3. Rosie

Chapter 3

Rosie

Two months later

I called out my hellos as I ran through the Italian restaurant, tying my apron as I went. An announcer’s voice, coming from the big screen over the bar, grew more excited, and then everyone in the restaurant cheered. The Peaks must have scored.

I took my first full breath since I sprinted here from my apartment and clocked in one second before being late.

It was tricky navigating two jobs while living a secret life on the side.

Fine, that was dramatic (even if I liked the sound of it). But I did have a huge secret, one that would unhinge my brothers’ closed brains, if they found out. Which they wouldn’t.

I brought two pitchers of our world-famous root beer to table one and picked up an empty pizza pan from table three. Someone who shall remain nameless (because she broke my brother’s heart and was dead to me) had removed all her pizza toppings and left them in a pile in the middle of the pan. Monster. I hoped she accidentally got food in her teeth and flashed her heartless smile to half the town before she got home.

“Dylan’s up!” Sheriff Savage called out. He was also at table three but ate his toppings, as good humans should. He couldn’t be blamed that his daughter was such a disappointment.

The Italian Cafe & American-Style Pizza—The Icy Asp, for short—quieted and turned to the screen. Mostly out of respect for Sheriff Savage (Dylan’s dad) because people had complicated feelings for Dylan after he blew off Shiloh’s funeral. I’d never met Dylan. He’d high-tailed it out of town the summer before my brothers and I had moved here, and he’d never looked back. Even my brother Bennett had never met him, and he’d dated Dylan’s sister (the pizza abominator) for years.

Yet, I could admit to a certain fascination with Dylan Savage. Winterhaven looked like the setting of an enchanted fairy tale, and he had been cast in the role of villain.

Dylan, the Peaks’ center, glided across the ice like his skates were an extension of his body. With his elegant moves and devastatingly handsome looks, he could star in one of those princess-y ice shows. But he was definitely too rough around the edges to be cast as the prince. Maybe the hot villain though …

A Grizzly player approached Dylan from behind, coming at him fast, and I wasn’t the only one who gasped. Come on, Dylan. Turn around.

We were all on edge after what happened to Shiloh. His parents were absent tonight, but no one expected them to come watch their late son’s team play.

The Grizzly drew close enough that Dylan must have felt the player’s hot breath on the back of his neck.

Without warning, Dylan shot the puck out wildly, turned toward the man behind him, and threw him to the ground. The Grizzly’s stick slammed into Dylan, and he collapsed unmoving onto the ice.

Sheriff Savage jumped to his feet. “Is that blood?”

Dylan’s arm moved, and then in a flash, he was rolling over the Grizzly, throwing punches. It took three players from each team to separate the two, and a wild elbow from Dylan smashed into a ref’s nose in the process, leaving the man hunched over and holding his face. The camera panned even closer, and I felt woozy at the sight of blood pouring from a cut on Dylan’s cheek. That was going to leave a nasty scar to go along with the white line that bisected his eyebrow from the three-person fight he got in last week on the ice.

Dylan was ejected from the game, and once the Peaks eked out a win, someone changed the channel to a golf tournament.

By the time the Icy Asps softball team, a recreational adult team sponsored by the restaurant, arrived looking dejected—followed by the Bookish Ballers with huge grins on their faces—the excitement of Dylan’s game had mostly calmed down, and the Savages were gone.

Spring ball was big in Winterhaven, and we were up to six teams (of various skill levels—the Icy Asps and the Bookish Ballers were by far the best) sponsored by local businesses. We rotated playing each other every Saturday night, then came to Icy Asp for post-game pizza and drinks.

A sweaty arm dropped over my shoulder. “We needed you tonight,” my older brother Bennett said gravely. My best friend, Charlie, who was significantly less sweaty but still damp, hugged me on the other side. She smelled much better than my brother.

“What’s the damage?” I eyed the Bookish Ballers setting up in one of the huge corner booths.

“Four-one,” Charlie said.

I winced. Ignorance had been bliss.

“Remind me why can’t you quit this job and devote yourself fully to the team?” Bennett asked.

“I’m trying to fund my dream of owning a rival fishing excursion company.”

“Ha.” He rolled his eyes. “Jules, Haydn, and I can help you out financially.”

I didn’t want my older brothers to always have to take care of me. I wanted to stand on my own two feet. Besides, they’d never approve of where the money from this second job was actually going, but I didn’t take it for granted that my brothers had my back. Even if I wished they didn’t think I needed them so much.

I stuffed my guilt away in a mental box (very helpfully labeled: Things We Don’t Think About) and shoved to the back of my mind.

Table six was seated, and I needed to get their drink order. “If I can get a fifteen-minute break, I’ll join you,” I said to Bennett and Charlie as I rushed past them. I was so busy pulling my order pad out of my pocket that I didn’t realize who’d joined the group at table six.

Max Eriksson.

AKA the smartest guy in Winterhaven.

AKA the hottest guy in Winterhaven.

AKA the love of my life.

“Hey, Josie!” he said with a dimpled smile as I approached.

Oh, and AKA thought my name was Josie.

I’d let him call me that for so long, I didn’t know how to correct him at this point. I’d tell him when we were married. Or I’d get a name change.

His youngest sister, Sophie—who absolutely knew my name was Rosie since we’d graduated high school together but still didn’t correct him—wiggled her rear end in her seat like a seal. “Hey, do the Wobble!”

