Page 186 of Where We Stay

I look at the bottle, then back at her. “Not anymore.”

Rory walks past me and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

“Make yourself at home,” I call after her. “I’m just going to wash my hands. Wineglasses are in the cupboard above the counter.”

I’ve barely turned on the bathroom tap when my phone starts ringing.

JERRY

He’s called at four-thirty every afternoon since Ben contacted me, just to make sure I’m still here and haven’t fled the state. I introduced him to Dean over FaceTime two nights ago, and to my surprise, they hit it off immediately. They even exchanged numbers, which means I now have two overprotective men capable of discussing me behind my back.

Fantastic.

I answer the call. “Jerry, I’m in the middle of a girl crisis. I’m still here, and I’m okay.”

“Good to hear, kid,” he says. “Just checking in.”

“I’ll call you properly soon. Love ya.”

“Back at you, kid.”

Usually, I’d keep him talking, but something tells me Rory can’t wait. It isn’t lost on me that she came here instead of going to Mal or G. I’m not complaining either. It’ll be nice to let someone else have the emotional crisis for once.

When I return to the kitchen, Rory is already pouring the wine.

I raise my brows as she fills my glass almost to the top. “That bad?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replies, refusing to look at me.

“Right.”

I take the glass and lean against the counter. “So, are we drinking because it’s Wednesday, or because something happened?”

Rory takes a very large sip before answering. “Hypothetically—”

“Oh, fuck.” I groan into my wine. “Not another hypothetical.”

“Shut up.”

I laugh and gesture for her to continue.

“Has someone ever annoyed you so much that you start thinking about them when they aren’t even there?” she asks.

I stare at her over the rim of my glass. “That sounds suspiciously like a crush.”

“Fuck off,” she deadpans.

“Come on.” I push away from the counter. “This conversation needs to happen on the couch in front of the fireplace. Plus, if I stand any longer, I might fall over. Gardening takes it out of you.”

Rory follows me into the living room and settles onto the couch, conveniently fluffing the pillows so she doesn’t have to look at me.

“So,” I begin, tucking my legs beneath me, “do I know this hypothetical person, or…?”

“No.” Rory rolls her eyes and takes another drink.

“So all the Ashfords are stubborn. Good to know.”

She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, fine. I may or may not work with this person.”