34. Rosie

Chapter 34

Rosie

Dylan looked happier than I’d seen him in a while, but also … off in some way I couldn’t put my finger on. As he and his teammates lounged around the living room and chatted, it was clear he was in his element. I knew who Bret McIntire and Gage Jennings were. I’d watched every Peaks game since I’d moved to Winterhaven.

They were as big and loud as I expected. What I hadn’t expected was to feel starstruck. I hadn’t experienced any of that with Dylan. Maybe the key when meeting someone famous was to hit them in the face straight off. That kind of adrenaline rush would stamp the embers of fan-girling straight out of a person.

I sat beside Dylan on the couch, our shoulders pressed together despite the shifting and moving on Dylan’s part. It was like he was having an allergic reaction to something and couldn’t reach the itch in his back.

“What is going on with you?” I whispered while Gage and Bret shared quips about Lizzy. Gage had picked up Lizzy and immediately began cooing at her. Love at first sight, as was natural.

“Nothing,” he said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“He made a video,” Bret said, unabashedly listening to our whispered conversation. “About your store.”

“You did?” I turned more fully toward Dylan.

“This morning,” Bret continued, despite the glare Dylan was casting his way.

“I haven’t seen it,” I said. “That’s probably why my sales are up.” It made total sense. “That was really sweet. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, relaxing a little. Maybe he’d been worried I’d be upset he’d gotten in my business. As an independent woman who owned her own business, I was definitely not offended by positive, free advertising that was making an impact in my sales. Not ever—but especially not when I was drifting in a financial black hole. Or supporting one.

But I did not want to think of my dad.

“You should watch it,” Bret said, his eyes gleaming.

My curiosity pinged, especially when Dylan shook his head quickly. “I’ll watch it later,” I said. Dylan seemed to relax a bit more then.

The guys all talked about their last game, wanting to break down every single play. My brothers would be in heaven if they were here, but all this hockey minutia was a little boring to me. Some of the star-studdedness wore off the more I compared them to my brothers. They didn’t have the same personalities as Haydn, Bennett, or Jules, but their enthusiasm for dissecting a hat trick did.

Well, they mostly reminded me of my brothers. No matter how much I tried to convince my brain to think of Dylan as a brother, it just wasn’t cooperating.

I ended up excusing myself to go take care of the orders that were coming in. The art needed to be located in the garage, packed up, have the postage calculated and printed out, and then I needed to update my website. I got through most of my orders, and didn’t realize how much time had passed until Dylan brought me a sandwich and drink.

“I’m going to take the guys around town. Want to come?”

I checked my watch. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to finish up a few more orders and be at work in about an hour.”

“Are you guys showing the PHL finals tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’ll come by for dinner then.” He hesitated, still acting off. There was no way he could still think I’d be upset with him for posting a video about my store. The orders were steadily coming in, and I hadn’t even shared his post to my page or done any of my own advertising.

I pulled him into a tight, reassuring hug. “I like your teammates. They’re fun.”

“They’re pretty great. Have you watched the video yet?”

“No. I’ve been too busy.”

His tight expression loosened. “Okay. See you tonight. Save me some pizza without pineapple.”

I put a hand behind my ear. “Extra pineapple, you said?”

He pointed at me as he walked away backwards. “Don’t give me that disgusting fruit.”

I laughed and pulled up the video to finally watch it once he left. It was vintage Dylan—holding the phone down so we got a great view of his chin and nose—but he was standing in front of some really good light.

I grinned, watching him talk about my store, and halfway through, a miracle must have happened, because he decided to move his phone up so we got a full-on, straight look of his gorgeous face. When he smiled and asked for them to check out my shop, I knew exactly why I had so many new visitors to my website. Who could resist that smile? Not me.

That so many of those visits had translated to sales was definitely a boost my ego needed. People might check out a website because a hot hockey player had told them to, but they weren’t going to set down several hundred dollars just because of that.

“… love. I know I did.”

Wait. What had he said? I’d been so busy thinking about his smile and my website visits, I wasn’t paying attention. I went back through the video.

“I promise you’ll fall in love. I know I did.”

I watched it about twenty more times just to be sure I’d heard him right.

FALL IN LOVE. What?

My brain absolutely knew he was referring to my artwork. Of course he meant my art. That’s what the entire reel was about.

But the way he’d been acting weird all morning. The way his smile had softened when he said it. The way my breathing hitched and the blood in my veins turned to fire when I’d heard it.

My heart went rogue—completely off the rails—and hoped he meant … me.

Whoa. My logic and feelings warred with each other as I watched the video once again.

Brain: Get it together, heart.

Heart: That smile, though.

Brain: This is all fake.

Heart: The chemistry between us is zero percent fake.

Brain: What about Max?

Heart: Who?

Brain: MAX ERIKSSON. THE LOVE OF YOUR FREAKING LIFE.

Heart: Oh. Yeah.

Brain: Dylan will leave. Max won’t.

Heart: But Dylan said the word love.

My brain was such a buzz-kill. But not entirely wrong.

“He meant your art,” I said out loud, and sternly.

But I might have watched the video on a steady loop while I finished putting in orders, until my brain finally shut up.

The restaurant was as busy as I expected it to be for the night of the PHL finals.

What I didn’t expect was my brothers, Haydn, Bennett, and Jules, to be sitting at one of the high tables. They were bent over a tablet, all three of them focused on the screen. Jules jotted something down with the e-pen, and that set off a heated discussion.

I took a deep, shuddering breath as a wave of emotional overwhelm nearly took me off my feet. They were overprotective and had a boring group chat and didn’t always take me seriously and smelled bad and had terrible taste in movies, but they were mine. And they were here .

