Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(13)
As someone who was more of a loner, she always seemed that way to me anyway. I only got the summer experience of Rose Hill as a kid though. Now and then, we’d come for Christmas, or the odd weekend getaway, but my family’s life was in the city. My mom’s practice, my dad’s band. He’d go on tour, and Willa and I would go to school. But the summer was sacred. My parents built it that way on purpose. We spent those two months based here in Rose Hill and it was the best escape.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I started spending more time here just because I wanted to. It wasn’t until the city became too fucking much that I decide to move here permanently.
“Yeah. I’m fairly sure I wrote an entire paragraph weighing whether it would be more humiliating for him if I cut off his penis or his testicles.”
“Dark. What did you settle on?” I crouch down, placing a hand on the wooden boards to take a seat. Several feet separate us, but our legs dangle over the edge as we sit side by side, taking in the view of lights from homes dotting the other side of the lake.
“I forget.”
“That’s a shame. I saw him at the grocery store the other day.”
“Yeah?” She doesn’t look my way, but I can tell by the change in her voice that she’s entertained. “What does it say about me that I hope he’s aged poorly?”
“It says you can take the girl out of the small town, but you can’t take the small town out of the girl.”
At that, she sighs.
“And that you’re still just as mean as you used to be,” I add.
Now she laughs. It starts out as a soft hiccup and grows into more. It grows into the laugh of a younger Rosie. The one who took up every inch of space in a room just by breezing in and smiling.
“Ah, Ford. Thank you. Being insulted by you just feels so right. Please don’t tell me what that says about me though.”
My lips twitch and my legs swing in time with hers as I search for what to talk about next. “So, how’s city life? Seems like you moved away and stayed gone. Job. Boyfriend. Condo. What brings you back now?”
“Oh yeah? Do you come back here often? I thought you bought a bar and founded a wildly successful music streaming app. Figured you’d be something of a city slicker yourself.”
I just shrug. Gramophone is the app she’s talking about. It started as a university project I made with a group of friends—until it blew up into so much more.
It blew up in more ways than one.
“I did all those things, yeah. I thought buying the bar where I worked through college would give me a passion project. And it did for a while. Then the app came along. And that scratched the itch for a bit too.”
“But not now?”
I shrug. “Gin and Lyrics became more successful than I banked on. I was bored, so I hired more people. Put more parameters in place. Now the bar practically runs itself. I started off only booking bands I liked, but when we got busy enough, I started booking groups other people like to keep the crowds coming.”
“Bands you don’t like.”
“Yeah. Business over my personal preference, but that’s okay. That bar doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore, even though my name is on the deed. I’m happy that it makes other people happy. I’ll always be proud of that place.”
She nods, body swaying back and forth gently. “And the app?”
“Gramophone started out the same way. But of course, it wasn’t just mine. I had partners. And it became more about the personal fame and fortune than it was about the music.”
“Not a fan of that vibe I take it?”
I sigh heavily. This one hurts. More than the bar. I don’t especially like talking about it.
“I find that when a person’s obsession with money outweighs their commitment to integrity, I no longer want to spend my time around them.”
Rosie hums thoughtfully at the bite in my voice. But she doesn’t press for more. She falls back into teasing me—and it’s a welcome reprieve.
“So now you’re going full recluse on the abandoned land next door? You gonna bury chests of money here? Is this some elaborate eccentric-billionaire thing where you leave a treasure map behind?”
“No. It’s an eccentric-billionaire thing where I open my own recording studio and only work with musicians I like or believe in. I’ve got the capital to launch artists who can’t afford to get their foot in the door, and the connections to help the ones who need a place to do something without their shitty labels meddling. With the internet and streaming services distribution isn’t the challenge it once was.”
“And your dad?”
I sigh. Cora called me a nepo baby, and as much as I hate it, she’s not wrong. Separating my success from Ford Grant Senior and his globally renowned rock band, Full Stop, has been next to impossible. “His name carries clout. I’d be an idiot not to have him come in and guest-produce something at some point. Though we’ll probably clash at every turn.”
“Adorable. And has he met his granddaughter yet?”
I go still. I feel like I’ve barely met her myself. West knows about her and now Rosalie does too. I looped Mr. and Mrs. Belmont in too, only because they figured it out themselves after snooping around. After years of having to suss out West’s antics, they’ve developed a sixth sense for any sort of drama.