Three Reckless Words: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 3)
Three Reckless Words: Chapter 16

I have no clue how to get out of this.

Much less how this came to be.

I’ve only known Winnie Emberly for roughly a month. We’ve been—I don’t fucking know what to call it because ‘fuck buddies’ doesn’t feel accurate—for less time than that.

But here we are now, sitting in my vehicle outside Mom’s place, just a few days after Patton’s contrived ambush.

She twists her hands idly in her lap, a hint she’s as nervous as I am. More, probably, because at least I know my mother and what to expect.

Come to think of it, that’s more reason why I should sweat bullets.

I don’t know what Patton told Mom, but she’s bound to get carried away.

She always does. Anytime she thinks I’m involved with a woman, even when it’s never been a thing and I’d rather chew porcupine quills. I’ve had to dodge dinners and surprise outings with women I have zero interest in, or else give in for an evening of drab tightrope walking where I try to humor Mom without making the girl feel like hot trash from my total disinterest.

Only, with Winnie, it might be different this time.

Maybe that’s why I feel so damn uptight about this, almost disembodied, hovering outside myself and watching as I try to keep my shit together.

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel. She glances at me.

“We can always do this another time,” she says quietly.

“That would be worse,” I tell her.

“Worse?”

Shit. Poor girl.

“Canceling on Delly Rory isn’t a walk in the park. You’d better have a damn good reason. To her, hosting comes only second to family.”

I wonder if it reminds Winnie of her parents from the way she inhales and her nostrils flare.

But Mom, no matter how much she wants to be part of our lives, knows we’re adults. She sees we’re capable of making our own choices. Of course, she wants to be part of those choices.

She definitely wants to make sure we carve out a space in our lives for her, but that’s different from wanting to micromanage us into arranged fucking marriages like the unlucky woman next to me.

As Winnie starts picking at the skin around her nails, I reach over and take her hand. “It’s fine. I told you, we’ll keep this simple. We go in, talk about bees, I bring up Colt as much as possible, and we get out with a smile and a good night.”

“And cardinals, right?”

“Sure, cardinals.” Mom does love to talk about birds and the family symbol that shows up in so much of her art. It’s harmless, really, and Winnie seems to like the whole idea.

“Oh, and I’ll play down whatever dating stuff your brother told her,” she promises, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah. Thanks.” I should be thrilled.

Instead, I take a moment to let that sink in. Weirdly, even though I know Mom will be all over it to everyone’s annoyance, the fact that Winnie feels like she needs to downplay it bothers me.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

We’re not dating.

Not for real.

Not properly.

I haven’t asked her to be my girlfriend, either, and though I’m pretty sure we’re exclusive with our odd little arrangement, it’s not because we agreed to anything.

I’m not ready for that step yet.

At least, I didn’t think I was, but now I’m here with her, and this visit feels less terrifying than I thought.

Remember, jackass, you’re not dating her. You’re setting your mother straight because your shit-flinging little brother opened his fat mouth and lied for kicks like he always does.

I need to stake that thought in my head before I forget.

Before I fall into easy laughs or innocent touches with Winnie in front of Mom.

Before I make this insanity too painful to quit.

We get out of the car and head to the front door, very much not hand in hand. I do that deliberately.

She keeps a few generous inches between us, really hanging on to this ‘just friends’ ruse. I don’t let that bother me, though.

Inside, whatever’s baking smells good.

Always does, but I think Mom has upped her game.

That’s Junie’s influence, giving Mom off-the-cuff lessons ever since she and Dexter tied the knot, and Mom has really taken it on board. Today it’s a fruity dessert smell, maybe cinnamon, too, though I’m no expert.

“I think she’s busy cooking,” I say when no one jumps out to welcome us. I tilt my head, angling my ear to the faint blues music bleeding from the kitchen. Safe to say she’s dancing in there too. “Let me give you a tour while my mother’s occupied.”

“You sure?” Winnie glances around and gives me a sharp, amused look. “We don’t have all week to make her think nothing’s going on.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.” She snickers.

I take her hand without thinking. So much for fucking appearances.

“Come on, I’ll show you the library first. You’ll like it.”

“Library? You have a whole library? In your house? Has anyone ever told you that’s excessive?”

“No, little smart-ass.”

Smiling, she holds up her free hand. “Hey, I come from money, too, okay? I know what wealth looks like, but I bet your library is next level.”

