Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(11)
I’ve done nothing to get the recording studio up and running, which is making me squirrelly. The never-ending list of things I need to do keeps me up at night. I need flooring, walls, paint, heating, air conditioning, upgraded electrical, some semblance of curb appeal from the outside. The entire place needs a facelift, and that’s not including the booth itself.
And now Rosie fucking Belmont has waltzed into the scene with her smart mouth and suspiciously watery eyes. And all I want to do is demand to know who hurt her so I can fix it.
Carrying a secret torch for this woman is nothing new, but it’s been a decade. I never expected every teenage feeling to come barreling back in full force the minute I laid eyes on her again. But god, she’s grown up. Her eyes are still the brightest, most impossible shade of blue. Almost crystalline against the golden hue of her skin—and still just as expressive as they used to be. They darken with anger, they twinkle with mirth, and today they swam with emotion. Her hair was always long, but now it’s longer. Layered and wavy, framing her heart-shaped face in a wild tumble. The same dark blond I remember now artfully painted through with strokes of bright gold and the odd pearlescent streak. It’s messy, yet intentional. It suits her.
That’s what I’d thought as I stood there at the front door staring at her.
All it took was one look—one heartbeat—and I was eighteen all over again.
“All right!” West claps his hands behind me, and I start. “What’s for dinner?”
“Freezies!” Emmy shouts back with a fist in the air. She appears borderline feral, and if I’m being honest, she scares me a little bit. She’s a miniature West and raising her is cosmic payback for the shit he put his parents through.
“Absolutely not, you little nut bar. You get vegetables and more vegetables. Everyone else gets…” He trails off as he rifles through the fridge.
Much like my main house, West’s home is a craftsman-style farmhouse. Big baseboards, narrow windows, sort of a cottage feel with all the bedrooms upstairs and a glass-paneled veranda out front. His is yellow, while I had mine stripped down to the original boards and layered with exterior glaze to give it a more rustic feel. Mine is mostly modernized inside; his is a little more out-of-date.
“Well,” West sighs. “We might be ordering a vegetable pizza because Emmy has snacked me straight out of food.”
This is so West, always flying by the seat of his pants. I close my eyes and smile. On the back of my lids I see Rosie and replay the way words failed me as I soaked her in earlier.
And when I open my eyes, I see Rosie too. She’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, gawking over at the couch. She must have just returned from setting herself up in the bunkhouse, and when I follow her gaze, I realize she’s staring at Cora. And Cora is staring right back.
I’m a dick for not having introduced them yet, but the entire exchange on the front porch threw me off.
“Hey.” Rosie tips her chin at Cora. “I’m Rosie. West’s sister.”
“Hey.” Cora mimics the motion. “I’m Cora, Ford’s daughter.”
I wince. Not because I hate the sound of it. We just haven’t talked about… I don’t know. Titles?
Rosie reels backward as she takes that in, then she turns her baby blues on me and not-so-subtly whispers, “Wow. Congratulations on finally losing your virginity.”
All I can do is stare at her. We really are right back to where we were as teenagers in a matter of minutes. As in, she’s still funny and beautiful and completely off-limits, and I still feel transported back to the dumbstruck boy who is awkward as hell around her.
It’s only a matter of time before I say something mean to keep her at arm’s length. And she’ll retaliate by saying she hates me before coming back with something equally snarky.
That’s our customary vicious circle.
“Oh, well, he was a sperm donor to my parents,” Cora spouts matter-of-factly. “So, for all I know, he could definitely still be a virgin. Your whisper wasn’t very quiet, you know.”
I shut my eyes and massage my temples. This girl is too smart, too snippy, too take-charge. She’s going to be the death of me, and I’m the one who signed on the dotted line to take her under my wing. I’m in way over my head.
“What’s a sperm donor?” Leave it to Emmy to fixate on that part.
West chuckles and tries to rescue me with, “Emmy! Ollie! Let’s mind our business and go wash up for dinner. I’ll make the order.”
I’m grateful for his intervention as I hear their little feet pattering away.
When I finally open my eyes, Rosie is staring at me. Baby blues wide, glossy pink lips popped open in a perfect O shape.
“What?” I snipe, knowing she has a snarky comment ready to fire at me. She always does.
She smirks, never one to back down at my barking. “The genetics are strong with that one. I like her.”
It’s Cora who groans. “I’m right here. It’s rude to talk about a person like they aren’t present.”
And I sigh.
Because it’s going to be a long-ass night.
“So, this is your room.” I glance down at Cora, who stands woodenly beside me. It’s her first night with me, and I’m floundering rather spectacularly in an attempt to make it less awkward.