36. Rosie

Chapter 36

Rosie

Dylan had left in such a hurry, he hadn’t even seen the end of the game. When I asked his teammates where he’d gone, Bret had pulled out a location app on his phone and said he’d gone home.

I frowned. Why hadn’t he said goodbye at least?

The restaurant emptied out, except for my brothers and Dylan’s teammates. They discussed the game while I finished wiping tables and gathering tips. My legs and back hurt, I was exhausted, and I was still upset about my conversation with Dad, but none of it outweighed my worry for Dylan. Had watching another team in the finals been too hard? Had one of my brothers said something to him? A protective surge welled up inside of me, and I stomped to the table.

“I’m staying at the Savages tonight,” I declared.

“I thought you were going to come back to my place,” Bennett said, his eyebrows drawn.

“Not tonight.” I had to see Dylan or my thoughts were going to spiral out of control. “We’re closing up, so you all need to leave.”

They stood and pulled me each into a hug, except for Gage and Bret, who gave me a friendly wave. When Jules hugged me last, he whispered, “I like him.”

“Who?”

“Who else? The Beast.”

I pulled back and saw the heaviness in Jules’s eyes that I hadn’t seen earlier that night. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’m good.” He hugged me again, which was unusual. Normally Bennett was the hugger.

“You’re not dying, are you?” I asked, feeling genuinely worried for a moment. This wasn’t like Jules.

“No.” He laughed then, short and dry, but real. “I’m healthy as can be. Unless it gets me out of you trying to matchmake me. Then yes. I’m dying.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to smile, but I couldn’t shake my worry.

“Love you, guys. It means a lot that you came all this way to support me, and to watch Sense and Sensibility in person with me.”

“What and what?” Haydn asked Bennett as they headed toward the door.

I stuck my rag in the wash and undid my apron, then grabbed my bag and waved goodbye to everyone as I left. The sun had gone down enough for it to be near twilight as I searched through my purse for my truck keys. The sound of someone clearing their throat made me shriek and hold my keys out like a weapon.

“Whoa, Rosie. It’s me.” Max stood several feet back with a chagrined expression. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, Max.” I let out a long breath. “I almost took your eyes out.” I jabbed the keys forward a few times to demonstrate when suddenly it clicked. “Wait, what did you call me?”

He winced. “Rosie. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I had your name wrong this whole time. I’ve always been really terrible with names, but the fact that no one corrected me until Dylan—”

“Dylan?” I took a step closer to Max.

“Yeah.” Max rubbed the back of his neck. “He had a lot of really nice things to say about you. And it got me thinking.”

“What did he say?” I bounced from foot to foot, eager to finish this conversation and get back to the Savage’s house to see Dylan. But I could spare a minute to hear some nice things.

“Uh, Dylan? He said you were pretty fantastic, honestly. And he’s right.” Max’s focus on me stilled my movement. “You’ve been right here in front of me this whole time, and I didn’t even see it.”

“Um, what?” He was saying words, but they didn’t mean anything.

Max smiled shyly. “Rosie. If you and Dylan aren’t exclusive, I’d like to get dinner with you this week? I have something I want to talk to you about.”

Like a train coming to a halt on the tracks, my every thought screeched to a total stop. Max Eriksson wanted to get dinner with me. I should be jumping for joy while angels sang in a chorus behind me and fireworks went off over the bay.

But I couldn’t even get an uptick in my heartbeat.

It was that dang kiss. I wished Dylan were here so I could glare at him—and then just keep staring at him, because Dylan was not hard on the eyes, that was for sure.

This was it. My chance. My fairy-tale moment.

And yet, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I’m in love with Dylan,” I blurted out. I hadn’t seen it coming. And it was very unclear if he loved me back (or just my artwork). But when I stopped trying to fit my round feelings into the square Max, everything clicked perfectly. Me and Dylan. He was everything. Funny. Intense. Stunningly attractive. And he knew my name from day one. The bar wasn’t that low, but it was still a bar, dang it. “I don’t know if he’ll leave the island or stay or what the logistics will be, but I love him. A whole lot.”

“Okay,” he nodded, his cheeks pink “My sister said I’d regret not going for it, but I regret going for it.” He looked over his shoulder like he wished he could take off but was too polite to do so.

I startled us both with a quick laugh. “Max, I thought you never even noticed me.”

“I didn’t at first.” He shook his head. “It’s the strangest thing. All of a sudden, you were there in a way I’d never seen you before. I’m kicking myself for not really seeing you sooner.”

