Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ROSIE

The night before my bucket list date with Anthony, Nicole swings by my apartment unannounced while Joy is making brownies.

“This may be the best day of my life,” Nicole says as she stops in the doorway and sucks in a deep inhale of the chocolatey air. Under her fuzzy coat, she’s wearing another sister-in-law shirt: My Sister-in-Law’s Cold, with a drawing of a popsicle underneath it.

Does she get them custom-made?

“If you eat more than one of those, you’re going to trip balls,” I warn her, stepping back so she can come inside. “Trust me, I’ve learned the hard way.”

“I can make a special batch if we have company,” Joy says with a sweet smile from the kitchen part of the open floor plan. She’s wearing an apron and appears so wholesome she should be on a misleading cookie label.

The whole apartment looks like it was attacked by elves in the night, with a golden plastic Christmas tree decorated with real pine cones and popcorn strands, a multitude of pine garlands, and mistletoe. We’re the only two people who are usually here, so we’ve kissed each other’s cheeks about a dozen times.

I’ve always loved Christmas—it’s bright and fun, and there are presents —but part of me hates it now. It’ll always remind me of my mother, and my mother is gone forever. So the joy I get from walking into a winter wonderland is usually edged with sadness. For some reason it’s different here, though, maybe because Joy has made such a big deal about the two of us starting new traditions, like moving the mistletoe and making each other mystery hot chocolate.

Joy came into my life randomly. I needed a place to live that wasn’t my brother’s cabin, and she’d just started looking for a roommate. But the way we found each other has convinced me that some things in life really are meant to be, because we were definitely meant to be best friends. Fifty-year age gap not-withstanding.

I grin at Joy. “And by special, she means this batch will be without drugs.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds unseemly ,” she says with a smile as she waves Nicole inside. “I make the other kind for my arthritis, although I always share, of course. You should have come by yesterday. Rosie’s suitor sent enough ice cream to feed the whole building.”

Because I’d told him I was the cherry and not the sundae.

Because he’d listened .

I couldn’t believe it when a deliveryman showed up with ice cream from one of the local shops. Good ice cream. Fancy-pantsy ice cream. Five gallons of it. The dried ice had wafted enough white mist to make it look like a magic show, and there were cherries and rainbow sprinkles and tons of whipped cream.

The only thing missing was Anthony himself.

I’d hoped he’d step out of the box, shivering and in need of a warm-blooded woman to heat him up. I’d told him I needed space, though, and he’d respected that need. That, and he probably had to go to work for his real job.

Of course, half of the ice cream melted and most of the rest was eaten by grubby children up and down the hallway, but his gesture had made me feel the same way I did as he waltzed me through that dirty, smelly warehouse. Like I was special to someone. Like both of us could see behind the haze of what was there to what could be, because we were looking together.

My hand lifts to my chest and I press it down, as if the pressure will help me control what’s going on inside.

I feel a phantom tug in my chest, just like I did when I got Dom’s message a few minutes ago:

I’m about to blow your mind, Rosie. Anthony’s the OWNER of this building. I’m sorry, but I think he might be with the Illuminati.

Will try to interrogate him for information.

If you don’t hear from me within the next 24 hours, tell my story.

That means Anthony must be at The Peanut Bar right now.

Which means I could go to him…

We could hang out with Dom, convince him that Anthony’s not in the Illumanti—or maybe that he is, just for fun—and drink flat beer and talk about our bucket lists, and—

“Can I speak frankly in front of Joy?” Nicole asks, lifting her eyebrows as she runs a hand through her bright pink hair, somehow making it messier. She follows up by tugging off her coat and slinging it on the coatrack. “Because I have no intention of leaving this room until both the special and non-special brownies come out of the oven.”

“Yes,” I say, glancing at Joy, who’s already started another batch of brownies.

I’ve told Joy everything. I can’t tell my brother, or Claire, or Lainey, and the information needed to burst free for someone. It doesn’t hurt that Joy is the most accepting and least judgmental person I know.

“I’m going to Pennsylvania this weekend to handle the fingerprints situation for you,” Nicole says, which is an answer so vague she didn’t actually need to ask whether it could be delivered in front of Joy. “I plan on paying a little visit to your ex too, just for funzies. I think I should deliver him some Christmas joy, don’t you? It would be the neighborly thing to do.”

“I should be the one who does that,” I say, even though I wouldn’t have the first idea how to go about erasing my fingerprints from the national database. “It doesn’t feel right to sit back and let you clean up after me.” I won’t tell her she shouldn’t bother with Jay. It’s touching that she wants to avenge me, and he deserves the hassle.

“Not to worry,” she says with a contented sigh as she kicks up her boots. “If I get caught, I’m definitely narc’ing on you.”

“That’s only fair,” I agree, “but are you sure you want to travel this close to Christmas?”

She cracks her knuckles. “Ho, ho, ho.”

“Won’t Claire ask where you’re going?”

“Probably. We enjoy keeping secrets from each other. I’ll be back for Christmas though. No way am I missing her cinnamon buns.”

