21. Rosie

Chapter 21

Rosie

“Wickham is the villain.” Dylan popped some popcorn in his mouth and leveled me with a stare. It was just past midnight when Elizabeth and Darcy kissed in the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice. I had decided not to subject him to the six-hour version. That was a torture (and privilege) reserved for my brothers.

Not men who I was trying to think of as a brother. It was different.

“As was Gaston,” he mused. “Should I be offended?”

“They were both so handsome,” I said. “You should be flattered.”

We were sprawled out on my new bed in the mural room, watching a movie on the TV Dylan had helped me set up on the floor. I’d worked tonight, so we hadn’t been able to start watching until after my shift.

“If I’m understanding this correctly,” he said, “I’m serving the role of being the handsome new man in town that turns your eye and makes Mr. Darcy take even more notice of you, but I’ll ultimately end up causing scandal. And maybe marrying your sister.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sister.”

“Yeah, that’s the part I was worried about.”

I kept eating the salty popcorn and scrolling my phone so I could remember what other movies the actors had been in. I looked up and found Dylan watching me. “What?”

“I’d rather be Darcy.”

I snorted a laugh. “You, my friend, are no Mr. Darcy.”

“I disagree.” He ticked off his fingers. “First, I’m new in town.”

“No, you’re not. You’re literally a lifer.”

“Second,” he said, as though I hadn’t spoken, “I am wealthy.”

“Are you ten thousand pounds a year wealthy?”

A quick internet search on how much money that would equal today, and it turned out that he was indeed Mr. Darcy wealthy.

“Three,” he continued smugly, “I have a younger sister. Four, I’ve been misjudged by a lot of people. And five, I have a Mrs. Bennet in my life.”

I was laughing as he continued to tick these off. “Who’s the Mrs. Bennet?”

“You.”

I gasped. “No.”

“She was always scheming to get her daughters married off just like you with your brothers, and you’re full of schemes.”

“I’m Elizabeth Bennet.”

He threw more popcorn into his mouth with a smug sparkle in his eye. “You, my dear, are no Lizzy Bennet.”

“Excuse me.” I held up a finger just like he did. “I have a spirited and intelligent personality. I like to go for long walks. I enjoy an intellectual conversation. I don’t mind a little mud on my skirt.”

He laughed, and I loved the full-bodied sound of it.

“Stop deflecting. You’re Wickham and Gaston. Just accept it.”

“My name on the ice is literally Beast.”

“You can’t be the protagonist of every story, Dylan.”

“What about my own?”

“I’ll allow it.” We smiled at each other for a beat before he turned his attention to one of the commercial paintings I’d brought up here to touch up.

It depicted a dilapidated cabin in the woods, a single lamplight shining in the window, dark trees all around them lit up only by the light of the moon. It was based on the cabin on our family’s island. Haydn thought I needed to let people know that Lia’s latest album was based on songs that were inspired by this cabin and island, but I didn’t want to use my future sister-in-law for sales—even if it seemed harmless. She’d been used enough.

Besides. I almost didn’t want it to sell. I loved looking at it every day when I came into the store. Jules thought it was too dark and didn’t fit the aesthetic of the rest of my paintings. It made me wonder what he’d think if he saw my mural upstairs.

What could I say? I contained multitudes. (Thank you, Walt Whitman. And Lia Halifax for using that line in her latest single and making it a part of my vocabulary now.)

“It’s haunting,” he said. “What’s it called?”

“Longing.” I took in the mostly dark-colored palette, except for what the light of the moon and the single light just outside the house. “It’s inspired by one of my favorite legends. There’s an old, abandoned cabin that sits on my brothers’ island. The story is that a family moved there almost a hundred years ago and tried to make a go of living in Alaska. But the conditions were tough and they struggled. Then they started to get sick. The father of the family left to get some help, and when he came back, his family had disappeared. He didn’t know if they’d died or if they’d left the island. Even today, people say that if you look out to the island at night, you can see his lamplight shining as he searches for his lost family.”

I stopped looking at the picture and found him staring at me closely. “Anyway, I’ve always loved that story, and I wanted to paint it.”

“How long did it take you to paint?”

“About a month.”

He stood to take in the painting closer and then shifted toward my mural. He walked slowly along the wall, carefully looking at all my artwork while I held my breath. Occasionally, he’d reach out to touch something—his fingers grazing a ridge of paint, his knuckles brushing the swell of a wave, the very tip of his thumb against a foamy shore, and it would send a tingle through me, like those casual touches were happening to me.

“Is that an average time for you?”

I brought my hands up to hot cheeks and tore my focus from his hands. “I really don’t have an average time. It depends so much on how many projects I have going at the time and how much I can devote to it. So I might finish a painting in a couple of days, especially my smaller ones.” I motioned to the mural. “I’ve been working on this one for a year.”

“It’s fascinating to hear about what you do.”

Those bones that weren’t connected anymore? They were now in a puddle around my feet. No one thought hearing me talk about my artwork was interesting. Trust me. I’d gotten plenty of zzz emojis from my brothers when I got too in the weeds of details about my paintings. And even Charlie, the most patient of us all, sometimes got a glazed look in her eye if I went on for too long about something I was working on.

To have someone listen and care? It was nice. Having melted bones might not sound pleasant, but somehow it was.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked impulsively.

“I’m super busy doing pull ups.”

“That is important. But,” I drew the word out, “I’m heading down to the library to do community service.”

“Court mandated?”

I nodded. “It’s a long story that involves your dad, a traffic jam of epic proportions, and saving actual lives. Or it could be for the unsanctioned mural of your dad.”

“I heard about that one.”

“It was pretty epic.” I shrugged. “You have to make your own fun in a small town.”

A short laugh burst out of him, and I found I liked that very much.

“What’s the service?”

“Painting the exterior walls. Just white on clapboard, so it’s totally boring, but at least it’s not cleaning up bodily fluids or something.”

He made a disgusted face. “Was that an option?”

“It was last year after the broken chair incident.” I shuddered. “Two weeks cleaning up barf from seasick tourists.”

Curiosity sparked in his eyes. “Broken chair incident?”

“You don’t want to know.” I cringed. If no one had told him yet, I certainly wasn’t going to. “Want to help me serve the great people of Winterhaven?”

“Sure.” He gripped my doorway above his head as if stretching out his back, putting his muscles on full display. My mind went completely, utterly blank. A calm sea. Sand so white it blinded you. A sky without clouds. An unpainted canvas. Dylan’s soft skin tightened around the strip of exposed abs as he pushed his chest outward, then released his hold. “I really appreciate your help.”

With what? I had no idea what he was talking about. He brought his arms down and stared at me, but I could still only think in nouns. Biceps. Skin. Community service. Painting. The library.

“What time?” he asked.

I blinked. Then blinked some more for good measure. And took a long drink from my disposable water bottle. Did I need sugar, maybe? A fan? A long, hot kiss from a hot, strong man?

Nope, not that.

“Tomorrow morning at nine. Bring your phone. We’ll get pictures for social media while we’re there.” I held onto our scheme like a lifeline to pull me from my weirdness. Muscles are normal, Rosie. You’ve seen them before. “Community service, when not court ordered, looks really good for your image.”