To be fair, the shelves in Mom’s study have been cultivated over generations. Books that belonged to my great-grandparents still live on the shelves, filling the room with the cozy smell of long-lost memories the instant they’re opened.

This house has been in our family forever, and the library is one of the few things each generation has actively added to. Dad’s additions were the last and best, I think.

There are still times I’ll steal a book or two to bring home to Colt, poems Dad made me appreciate. I wasn’t born with a literary bone in my body, but my old man made me grow a few.

Winnie’s mouth drops open when we head inside.

“Holy—oh, wow. You weren’t kidding when you said library.” She breathes, taking a second to drink it in. “I haven’t felt this book drunk since I’d walk through the Library of Congress.”

“Book drunk, huh?”

She grins sheepishly.

I try to see it from her perspective.

When I was a kid, the bookshelves were all ancient mahogany. Then Dad had them painted this pine-green color and the whole room has felt lighter ever since. A door leads out onto the lawn, and it’s open a crack, leaving the white curtains fluttering in the breeze.

The shelves, the paint, the colors have changed over generations. Yet there were always heaps of books, giving it so much soul.

Smiling, Winnie pulls her hand from mine and walks over to the photos on the wall. They’re in prime position, display pieces plastered on the wall so everyone who sits on the cozy plush seats will notice them.

“Your family?” she asks, reaching out like she wants to touch the frame, then drawing her hand back.

“Yeah. It’s a family history of sorts, starting with my great-grandparents.”

“Holy shit, Archer,” she whispers.

I shrug. “Honestly, no big deal. Just a bunch of dead people on a wall.”

“But you guys still put them there. Ghosts on your wall with their own lives, their stories.”

“Is that so shocking?”

“No, my parents are just weird, I guess. They never wanted to hang a single photo that wasn’t perfectly staged. Where I grew up, it was art. My father changed our wall art every few years, updating to whatever seems more popular.”

“To buy votes by acting like he shares the people’s taste,” I growl.

“…pretty much, yeah. Gross, right?”

It is.

I’m also sorry as hell a girl this sweet grew up living with an image-obsessed weasel.

“These are really beautiful, though,” she says. “You can totally feel the history here.”

I squint at the pictures again. Most are black-and-white. Some of the more recent additions show my parents in color, along with me and my brothers as kids. In the last photo, my father stands there next to the small plane he used to fly, smiling proudly.

The passion took his life but I doubt he regretted a damn thing.

We don’t keep secrets very well in this family, I suppose. It’s all hanging out in the open.

Winnie gasps. “Is that… President Truman?”

I knew that was coming.

When you grow up in Kansas City, you recognize Give ’Em Hell Harry like the back of your hand.

“He was a big deal in this town back in the day,” I say. “My great-grandparents knew him before he was president. They had a hand in getting him to the Senate before he climbed his way up the chain.”

“Wow.” Winnie clamps her mouth shut, like she wanted to say something else but doesn’t know how. She steps back, finger combing her mass of auburn curls, twining the hair tightly.

I grab her wrist and pull it away.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Wide eyes flick to mine and away again. “We should look around the rest of the house, though. And say hi to your mom.”

I take her on the abbreviated tour—the conservatory, the lounge, the game room, the basement gym, the little room upstairs with spacious windows where Mom paints—and finish with the bedrooms.

Specifically, my childhood bedroom.

“This is so cute!” Winnie laughs when she sees the pictures of Spider-Man on the walls. The original and best Spider-Man, Tobey Maguire. “It’s weird thinking of you as a kid.”

It’s weird being back here, honestly.

I live so close I haven’t crashed here in ages, and when I do, it’s usually after a long holiday where I’ve had too much to drink and Colt’s stuffed with pie and zapped out on the sofa.

Some things never change, though.

I still see my old books on shelves, the classics and silly B-movie horror pulp I used to read growing up. My PlayStation sits in the corner, untouched since the last time Colt played with me for nostalgia.

There’s still old homework and papers I wrote packed away in boxes under the bed. The edge of one peeks out.

“I don’t know why she keeps half this stuff. Too much ancient history here,” I mutter, picking up an ornament of a cardinal and looking it over. I found it in my Christmas stocking one year and put it on top of my bookshelf so Mom wouldn’t get sad.