My plan had worked. Of course it had. But it wasn’t as exciting or satisfying as I’d thought it would be. Not when it took another guy pretending to be interested in me for Max to finally take notice.

“But I still have something I’d like to talk to you about. If we can get past this awkwardness. A business idea.” He looked so uncomfortable, I felt almost bad for him. I only had to remember that he called me Josie for the last couple of years to feel less bad.

I was intrigued, though. “I’m a professional at getting past awkwardness,” I assured him.

He shifted on his feet but stopped looking like he was one second from bolting. “People love your painting in the local authors section. I keep getting offers to purchase it. It got me thinking. What if I sold some of your art in my bookstore? We could work out the terms and agreements, but it would give you a physical place to sell while your shop is getting fixed.”

“Are you serious?” Now my heart was racing. “But you hate my artwork.”

He gaped at me. “No, I don’t. Why would you think that?”

“Because you were so dismissive when I gave you that painting.”

“Oh.” He blew out a long breath. “I never know how to react when someone gives me something. I was trying to play it cool. I probably played it too cool. My sister is always getting on me for that. It’s much easier for me to have conversations about books than to talk about pretty much anything else.”

“You’re doing okay now.”

“We’re talking about my bookstore, which is book adjacent.” He kicked at the dirt and then took a step back. “Think about it, okay? No rush. If you’re interested, come by the store and we’ll chat terms.” He paused and pulled out a thousand page book he’d been holding behind his back. “Oh! I almost forgot. I brought this for you.”

Shrubs of Fog.

There was no world in which I was going to read this book, but he looked so excited to give it to me. “It’s my personal copy. I can get it back from you at book club.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking it from him. Holy cow that was heavy. If he kept carrying books like this around, he could lift me in no time.

Well, not me.

But some other very lucky girl.

The Savages’ house was dark when I walked inside, but I could hear the television. I poked my head into the living room to find Dylan sitting on the couch, watching the superhero movie with the non-sexy hand flex. When he saw me, he turned the volume down.

I crawled into his lap without saying a word, and tucked myself into his chest, relief flooding me at seeing him again.

“Cold?” he murmured against my hair.

I nodded, even though I really wasn’t that cold. He grabbed a soft, worn quilt and wrapped it around me.

“You left before the finals were over.” I tilted my head to look up at him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch it anymore.”

I nodded and gave into the urge to tuck my face into my favorite spot right up next to his neck. I felt a sharp intake of his breath. Was he as affected by me as I was by him?

“What are we doing here?” I asked, my lips grazing his neck.

He exhaled on a shudder.

“Getting you warm,” he said a little too lightly. I lost my courage to ask what he meant by what he’d said in his video. But did we have to figure out what was fake and what wasn’t tonight? Or could I let myself remain wrapped up in his arms and make this a future-Rosie problem to solve?

Tonight had been a lot already—my brothers’ surprise visit, realizing I could have a chance with Max and turning him down, and the fight with my dad, which I couldn’t even think about without tearing up. I’d reach out to him tomorrow with my tips, and we could work through whatever that was. Perhaps he’d had as hard a day as me. It was time we talked and got to the bottom of what his plan going forward was.

I must have fallen asleep in Dylan’s arms, because my next awareness was him gently laying me down on the guest bed. He went to unwind my arms from around his neck, but I held him even tighter.

“Rosie,” he protested, his voice gravelly.

“Stay,” I pleaded. “Just a little longer.”

He paused, and I knew it was against his better judgment that he slowly lay on the bed next to me. He wrapped his arms around my middle and I curled into him.

Was this how it felt to be wholly and completely cared for? Safe?

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his thumb brushing against my wet cheek. Tears dripped from the bridge of my nose and onto the pillow.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice watery. I rolled away from him, and his arm went around my waist and pulled me even closer.

“I overheard your conversation with your dad,” he whispered into my hair.

I stilled and embarrassment rolled through me. It was one thing to have experienced the conversation myself and another to know that someone else was witness to it too. “He’s been stressed,” I said, not understanding why I was defending my dad, but still feeling compelled to do so. “He doesn’t usually talk to me like that.”

Dylan’s fingers scratched at my scalp and then ran through my hair, over and over, until the tenseness began to release from my shoulders. “You deserve better than that.”

“Maybe. But what if that’s all I can get from him?”

“Then he doesn’t deserve to get any part of you,” he said gently but still firmly. He might have been right, but what if I set boundaries, and Dad left because of it? What if my fears were realized, and he was only around to use me?