he made me feel—like I was fun to be around too, just the way I was.
Rory’s phone buzzed and he glanced at it. “Shit, I got to hurry up here or August won’t have any of the ingredients to make dinner.”
“All right, let’s focus on your list,” I offered, wanting to spend a little more time with him.
“Thanks, Wyatt.” Rory offered a genuine smile that brightened his gorgeous blues. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
Fuck, I was glad too.
Chapter seven
Rory
My phone buzzed uncontrollably the entire drive over to Mom and Dad’s house.
So maybe I was a little late to brunch because I’d lost track of time researching local tattoo conventions, but it wasn’t like I’d fallen into a well or something. My family was just needy.
I pulled up in front of my folks’ place. The sight always struck me square in the chest with familiarity. They owned a Cape Cod style house with cranberry shutters and a well-kept stone pathway Dad diligently maintained. Now that he was retired, he’d amped up the home projects, though, to the point I swore I’d walk in one day and not recognize the interior. Cars crowded the driveway because my siblings had clearly already arrived.
I glanced at my phone.
Ollie: Rory’s dead. Can I have his cinnamon roll?
Aislin: No. You’ll be too busy leading the search and rescue for our dearly departed brother. Rory, if you’re alive, send warning flares.
Cormac: How come you guys don’t send search parties when I ignore the group chat?
Mom: You hate the group chat.
Declan: For reasons like this.
Dad: Can you guys stop texting and come help in the kitchen?
I snorted and hopped out of my car. Sure, I might be the person to spam the group chat the most, but I also kept it active when the rest of my family would’ve let it lapse. However, I’d been dragged down the hyperfixation rabbit hole on two subjects lately—tattoo conventions and Wyatt Anderson—and both demanded my utmost attention.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I skimmed the other texts on my phone.
Harper had messaged asking where I put the micro thin-tip forceps followed by a never mind. Guilt flared through me. I shouldn’t be flirting with her dad as much as I had been, even if Wyatt was one of those straight-boy crushes that wouldn’t go anywhere. Granted, I knew when a guy was looking my way, and the shower at the gym—damn, it had been in my spank bank all week.
When I opened the front door, a wall of noise rushed my way.
“You’re not dead,” Aislin called out. “Told you, guys.”
“Thought you were organizing a search party,” I teased as I sauntered inside. Aislin’s blue-streaked hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and she’d dressed down today in a pink hoodie and yoga pants.
“Nah, too lazy,” she said, her blue eyes glinting.
“Were you just sitting here texting each other?” I asked.
“Yes, it was ridiculous.” Declan sat on the sofa with his boyfriend Noah, a bigger blond guy who was so hot I might’ve been jealous if I didn’t know how hung up he was on my brother. Declan and I both looked more like our mom—dark hair, sharp features, andslim—while Aislin was a blend, and Cor and Ollie both took after Dad in the burly bear category.
Noah snorted. “Nothing less than I’d expect from the Brannons.”
“You say that like we have a reputation,” Ollie complained as he all but stampeded into the room.
“You do,” Liam reminded him.