“Moms like to do that. Normal moms, I mean.” There’s no hiding the melancholy in her voice when she looks at me. “But you said ancient? I think you meant prehistoric.”

“Shut it, brat.” I snort.

“Did you have a happy childhood?” The way the question comes out makes me stare.

It feels like it was bubbling under the surface, waiting to emerge, oozing with the grim hint that Winnie’s own childhood was anything but enjoyable.

“Happy enough. I mean, Dex and Pat were annoying pricks, but that’s what any older brother deals with.” I look at her sharply and the awkward way she’s hugging her stomach. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Arch.” Like hell. The emphasis she puts on ‘fine’ says the opposite. “Your mom’s done, I think. Let’s go meet her. I’m starving.”

Surprisingly, dinner isn’t set up in the formal dining room.

Mom usually hosts there because it’s bigger and grander, but I guess because it’s just the three of us, she’s decided to keep it simple in the kitchen instead. I lead Winnie in there.

“Winnie!” Mom says, kissing her on the cheek. “It’s so good to meet you at last.”

“Great to meet you too, Mrs. Rory,” Winnie says politely.

“Don’t you dare call me anything but Delly.” Mom beams at us. It’s clear Patton talked this up, which means I’m going to have to punch his face in. “Sit, sit, both of you. I hope you like chili, Winnie? It’s a creamy white chicken chili recipe, a southwestern classic with a Midwestern twist. I kept the jalapeños on the side in case you don’t like much spice, dear.”

“I love it. I can handle a few peppers.” Winnie smiles as she sits, poised and confident. Just the right warmth glows on her face.

All her usual nail-picking nervousness is gone.

I shouldn’t be surprised she can rein it in when she’s grown up at political dinners where there are five damn forks at your place and you look like the biggest moron in the room if you don’t know how to use them.

“Perfect!” Mom quickly ladles chili into bowls and launches straight in as she serves them up. “I must say, I’ve been so excited to meet you, Winnie. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Really?” Winnie glances at me. “I only met Patton once.”

“Oh, not just Patton, though of course he talked you up. Actually, Colt’s the one who’s been singing your praises for some time now.”

Shit. How could I forget?

“Of course he has,” I say dryly. “Turns out, he’s a big fan of the bees.”

All thanks to Winnie, but I don’t say that part.

“And of you, Archer,” Mom says so abruptly I almost choke on my soup. “But tell me about the bees.”

Winnie goes into way too much detail, telling her about the brand-new boxes we set up for expansions, honey extraction, how much she’s expecting to yield this year, and the rare plant the bees are making their purple gold from.

But Mom doesn’t mind her passion.

Not at all.

She watches Winnie like the girl’s a celebrity as she eats, hanging on every word, nodding with a smile every time Winnie looks up.

Goddammit.

I can’t stop gawking at her for very different reasons.

Not because of what she’s saying when I’ve heard it all before. Rather, it’s how she lights up when she nerds out about her precious little honey farm.

She’s human glitter, radiant as hell when she’s caught in the one thing in the world she loves unconditionally above all else.

It makes me wish her idiot parents or that jackal ex would never take this away from her.

If I had my way, I’d leave her with bright, happy eyes that could rival the moon and the widest grin to go with her clumsy, gesturing hands.

I’d make sure she gets to be this fresh-faced, excited young woman when she talks about honey without another care in the world.

I’d replace a way to keep her grinning because it’s so fucking endearing.

That’s because you want to kiss her again, idiot, I tell myself.

Apparently, when she’s around, my sex drive doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch, but when she’s like this, there’s nothing I want to do more than kiss her sweetly, tenderly, and press my teeth into her plush little lip to whisper what she needs without words.

Woman, it’s going to be okay. I promise.

Your damn bees are all you should ever have to fuss about.

Shit, I’d even listen to her ramble for hours.

As long as it takes to know that emptiness in her eyes isn’t waiting again as soon as her family injects more misery into her life.

What the fuck is happening to me?

I really wonder as she runs out of words and stops motormouthing to breathe.

Then Mom turns to me. “My, no wonder Colt’s taken such an interest in beekeeping. How could anyone be bored of this?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I think he’s planning a whole biology project on it.”

“Biology? He isn’t busy enough with his summer math classes?”

“For fun,” I say with a proud snort. “He and that Evans kid are going out to document the lifecycle of our local bees and enter them into some big national app for bee studies. If it keeps him out of trouble, I can’t complain.”

