5. Rosalyn

FIVE

ROSALYN

Where did you live before… Please forgive me… My apologies…

This day is turning into the biggest mind fuck.

As soon as Nathan steps out of view, I turn and rush into the pantry.

Presley is going to think I'm losing it, but I need a moment.

The lights above come to life as I close the door behind me. I have to assume they're based on movement, but I appreciate not having to find a light switch through my mounting panic.

Standing still, I shut my eyes and focus on breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

I do it again.

This doesn't have to be a huge deal.

So what if Nathan doesn't recognize me?

So what if maybe he doesn't remember me at all?

Even as I try to tell myself it's okay, the thought makes me press my hands to my stomach.

Another breath.

Calming my racing heart, I remind myself that I didn't recognize him the first time I saw him on TV either, so it shouldn't be this much of a shock.

Yes, my hair and eye color are the same. But the last time he saw me, I was eight. And I was always a big-boned kid—as one of my teachers had said—but I'm more than that now. I'm a grown-ass woman with a grown-ass ass. And a soft center. And tits that have needed underwire support since I was sixteen—basically when I learned how much I enjoyed cooking.

But… it's okay.

Because if he doesn't realize that I'm me, then he won't ask me what life was like after he moved.

If Nathan Waller has forgotten me… I can be Rosalyn instead of Rosie.

I take another slow breath.

I haven't talked to Nathan for two and a half decades, but in the few minutes we've interacted since he arrived, I can tell he's just as fun and easygoing as he was when we were kids.

Relaxed. Confident.

Easy to be around.

My next exhale comes out in a huff, and I square my shoulders.

I'm going to finish making tonight's food with Presley.

I'm going to make sure everything goes smoothly for Hannah and Maddox.

And I'm going to find a way to simply enjoy Nathan's nearness before I never see him again.

Because I can't see him again.

Taking a fortifying breath, I step out of the wonderfully stocked walk-in pantry. And the door—that's disguised to look like a regular section of cupboard—closes behind me.

Presley is staring right at me.

"Look," I sigh, but she bats her eyes.

"I don't know anything about football players. I don't have any time." She mocks as she twists her fists under her eyes in a crying gesture.

It's over the top. And precisely what I need.

A laugh bursts out of me, and I shake my head. "Oh, shut up."

If everyone here wants to pretend that I'm fangirling instead of what I'm actually doing, which is riding the fine line between a nervous breakdown and a panic attack, I'll go with it.

As we get back to work, I use the fancy espresso maker that Hannah gave us free rein over. The double shot of caffeine will hopefully help focus my mind.

When Hannah hurries through the kitchen, I offer to make her a latte.

She accepts but then asks if I wouldn't mind bringing it to the living room.

When the drink is ready, I hate my past self for making the offer, because all I want to do is hide in the kitchen. But as I carry the yellow mug across the house, I don't run into any old friends.

"You're a lifesaver." Hannah takes the mug from me, smiling under a pile of curlers.

I ask the hairdresser if she'd like one, but the woman just grunts, so I take it as a no and make my way back to the kitchen.

The party is being held in the backyard, where tents, tables, and flowers are set up, and ribbons are flowing in the breeze.

Through the windows, I can see strings of lights hanging throughout the trees, and I just know it's going to be magical.

I'll miss walking through it since I volunteered to be the one who stays in the kitchen, making sure everything is heated at the right times and to the right temperatures.

Presley, along with two other women, who will show up in two hours, will act as waitstaff, carrying the trays around, swapping empty dishes for fresh ones, stocking the food tables.

It's a good system. And today it will play into my desire to stay unnoticed.

Back in the kitchen, we fall into the routine.

And I almost forget about Nathan.

Almost forget that the house of cards I've built is being tapped on by a giant football player's finger.

I almost forget. But then he saunters through the kitchen.

My jaw almost drops open because, sweet and savory Jesus, he looks like he belongs on a runway.

His six-foot-something frame is wrapped in a navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt underneath and… hamburger help me, he's wearing a bow tie.

Nathan pauses, hand held over a tray of toast points topped with burrata, blended sweet peas, and chili oil.

His eyes are locked on mine, silently asking permission.

I dip my chin.

Nathan picks up the triangle of toast and winks.

He fucking winks at me.

Heat slithers down my spine, and I clench my thighs as I'm reminded that this Nathan is all man.

My body doesn't care that he can stare right at me and not know who I am.

My body doesn't care if he doesn't remember me at all.

All my body wants is his giant hands touching us.

Tasting us like he's about to taste that bite.

Nathan turns, heading farther into the house, but my eyes follow him as he shoves the whole thing into his mouth.

I hold my breath. Wanting him to love it.

Nathan's steps falter, and he tips his head back as he chews.

The profile view of him is… devastating.

His jawline. The way his throat works when he swallows. That tiny head shake he does and the way his hair moves with the motion.

He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder.

"Good?" I whisper.

"Divine," he whispers back, and I swear his eyes are on my mouth.

Then he's gone.

And my condition is bordering on cardiac arrest.

"I think I just got pregnant," Presley groans.

This time I have no argument. Because I think I might have too.

Fanning my face with my hand towel, I grab my backpack off the floor. "I'm going to go change."

Presley nods, already in her event clothes.

After locking the door to the closest powder room, I turn the tap on cold and stick my wrists under the running water.

That damn wink has me wishing I'd packed a whole handful of extra underwear in this bag .

I let my head drop forward as I continue to try to freeze the lust out of my body.

If Nathan keeps this up, I'm going to cave and start flirting back.

And I can't do that.

That would be a bad idea.

I lift my head and look at my reflection in the mirror.

But if I'm just Rosalyn tonight… would it really be that bad?