Rock Bottom (Dawson Family 6)

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” she presses. “Sounds like you got things figured out, though.”

“Yeah. We’re good now.” The parking lot hasn’t been cleared yet, and there’s about an inch and a half of snow on the ground. Blaire is wearing open-toe high heels. “Stay there,” I tell her and kill the engine. I get out and rush around to her side. “I’m going to carry you in.”

“Like a baby?”

“If that’s what you like.”

“Baby-play? Gross.”

“Huh?” I push my brows together.

Blaire starts laughing. “You’ve never heard of baby-play?”

“Something tells me I don’t want to.” I turn around and have her get on my back.

“You don’t, but I’m going to tell you anyway. And when we get inside, I’ll look up pictures.”

I hurry through the snow, careful not to slip and take us both down. Blaire laughs as I run, holding onto me tightly. I don’t set her down until we’re in the café. We’re able to get a table for two right away, and are seated in a booth in the back.

“This place is so cute,” she notes, looking around. “It’s like what you’d picture a small-town diner to look like.”

“It’s looked like this for years. I think a lot of us would be sad if it got a major update, though it’s due for one.” I motion to the slightly warped table.

“It’s part of its charm.” Blaire smiles and looks at the menu. We both order coffee, and she surprises me by ordering a big plate of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “We have a diner like this at home,” she says, looking around as she chews a piece of bacon. “The food isn’t as good, but I’m probably biased. My dad owns a restaurant.”

“Are you a good cook then?” I ask, stabbing a piece of a pancake with my fork.

“That’s debatable,” she laughs. “I know how to cook, but I don’t cook often. Seems a little silly to make a fancy meal when I live on my own.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I don’t like to cook.” I reach for my coffee. “My mom’s the kind of mom who still makes food for me several times a week.”

“Must be nice.” She nudges my foot under the table. “Mama’s boy.”

“Like you’d turn down free food.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t. But I’m still going to call you a mama’s boy.”

“You can call me whatever you like,” I laugh.

“Dean!” someone calls, and I look up to see Quinn, Archer, and all their children bustling through the door. Blaire follows my gaze, and her fork falls out of her hand, clattering to the plate and splattering syrup over the table.

Archer picks up Aiden and the five of them come over on the way to an empty table. Blaire’s eyes are wide as she watches, and her cheeks turn bright red.

Right. She looks like a homeless hooker, as she puts it. She’s probably embarrassed to be seen by anyone other than me. I’ll get rid of Quinn as quickly as I can.

“Hey, Rory,” Archer says, struggling to hold Aiden, who’s flopping around and trying to get out of his arms. Rory? Who the hell is Rory?

“Well, it seems like I finally found a good match. Though technically I did set you up with Hilary, but I’m still taking credit for her getting her friends to go out instead.” Quinn beams at me, flicking her eyes from me to Blaire. “I knew I should have made you take a bet or something. A week of free babysitting would have been nice.”

“What are you talking about?”

Quinn cocks an eyebrow. “Obviously your date went well.”

“My date?”

“The one I set you up on last night,” she sighs.

“I didn’t go on a date last night.” I look at Blaire, who’s looking horrified right now. I lean back, eyes going from Blaire to my sister and back again. “You’re not Blaire from Canada, are you?”Chapter 14RoryIf I could slither under the table and stay there until everyone leaves, I would. But even if the floor wasn’t sticky from a morning full of customers dripping syrup and dropping food on the ground, it wouldn’t solve my issue.

Because my boss is standing just a foot from the table, looking confused as hell. It’s the first time I’ve seen that look on his face, which is probably a good thing considering he’s slicing people open and removing organs.

My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I can feel Dr. Jones staring at me, along with all three of his kids and his wife, who I remember to be Quinn. Oh my gosh. We talked on the phone. She helped me find a place to live. And she likes cats.

“No,” I finally say. “I’m not.”

“But why do you…” Dean starts, looking at Quinn. “Why do you think you set us up? The blind date bailed last night.”

No. No. No.

Dean was the loser I blew off. Of all the guys in all the world…