“Pure genius,” Winnie says warmly. “God, I wish I had half his brains when I was that age. It would’ve saved me a lot of grief.”

That age honestly wasn’t that long ago for her when she’s only twenty-five.

Sometimes I forget the age gap between us.

It doesn’t impact us when we’re together, but when I step back and think, it’s a glaring reminder that this madness we’ve fallen into can’t last.

There are rules to life, just like dating.

This is an ongoing hookup with a damsel in distress, and I’m the ass clown with the calcified brain breaking every one of them by keeping it going.

“Mrs. Rory,” Winnie starts.

“Delly, remember? No stuffy formality around here, darlin’.”

“Delly… Would you mind if I used your bathroom?”

“Certainly. Right down the hall and to the left. Big white door. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks!” Winnie pushes her chair back and leaves the room.

Mom smiles after her, waiting for her footsteps to fade before jabbing her fork at me.

I already know what’s coming before she utters one word.

“I like her,” Mom proclaims. “She’s a sweet girl, very authentic. I have a wonderful feeling about this one, Archer.”

“This one? You talk like I have women coming out my ears, Mom.”

“That’s only because you won’t let them, boy. How many times did I have to drag you into this house to sit down with a pretty girl?”

“And it was a big mistake every time,” I mutter.

Her gaze sharpens.

“You know how I feel about mumbling, Archer Rory. Takes me right back to your moody days as a teenager. You were always the sullen one, even if Dexter gave you a run for your money.” She purses her lips before she continues. “But your Winnie, yes, trust me when I say she’s a good one. Do not screw this up.”

“Mom, she’s not mine. The whole point of bringing her here was to show you we’re just friends.” I stop and bare my teeth in the most strained smile of my life. “So you can stop getting carried away every time you hear I’m hanging out with a woman.”

She sighs roughly. “Is it such a grave sin if I just want to see my oldest son settled and happy for once?”

“Yes. Because it isn’t like that.” I don’t elaborate when I don’t know what the hell it really is.

If Mom knew we were sleeping together without putting a neat label on it, she’d probably call this an ‘interlude’ or some shit. Better than ‘situationship’ and other dumb things the kids say, I guess.

Really, it’s a fling.

A little taste of summer wine before stone-cold reality comes ripping it away like a ruthless wolf pouncing on a happy drunk.

“Okay,” Mom says flatly, “but why can’t it be like that? Why won’t you open your mind a little, Son?”

“Mom, you know why. Do I need to sit here and give you all one thousand reasons?” I scratch my neck. My whole face itches. This conversation always makes me want to rip out my hair, but this time it makes me want to pluck every strand one by one.

Anything would be better than listing the many reasons why Winnie and I can’t work in gory detail.

“Give me one—one good reason—and don’t you dare hide behind Colton like you always do.”

I grit my teeth.

“Rina, for one,” I say, and I know I’ve hit the jackpot because her lips thin. “All the crap with that. You know what happened with her, what a snowballing disaster it was. I’m almost forty damn years old. I don’t need that much drama in my life. We’ve been getting along just fine without it, thank you very much.”

She frowns. “If it was a different girl, perhaps I wouldn’t push. But Winnie isn’t like Rina or the other women I tried to set you up with. You’re smart enough to know that.”

Damn.

I do know, but that alone isn’t enough reason to shut her yap.

“Colt,” I say, holding up a hand. “I’m not using him as an excuse. You know I can’t just go wandering around taking on girlfriends when he’s still a kid. Especially not when he’s at the age where he’ll be figuring out what dating means soon enough. If I can’t set healthy examples, I shouldn’t set them at all.”

“Oh, please.” Mom huffs a breath and rolls her eyes. “Archer, it’s not like you send women through a revolving door. We’re talking about one young woman who makes you smile. Don’t even think about denying it when I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“Not the point. Stability comes first. I’m not tripping over my own bad decisions and screwing up Colt when he’s walking that tightrope into adulthood right now. He won’t be like me, Mom. He’ll grow up better.”

She fixes me with the same glare she used to give us as kids whenever we’d step out of line.

“So, that’s it? You’re digging your heels in and deciding this can’t work before you even give it a try? All so you can commit to being a hermit and say it was for your son?”

“So I can finish raising my son right, yes. And that’s not even getting into how I’d complicate Winnie’s life. She’s too young for me even in the rosiest circumstances.”