“Do you have a secret sibling chat I don’t know about?” I asked them as I approached the table. I slung one arm around Jules’s shoulders and the other around Haydn’s. My eyes were spilling over with tears and probably ruining my mascara, but I didn’t care.

Jules turned toward me and pulled me into a tight bear hug. “We did this fancy thing called a group phone call.”

“Never heard of it,” I said into his shoulder.

“How are you?”

“Surviving,” I said.

“I think we can do better than that,” he said. I sniffled, and he pulled back. “Did you just wipe your nose on me?”

“What of it? You make me cry, that’s the punishment.”

Haydn pulled me in for a hug next. I hadn’t seen him in person in months. He looked different. Older. And he smelled like fancy cologne. Of all my brothers, he’d been most like a dad to me since I was a kid. Maybe because he was the oldest, or because that was the roll he decided to take. Just having him here made me feel like I didn’t have to figure out everything on my own.

I was going to have to tell him about Dad. The secrets were too heavy. But not yet. I wanted one good night with them before I imploded everything. “Joining the facial hair train, I see.”

He gave me a sheepish grin as he pulled back. “Lia likes it.”

“Me too. It hides half of your dog face.”

Jules and Bennett howled at the joke, and Haydn went in for the kill-shot at my side with his hand—the tickle spot that never failed to bring me down. I squealed and cried uncle. “You’re the handsomest Forrester. Which isn’t saying much, but—”

I jumped out of the way when he went to tickle me again.

Bennett pulled me into a hug last, still smelling like sweat, salt, and fish. His hair was stiff from the wind and sea spray, and his facial hair was borderline wild man. “Got off my boat this afternoon to a million text messages about your shop and a phone call to pick these two up from the airport.”

“I could have picked you up,” I said to them.

“And ruin the surprise?” Haydn said.

My soul was so full, it could burst. “How long are you in town? Where are you staying?”

“Where are you staying?” Haydn countered. “Get someone to cover your shifts and come to the cabin with us.”

“I can’t.” I probably could, but, well … Dylan. I didn’t want to leave him.

Even though he’ll leave you? My brain was at it again. It was pretty much immune to fun, which was why I ignored it half the time. “What are you three working on?”

“Ways to get under Dylan Savage’s skin if he breaks your heart,” Jules said.

“Shut up.” I peered over his shoulder to see a document that was indeed labeled: TORTURE THE BEAST. Item number one was: Haydn will purchase Peaks’ rink-side season tickets for next season, and we’ll fly in to heckle him loudly at every game.

The intricacy. The expense. The length of retribution. I was almost proud.

“I’m rubbing off on you.” I wiped away some fake tears. “But you’re wasting your time. Dylan and I aren’t really dating. It’s all fake for views, remember?”

“For his views.” Bennett nodded his head to where Max sat with his sister and her family, his nephew on his lap. I unsuccessfully tried to muster up some excitement at seeing Max. Whoa. I suddenly felt unmoored from reality. Max was the plan.

But Dylan was becoming the dream.

I swiveled my attention back to my brothers. “And because I can’t resist giving you guys relationship details,” I said in a lighter tone than I felt. “I haven’t even told you about how we had to share a bed the other night.”

“Stop,” Jules put his entire hand over my face. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

Haydn pulled out his phone. “Ben, you haven’t seen the video yet. Dylan confessed his love.”

I scoffed, but my heart secretly jumped. “His love for my artwork .”

“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” Jules said dryly.

I poked him in the tickle spot under his arm and he yelped loud enough for several people to look our way. The tops of his cheeks turned pink, and I smiled, satisfied. It was nearly impossible to get a rise out of Jules.

One of the other servers was waving to get my attention. More people had come into the restaurant while we were chatting, and it was too much for one person to handle. “Extra-large meat lovers pizza?” I asked them.

They all nodded, and I raced off to put in their order and check on my tables, ending with Max’s.

“Good evening,” I said. “You all ready to order?”

“Hey, Josie! Yes, we’re ready. I’ll take my usual.” He winked, and I wrote it on my note pad, searching for some of that enthusiasm I used to feel when he said my name. Where were the shivers? The rush of endorphins? They had abandoned me in my time of need.

As I took the rest of his family’s order, a familiar voice caught my attention. Dylan had come in with his teammates and was stopped at my brothers’ table.

Why was he stopped at my brothers’ table? Do not panic.

“Extra green peppers,” I murmured after Max spoke.

“No green peppers,” he said, his brows furrowed. “I don’t like them, remember?”

Jules had Dylan’s hand in what could be vaguely approximated as a handshake. Oh geez. Dylan met my gaze and frowned as his attention dropped to Max.

“Josie,” Max said loudly. He still couldn’t figure out my real name? “I heard about your store. I’m sorry, that sounds really stressful.”

“Thank you,” I said, a little too tightly. I rolled my shoulders. None of this was Max’s fault. Except the name thing, but that wasn’t a dealbreaker.

“You have insurance on the items in your shop, right?” he continued. “Have you called them? They’ll need to get out there asap.”

“I do, and I did.”

“And you moved your art out—”

“Yes.” I probably sounded more irritated than I needed, knowing he was just trying to help, but why would he assume I hadn’t done the most basic things already?

“Did your copy of Shrubs of Fog get ruined? You can borrow mine. Book club is this week.”

I blinked and tried to get my mind to keep up with the conversation. Shrubs of Fog and book club were the furthest things from my mind right now. “I’m not sure, honestly.”

“I’ll bring my copy by later. Just in case.”

It was with disconcerted relief that I was pulled away to another table. Come on, heart. Beat for Max. You can do it.

But … nothing.