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Rory nudged Vi.
Quiet fell over the room. Murmurs mounted. People scraped their chairs around for a better view. Great. An audience had worked to Rory’s advantage moments ago, but now it might have the opposite effect.
Giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look, Vi reached for the bag. She undid the drawstrings and pulled out a small box. An eerie quiet descended.
She opened it, then put her hand over her mouth. “Rory, they’re beautiful.” The silence broke as oohs and ahs thrummed the air.
Vi held aloft a pair of gold hoop earrings. A strip of tiny diamonds marched down the middle, with a rich leopard print encasing each side. “Hold my hair so I can put them on?”
As if he needed a reason.
She unhooked the earrings and turned her back to him. Rory’s knees weakened at the sight of those fiery tresses tumbling down her back. He carefully scooped the mass away from her ears, then reluctantly released it when she turned to show him the earrings.
A smile softened his frayed nerves. He’d shopped an entire afternoon, determined to find the perfect match for Vi’s personality. Timeless. Elegant. Streaks of wild.
“Nice going, Ro. Those sparkly baubles deserve another date. Maybe two.” The dimples on either side of Tavo’s grin creased.
Rory raised his arm in victory as the rest of the group chimed in to support more dates.
When Vi’s brows lifted, he smiled. “Gotcha back.”
Tavo strummed “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Paige picked up cups and plates. Others helped her. Vi moved to join them until Rory tugged her back down beside him. “Barely room for two in Paige’s kitchen. Wanna go to my place for a last round of coffee?”
Fear darted across her countenance, so fleetingly, he could have imagined it. “I’m safe, Red. Coffee and a visit. Cyrus can supervise.”
A corner of her mouth turned up, and the guarded look receded. “Okay. But no more caffeine for me. I’ll grab a cup of wassail.”
Rory allowed her plenty of space as they left and walked to his townhouse next door. As he inserted the key, the reality of what she’d see in his living room nearly changed his mind. Stella’s ugly color scheme and atrocious furniture would, no doubt, cast him as a real sicko.
“You and Cyrus settle while I make coffee.” He hurried into the kitchen. Grabbing his favorite brew and a new filter, he set the pot to fill with water. As the coffee percolated, the rich smell filled his nostrils. Tension drained from his shoulders.
Vi climbed on a barstool with her cup of wassail, fingering an earring. She watched Rory pour a cup of coffee as if he’d done it a thousand times. The crease between his eyebrows had faded.
“Let’s move to the living room. It’s ugly, but more comfortable than a bar stool.” Ever the gentleman, he waited for her to go first.
Trying not to gape at the unsightly décor, Vi headed to the friendliest piece of furniture in the room—an old glider with worn maroon cushions. A Bible lay on the end table next to it. “Is this your favorite chair?” She hesitated, not wanting to claim it if he had a preference.
“Guests usually sit there. At least the ones I like.” Rory grinned and sat on a dreadful gray couch.
Vi sat in the comfy chair. Cyrus lay next to her, and Vi swallowed more of the warm drink. The spicy scent soothed her jarred emotions. The décor, however, rattled her brain. Nothing about Rory suggested this horrible taste in furnishings.
“So, what will you do tomorrow?”
She looked back at him, warmth creeping up her neck. He’d caught her rubbernecking. Her need to know rose a notch, but it could wait. “Oh, I’ll spend the day at Mom’s. There’ll be a literal feast. We’ll visit a bit, and I’ll work at playing nice.”
He frowned. “It sounds … strained.”
“Mom and I are …” Vi searched for the right words. “Very different people. We’re not close.” She stared into her empty cup, wishing for more of the yummy brew. Shaking off the gloom, she attempted a smile. “What about your day?”
“We’ll do Christmas at Dad’s. For years, it’s been an all-male get-together.” Wistfulness laced his words. “Not too exciting.”
The conversation flowed into the latest Peeps news, and then Rory lined out the next phase in remodeling her house. Vi savored the easy back and forth, though her emotions were free-falling. His heated jab about her hands bothered her. Taking a deep breath, she dove in. “Nobody has ever said my hands were scary.” She searched his face for a clue. “What are you afraid of?”
Rory looked away, then back at her. “What are you afraid of, Vi? And I’m not talking about a massage.”
Their questions hung in the air. The coffeemaker hissed. Cyrus rumbled, rearranging his bulk near Vi’s feet. Rory had been a sweetheart the entire evening—even if he got pushy about a date. Hadn’t she been guilty too, forcing the massage issue with a gift card?
His steady gaze scared her.
