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"The bloke seems fine to me."
Calli rolls her eyes. "Men are so blind. Your brother has gotten way more withdrawn and morose lately. He snaps at everyone."
"Aye, he needs a good shag. Let's send him on a business trip, since that seems to be the only time he'll touch a lass."
"You don't know for sure he has one-nighters when he's away from home." She takes hold of the collar of my T-shirt. "Come on. Don't you want to make Rory feel better?"
"Aye, but donnae get any barmy ideas. I won't be 'hugging it out' with Rory, or having a heart-to-heart with him, or—"
"No," Calli says like I'm a silly eejit. "Erica and I have a better idea, and your mom agreed with us."
"Do I want to know what you women have cooked up now?"
She pats my cheek, smiling with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "We're stepping up the campaign to arrange for Rory to bump into single women whenever he's out and about."
I groan. "Bloody hell, Calli. Rory will break out his guillotine and behead us all for this."
"Don't be silly." Her brows lift. "Does he really own a guillotine?"
"No idea. But it wouldn't surprise me." Since I know I can't stop this meddling rubbish, I sigh and give in. "I assume there will be an accidental encounter while we're babysitting Rory this afternoon."
"Yep." She tickles my chin. "Might be more than one, just to make sure."
"More than one?" I toss my head back and groan at the sky. "You lot are determined to drive my brother insane, aren't you?"
"Relax. It'll be fine. And we're almost to the first stop—the café."
My brother stops dead on the pavement, then twists his head around to flash us an annoyed look. "Why are you two walking so slow?"
"It's called strolling, Rory," I say. "The rest of us donnae like going on a forced march at top speed."
He grunts and starts walking again.
Calli elbows me in the side. "Catch up before he speeds right past the café."
"All right, all right." I sprint to catch up to Rory and step in front of him, forcing my brother to stop. "Ah, let's go into the café. A wee piece would hit the spot, aye?"
"Not hungry."
"Have a glass of whisky, then." I nod past him, toward my wife. "Calli needs a break, and she loves thecranachanthey make at the café."
Rory sharpens his gaze on me. "What is really going on here, Aidan? I've never seen you this determined to force me to have a piece."
"Or a drink. Your choice."
"My choice was to stay home, but you lot dragged me into the village for 'a day of relaxation and fun.' I'm not feeling relaxed or entertained."
I slap his arm. "Give it a try. For Calli."
That's a low blow, and I know it. But I'm desperate. My wife won't give up until we've dropped a lass into Rory's lap, literally, at the café. I want my brother to be happy, but this doesn't seem like the right way to make that happen. Cannae manufacture happiness.
Well, I suppose I sort of did. When I insisted Calli would fall in love with me.
Rory rolls his eyes and twists his mouth into an expression that I know well—part resignation, part annoyance, followed by acceptance of his fate. "Have it your way. Let's go into the ruddy café and have a piece. But I'm not eatingcranachan."
No one knows why Rory hates that dessert, but he always has.
"Fine," I say. "Nocranachan."