I forced a blank smile and pretended not to hear her. I was never going to live that down. One downside to living in a small town? If you embarrassed yourself in public, no one ever forgot it.

“What can I get you all to drink? A Coke with extra ice and a cherry, right?” I said to Max before I could bite down on my tongue. Yep. I remembered his drink order, his favorite pizza toppings, that he was mildly allergic to green bell peppers, knew he’d wink at me if I slipped in some extra pickled peppers with his pizza and that he avoided karaoke night at all costs, and he always requested C-SPAN when the restaurant wasn’t busy. Le sigh. How could I not love him?

“Exactly.” His grin widened. Now that was a princely grin.

I finished grabbing their drink orders but paused when I saw Dylan on the big screen over the bar again. He pushed through the hallway outside of the locker room, an expression on his face that said he was hoping for a fight. A photographer stepped in front of him and thrust a camera in his face.

“Does your team have what it takes to make the play-offs without Shiloh?”

My gasp at the casual cruelty of the question was joined by several others.

On screen, Dylan’s hand shot out and he ripped a camera from a photographer’s hands before smashing it against the wall. A reporter’s voice-over continued, “Dylan ‘the Beast’ Savage attacked a photographer after their game today, one action in a series of increasingly concerning moves since his teammate Shiloh Blaire’s death—and now he may be facing repercussions from law enforcement.” We watched another teammate pull Dylan away from the crowd, then the camera zoomed in on a child farther down the hall, a signing pad clutched in his grip, and fear in his eyes.

“He’s really changed,” Max said.

I hadn’t realized Max knew Dylan, but of course he did. They all grew up in this town.

Everyone knew everyone. For better or for worse.

I spent the rest of my shift tallying up the smiles (and categorizing the types of smiles) Max gave me, getting a replay of the Icy Asp’s terrible game while I ate two slices of pizza in record speed, cleaning tables, and finally sitting down to count my tips at the end of the night.

A hundred-dollar bill caught my eye.

Dang it, Bennett . No one else would leave me a tip that big. And I couldn’t, in good conscience, use it anywhere but at my shop. But it would get me that new paint set I’d been eying.

I clocked out and finally checked my texts as I walked home.

Dad: Thank you, baby girl. I promise this’ll be the last time.

It wouldn’t be the last time he asked for money, but I’d come to terms with it. At least he was in my life after so many years of missing him. I deleted the text so my brothers didn’t accidentally see it. My steps felt lighter as I continued through the quiet town.

Most of the shops in Winterhaven were along Main Street, including my art boutique with the upstairs apartment I’d recently moved into. In addition to the Icy Asps restaurant, we also had a library, a community center, a grocery store, three tourist shops that sold variations of the same kitschy items, a bookstore, a bakery, and a huge sign pointing toward the docks, where our water-based businesses were located.

I walked extra slow past Valentine Books, Max’s store, hoping to catch a glimpse of him through the window. The bookstore was in a gorgeous Victorian building that looked like a gingerbread house came to life, complete with a white fence surrounding it, peaked rooftops, baby blue siding, and lacy white trim. Max didn’t live there, but perhaps he’d stopped by after he left the restaurant.

All the lights were off tonight though.

Rererereee.

I paused, straining my ears to listen.

Rererereee. Yep, I definitely heard it that time. It sounded like a mix between a distressed whine and a high-pitched trilling noise.

I entered the alleyway behind the bookstore, following the unusual sound. I tiptoed toward the large trash bin, not wanting to startle the animal. The scent of damp trash turned my stomach, so I lifted my shirt to cover my nose.

A full black trash bag behind the bin moved.

I shrieked and recoiled, landing on my rear end in the questionably sludgy mud. The bag moved again, only this time, a tiny kitten ear poked up from the top of the open bag.

I raced forward with a gasp and ripped it open. Poor thing. It must have crawled in through the opening and gotten lost inside. I clicked my tongue and slowly stretched my fingers toward it. It uncurled and peeked around the trash, revealing a teeny, tiny slimy creature. A chicken breast with legs. No, a live pig embryo, like we dissected in high school bio.

Abort! Abort! A red light flashed behind my eyes, but—much to my brothers’ chagrin—I’d never been very good at heeding those warnings. Where was the fun in that?

It trilled again as it slowly moved toward me, revealing it as a small, furless cat. And with every inch it gained, it grew … cuter. We were in a make-over montage, complete with upbeat music playing in the background as the main character has a glow-up. The light catching its bright green eyes. The charm in the scrunchy, old man face. The pointed ears and naked, wrinkled skin that made me understand cuteness aggression at an entirely new (and somewhat alarming) level. It was unsuitable for me in every way, but I loved it.

I understood how Mr. Darcy must have felt for Elizabeth Bennet. Both the first time he saw what a disaster her family was and after he fell so hard for her. It was naked-cat magic, and I was bewitched.

I was going to have to add this to the growing pile of secrets I was keeping from my brothers, because I didn’t need a lecture on how I could hardly take care of myself, let alone another living being.

The cat let me pick it up, and I held its shaking body against my chest. It was freezing. It curled into me, and I swept my shirt up over it. I rubbed my fingers lightly across her ears as it meowed out all its grievances. “You’re safe with me,” I whispered. The trembling lessened, and my heart melted completely.

Really, what was one more secret among so many?