I consider this for a moment before nodding. I feel selfish, but if she’s able to get my prints out of the system, she’ll be protecting Declan and Seamus too.

“Good,” she says, then wags a finger at me. “I’m going to be your fucking fairy godmother, but don’t squander it. I expect you to marry that sexy rich man on New Year’s Eve. That’s the least you can do for your future sister-in-law.”

“It would be delightful,” Joy says dreamily as she removes the first batch of brownies from the oven and puts the other tray in. “I love weddings. Mortimer and I used to go to one every weekend.”

“You knew that many people who were getting married?” I ask absentmindedly, picking at the hem of my sweater. My mind’s a storm of yes, do it and this is a terrible idea, if you think you leapt in with both feet before, now you’re diving into the shallow end.

And also…

He’ll think you did it for the money. He’ll never believe you didn’t.

I want to believe in fairytales, but I’m also afraid of them. I doubt I’d get cast as the princess. The girl who’s not careful is the one whose grandmother gets eaten by wolves, or the one who marries a man who keeps his previous wives’ skeletons in his closet. She’s not the one who bags the prince.

“Oh no,” Joy says, “but no one seemed to mind much at all. There’s plenty of love to go around at those events, and I’d always bring a tea basket as a gift.”

Add wedding crashing to Joy’s list. This woman is truly a treasure.

“Can we crash a wedding together sometime?”

“Dear, I hope the next wedding I crash will be yours.”

“You honestly think I wouldn’t invite you? You’re my best friend. Besides, this is a seriously bad idea. Setting aside the whole I’m in hiding—”

“And have a criminal record,” Nicole adds with a wicked smile.

“Yes, thank you. I mean, I’ll grant you…there’s something between Anthony and me. But I can’t possibly be the kind of wife he’s looking for. He wants—”

“Don’t tell me he wants a platonic marriage,” Nicole cuts in. “That man was eye-fucking the shit out of you the other night. He may have thought he was done with love, but you’re giving him second thoughts.”

My cheeks warm. “But he’ll need a wife who’s impressive. Someone who can—”

“ Rosie , my love,” Joy says. One hand finds her stout hip as she stares me down. “Don’t underestimate yourself. You could sell sand in the desert.”

“I don’t even know what I want to do with my life,” I say with a sigh.

Joy gives me one of her warm, tough love looks. “You’re already doing it. I’ve been trying to tell you so for weeks now. You love helping people meet their potential. It’s a rare gift, my dear, and it is a purpose. I’ve seen you get down on yourself about losing interest in things and moving on, but you don’t seem to understand the reason you move on. It’s because you like helping people tap into their fire. That’s what gives you fire. So once they’ve achieved what they set out to do, it’s only natural that you look for another challenge.”

“So you’re like a success succubus,” Nicole says with a laugh.

But I’m still staring at Joy, mouth gaping open like a lost goldfish’s, trying to process what she said. Could she be right?

I’ve always loved helping people, tethering myself to their projects to push them toward success. But I figured it was because I lacked direction of my own—probably because I’d been told so by dozens of people over the years, starting with my teachers, whose favorite phrase was, Rosie lacks direction and focus . But Joy is making it sound like it could be a good thing.

“I’ll have to give that some thought, Joy.”

“You do that, honey.”

“Not to ruin the moment or anything, but you’re also hot as hell,” Nicole puts in. “That’ll go a long way with impressing anyone. And trust me when I say I will take care of this fingerprint fuckery.”

I smile distractedly, because fingerprint fuckery is an inherently funny phrase—and also because I’m relieved. I believe her. Nicole is a woman who gets shit done, and it feels good to have shared my problem. To be doing something toward fixing it. To be giving myself a chance. “Thank you. Seriously. Our siblings aren’t even married yet, and you’re already the best sister-in-law I’ve ever had.”

“I’m going to need that on a T-shirt.”

“I don’t know. What if Seamus marries someone really cool?” I ask, then laugh at my own comment, because Seamus is as likely to get married as he is to request a circus-themed tea.

Nicole points at me. “Now you’re just screwing with me. Because you know I’m the best sister-in-law you’re ever going to have. You just admitted Seamus is never going to get married, and I’ve already met Anthony’s sister.” She scowls. “The woman can hold her alcohol, I’ll grant her that, but she’s a lawyer. All lawyers are boring. They can’t help themselves. And I say this as someone who has friends who are lawyers.”

“You have friends?” I ask, wide-eyed.

She grins and holds up her hand. “Give it to me.”

I slap her hand, grinning back, but my smile falls after half a second. “But what if the time isn’t right for Anthony and me? Maybe—”

Nicole reaches out and presses her finger to my lips. “Cautious is not a good look on you, Rosie. If you decide to wait for the perfect time, you’ll keep waiting, and someday you’ll wake up alone, old, and baking brownies instead of going out to bars.”

“She’s right, dear,” Joy says as she returns to what she was doing. She cuts the brownies and puts a few on plates, then arranges the plates on a serving platter. “Although there is something to be said for going on a trip while sitting at home.”