“Oh, Archer. Your poor bruised ego…” Mom shakes her head. “Age is a number. Nothing else matters when two people hit it off.”

I snort. “Nothing and everything for a lasting relationship. How many times do I need to say you’re asking for the impossible?”

“About as many times as I need to remind you there’s nothing wrong with a positive attitude, dearie,” she tells me, tapping her nails on the table. It’s pretty obvious where Dexter got that habit. “If you believe it can work, if you’ll stop shooting down a good thing before it has a chance to bloom, miracles can happen.”

“Miracles. That’s great,” I mutter. “Or maybe I’ll go and get everybody’s hopes up only to blow everything to pieces. I can let you down and confuse Colt with one stone. Brilliant idea.”

“Like you’re doing now, you mean?” She stares through me. “Not every woman is another Rina, Archer. You can’t let the divorce ruin the rest of your life.”

Knife, meet guts.

That’s Mom, though. Always willing to strike deep with brutal precision out of love.

I exhale slowly, refusing to show how deep it cuts.

“Rina,” I spit. Her name alone damn near gives me hives. “I don’t even know what she’s doing in our lives again. I’m sure you heard about it from Colt. Needless to say, I don’t trust her.”

Mom looks at her nearly empty bowl, her expression unreadable, before she looks up again. “She came around here yesterday, you know.”

“What? Again?” I can’t hide my outrage.

“Watch your tone.”

It’s an effort to moderate it, but every single turn this conversation takes just makes me more frustrated.

“Why did she come over here again? To beg you to hand over a piece of the family fortune? To kidnap Colt?” I’m only half joking. She’s been gone so long I don’t trust her intentions.

“Actually, she wanted to apologize,” Mom says, laying her cutlery down so she can look me full in the face. I fold my arms.

“Apologize for what?”

“She knew you wouldn’t hear her out, so she came to me.”

What. The. Fuck.

Hearing that hits like a buffalo stampede.

I push my chair back and pace the room, too restless to stay put.

“Damn right,” I growl, raking a hand through my hair. “Some nerve. After everything she’s put us through—all the money I’ve pumped into her accounts just to keep the peace, raising Colt alone—and she still had to pester you with some big fake apology?”

“Archer—”

I shake my head, snarling. “See, this is what I mean. Exactly why I’m not getting involved with another woman. The drama, it never goes away.”

“Archer—” Mom raises her voice.

“I don’t care how sweet Winnie is or how good you think we’d be together.” I’m running my mouth in a way I haven’t in a long time, but I need to get this off my chest. “You need to take whatever bullshit Patton told you with a boulder-sized pinch of salt. Stop fixating on relationships that aren’t happening.”

“Archer.” Mom watches me with hooded eyes. “Sit down.”

Her eyes are deadly serious.

I sigh.

“Are you listening now, at least? We’re friends. Nothing more.” I slice my hand through the air, drawing an invisible line that feels weak even as I say it. “She’s nice and I’m helping her out of a tight spot. I promise you that’s it. We’re not dating and we will never be anything more.”

“Okay,” Mom says, her voice softening.

You could chew the thick silence between us.

I’m panting, I realize.

I’m getting fucking winded over this, my shoulders tight with stress.

“Sit down, darlin’. I didn’t mean to wind you up.”

Grumbling, I drop back in my seat and lean back, the wood creaking under my weight. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this pissed.

I already regret half the shit I said, sure.

Especially about Winnie Emberly.

It’s almost enough to make me forget she’s still in the house until she comes back in the room.

She flashes us a shy smile, tucking her hair shyly behind her ear.

It isn’t fair.

It’s cruel that she looks so gorgeous I could feast my eyes on that pretty face all day. Before I met her, I didn’t think I had a ‘type.’

Now, I do.

Her.

Every little detail from the soft freckles dusting her cheeks to her maddening hips to the way she laughs like a song.

“Winnie,” Mom says with relief—probably because she didn’t walk in a split second earlier. “I was worried you’d gotten lost, hon.”

Winnie’s face splits into a wide, buttery smile as she retakes her seat.

“It’s a big house. You almost need a map.” That’s all she says.

When she glances at me, her smile looks strained, like she’s struggling to keep it in place. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

That’s the first hint I’ve fucked up royally.

When she doesn’t look at me again, I know beyond all doubt.