“Do you want to be a teacher?” Rory shifted in his seat, turning his big body and all his attention to her.
“Well, that would pay the bills and be a hell of a lot better than waitressing, but ultimately I’d like to be a writer.” The last words came out on a whisper. Her dream put into words she could barely speak because she’d never told anyone but Luna. Her father had caught her scribbling and typing away on her ancient laptop. When he asked, she’d passed it off as nothing more than fooling around. But now, with him gone, her degree only months away from becoming reality, and her life her own to live, she needed to make some real decisions about what she wanted to do.
“What do you like to write?” Rory asked.
She glanced over at him, waiting for some sign that he thought her crazy for wanting to do something so fanciful. Nothing but interest showed in his eyes. She glanced at the other men at the table. They all looked back at her, eager to hear what she had to say.
“Um, well, I like to write fiction.”
“That’s kind of broad. Come on, tell us about one of your stories,” Rory coaxed.
“Are you writing one of those Fifty Shades type books?” Colt teased.
“Actually, yes.” She held the straight face when all their eyes went wide.
“Seriously?” Rory asked.
“No.” She laughed and pressed her lips together to fight the smile spreading across her face. “Mysteries.”
“Really?” Grandpa Sammy asked. “I love a good mystery. It’s fun to try to figure out who done it.”
“Yes. Exactly. I like the intricacy of the plots, laying out the clues and red herrings, tricking the reader into thinking they know who did it until the end when you discover it’s someone else entirely. At least, I hope I do that. My professors seem to think I’ve got a talent for it.” She glanced at Rory again, wondering if he thought her nuts.
“Sounds like you’ve got quite an imagination. I’d love to read something of yours.”
She cocked up one eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Hey, I like to read. When I have time. For you, I’ll make time.”
“Okay. Maybe. Right now the only people who have read anything are my teachers.”
“Have you tried to get anything published?” Ford asked.
“No. It’s hard enough to turn in my work and have my teachers grade and critique it. I haven’t gotten up the courage to send it to any of the publishers.”
“What kind of grades do you get in school?” Colt asked.
The blush rose up from her neck to her face. “Um, mostly A’s.”
“Mostly?” Rory eyed her with a skeptical look.
“I have a 4.0 GPA.”
“You’re a brainy nerd,” Colt teased. His head cocked to the side. “Wait. Didn’t you win some writing contest in high school?”
She nodded, uncomfortable tooting her own horn. “And a ten-thousand-dollar scholarship. That’s how I started attending classes. It’s been a lot harder to finish with my limited resources.”
“You mean with your brother sucking up every last dime you have for lawyers and repaying his debts.” The anger in Rory’s voice was warranted.
Out of habit, she was about to defend her brother, tell him that Connor never got over their mother’s death, and acted out to get the attention he wanted. But she’d suffered the same loss and found a way to go on without all the self-destructive drama, breaking the law, or hurting people.
Rory frowned, pulled her close, and kissed the side of her head. “Sorry. You’re tired. Come on, I’ll take you upstairs. You can take a shower and get some rest.”
She’d been in the same clothes for two days. She desperately wanted a shower, a soft bed, sleep, but she had one thing left to do that she dreaded. “I need to let Connor know about our father.”
“You know where he is?” Ford asked.
“No. I’ll try him at the last number I have, but he didn’t pick up earlier. I have to try. He needs to know what happened.”
She wished Connor to be a different kind of man. A man with principles and honor. A man like the ones she sat with at this table. A man like Rory, who knew how to take care of the people he loved. Which she just realized included her.
Grandpa Sammy stood and picked up her dish and his. “Take her up and get her settled. We’ll clean up down here.”
Rory stood, held out his hand, and pulled her up out of her seat when she automatically took it. He led her out of the dining area to the stairs.
“They’re good together,” Grandpa Sammy said, thinking she and Rory were out of earshot. Or maybe not.