“I don’t know,” I finally say.
“Are you going to go out with her again?”
“If she accepts.”
Mom reaches across the table and pats the top of my hand. “She’ll accept.”
After last night, I’m not so sure. “I hope so.”
“She will.” A huge smile spreads over her face.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was just thinking about what gorgeous kids the two of you would make. All that dark hair and those deep-brown eyes.”
“I think you’re getting ahead of us, Mom.”
“I’m not getting any younger, Brock. I’d love to have some grandchildren, and your brother doesn’t seem like he’s going to settle down anytime soon.”
“He’s been dating Marie forever.”
“I know. That’s the point. If they were going to get married and have children, they would’ve done it by now.”
“He’s still pretty young. Twenty-six.”
“I know. I figured he’d be the one to give me grandchildren before you. But you never know.”
“Mom, I know. There will not be any grandchildren anytime soon.”
That’s for sure. I want to get to know Rory Pike. I want to get her into my bed. I want to produce a recital for her.
But children? That is far into my future.
Patrice slides a plate of steaming eggs and bacon in front of me.
Mom points to the toast. “That’s sourdough from Ava’s bakery.”
I nod and take a bite. “I just had lunch there yesterday,” I say with my mouth full.
“For God’s sake, Brock, swallow first.”
I laugh as I swallow. “You’re such a mom.”
“And if you want to date someone seriously, whether it’s Rory Pike or anyone else, you need to stop talking with your mouth full.”
I nod again. “When you’re right, you’re right, Mom.”
“I’ve been waiting for you and David to grow up. It sure took Donny a while, and I’m glad you’re not going to wait until you’re thirty-two.”
“Who says I’m growing up?” I slather peach jam on my second slice of Ava’s toast.
“Trust me. A mother knows.” She smiles as she rises. “I’m heading to my office. I’ve got a deadline on my next book, and I need to get writing.”
“Got it. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, Brock.”
I sink my teeth into a thick slice of bacon, savoring the smoky meat.
Kids. Mom wants me to have kids.
That is so not going to happen.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I grab it.
It’s Dale.
“Saturday. The north property. Two p.m. Can you make it?”
Chapter Seventeen
Rory
Shocker of all shockers.
It’s Saturday, and I haven’t heard one word from Brock Steel since our date Monday evening.
I’ll call you, he said.
Sure. He’ll call me.
Christ, I practically threw myself at him, and he turned me down.
So much for what I thought had gone on. He was a guy who wanted to create a recital for me, who told me I was beautiful, who told me he wanted to see that look on my face forever, and then he refused to get into the sack with me.
What the hell does it all mean?
I’m driving into Grand Junction today. I chickened out Tuesday, so I made an appointment to go to a sperm bank today. They’re open on weekends, of course, because working women are huge clients of sperm banks.
Obviously, Brock Steel isn’t going to donate any of his swimmers, so I have to find another specimen.
Specimen.
That’s all this is to me. A specimen. A donor. A tiny bit of DNA that I need so I can have a child.
Callie tried to talk me out of it again last night, after she got in from her date with Donny. She prefers the sperm bank to the idea of asking Brock to donate, but she wants me to wait until I’m in a relationship.
“Being a single parent is hard, Ror,” she said.
She also told me that she and Donny are moving into the guesthouse behind the Steel main house. Dale and Ashley are finally moved into their new place, and Donny’s taking the guesthouse for now, while he and Callie build their new house.
I’m happy for her. Truly. But Callie won’t be around here for me to talk too much anymore, and I doubt she and Donny will want me hanging around their place.
I’m on my own.
I guess, in some small way, I always have been.
I drive up to the sperm bank.
Then I sit in my car. I’m twenty minutes early. I can just drive on. Go away. I don’t even have to cancel my appointment. Heck, I don’t even have to go home. I can just drive off and never look back.
It’s tempting sometimes.
I could move to a new place, where Rory Pike isn’t the homecoming queen, isn’t the resident bisexual, isn’t the most beautiful woman in the town—the beautiful woman who couldn’t make it as a performer.
But Snow Creek is home.
It’s still tempting, though.
“For God’s sake, Rory, get a fucking grip.” I open the car door and get out, my purse slung over my shoulder, and I walk defiantly into the building that houses the sperm bank.