Chapter Thirty-Two
Fin
Eyes open, I’m suddenly awake. No nightmarish choking, no limbo. I’ve just opened my eyes and... I’m here. But that’s not to say I don’t feel like shit because crying will do that to a girl. So will falling off a treadmill, a treadmill I had no business being on in the first place, even for an anxiety run.
After Mac had left, it had taken me an hour or so to tidy up the admin ends and I’d made my way to the stables to collect Ivy’s bike for the cold trek home. As I’d looked up at the darkening clouds it became obvious it was to be a wet trek, too, as rain drops started to fall pretty heavily. Rory’s truck wasn’t parked, so I’d ran for the shelter of the cottage thinking I’d take the chance to wait out the weather while packing up my stuff. I no longer have any reason to stay. Ivy’s absence has given me more space than I need, plus I’d said I’d keep an eye on both the salon and flat. And the truth is, there’s probablyeveryreason not to stay over while Rory’s around.
It had taken longer than I’d realised to pack my stuff into a holdall, which I’d stowed next to the front door. The rain had slowed to that miserable drizzle that Scotland seems to be famous for before I’d realised it was too late to peddle over the causeway: The tide was partially in.
So I’d paced. And I’d fretted. Worried that I wouldn’t be able to leave before he returned. And that thought freaked me the fuck out.
I’m not frightened of Rory, though he was in a strange mood earlier for sure. No, I was more worried about my reactiontohim. Lord knows he only has to breathe in my direction and my panties seem to develop a life of their own. As a distraction from those thoughts, I’d dug out my running gear from the bag I’d just packed and headed over to the shiny, new gym. Flight wasn’t an option until the tide went out so I’d just have to fight off this anxiety, starting with a run. Probably not a great idea in retrospect, especially as I’d a bike ride, too. Or so I’d thought.
But a run had helped, at least, until that stupid song came on. Worse still, Rory had witnessed my melt down. But, God, I needed him in the moment. Needed those strong arms and gentle words. But now... actually, I think I’m too exhausted to feel anything at all. Though I’m sure shame will slink along later, along with her teammate embarrassment.
So I’m awake in this bed, the bed that Rory no doubt carried me to. And covered me.More kindness. Why can’t he always be an asshole?I haven’t stirred so I doubt he’s realised I’m awake, or that I’m watching him through swollen and gritty eyes. Legs splayed, he sits in an armchair at the other side of the room, angled to face the bed. He holds a low ball glass in the palm of his hand as he stares into the inch of amber liquid like the secrets of the universe are lurking there.
If he knows I’m awake, he hasn’t acknowledged it, not that I blame him because as well as feeling like shit, I know I’ll resemble it, too. Crying makes me look like an amphibian.
‘Are you thinking about drinking it, or are you just staring it down?’ Though I wasn’t going to break the silence, but find myself doing it anyway. My voice sounds croaky. Like I haven’t used it in years.
He doesn’t move; not his head, not his gaze, not the glass in his hand. Though he does answer. ‘Good whisky deserves appreciation.’
I spy the bottle propped on the slim set dresser behind him and though I can’t vouch for the bottle being full when he started, something tells me it may well have been.
‘So you’re just... looking at it?’
‘I’m appreciating, like I would a good woman.’ The words roll from his tongue like the drink itself, all smooth and smoky. Rory turns the drink in his hand, the light from the table lamp shining amber highlights through the glass. ‘Look first, then taste.’
‘Is that your rule for whisky or women?’
I duck my head wishing I hadn’t spoken when his head raises, his gaze burning as vividly as the liquid.
‘Titch, I’ve been watching you for hours.’ As though making his point, his gaze slowly traces the length of me, my body reacting almost as though he’d caressed me with his hand. ‘Watching. Waiting. Wishing.’
‘But for what?’
