Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(15)

And the more things change, the more they stay the same, because with that smirk still plastered on my face, I push to standing and she moves past me, her body brushing against mine on the way.

She takes her seat, smack dab in the middle of the dock, like she’s staking her claim. All she needs is a flag bearing a family crest that she can nail to a board.

I’m about to walk away, but I allow myself one last glance in her direction. Shoulders tense, her nose tipped up high. I’ve pissed her off, but not that badly. Not enough that it stops me from reverting to my teenage self.

I bend down and reach out to wrap my fingers around her high, bouncy ponytail.

I give it two firm tugs, watching the way the light hits the column of her throat. She growls with annoyance, but it doesn’t scare me.

“Goodnight, Rosie Posie.”

“Fuck you, Junior. I hate you.” The old insult flies so easily from her lips, but it does nothing to wipe the smile from my face. “I thought I told you to get off my dock.”

I relax my hand, and the silky strands of her hair slip through my fingers. I hear the soft whoosh of her breath as I let go.

And then I turn and walk away.

This may not be her dock, but if she wants it, she can have it.





CHAPTER SEVEN


ROSIE





I slept in the old bunkhouse, where we used to hide out during a thunderstorm or have group sleepovers as kids. It smells like damp wood. The bottom bunk is only slightly more spacious than the top. The sheets are cheap flannel. And even though a bullfrog croaked away outside as I drifted off, I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.

Being back in Rose Hill feels like stepping out of the city-girl meatsuit I’ve forced myself to wear day in and day out, hoping I’d get used to the new me. But now I’ve shed the costume and I feel like I can breathe again.

It’s as though I had this idea in my head of what success looks like. I could see my life so damn clearly—the most vibrant scene right before my eyes. So real I could almost reach out and touch it.

But every day I spent inserting myself into that scene, I grew more and more uncomfortable. More and more dissatisfied.

I questioned why winning didn’t bring me greater satisfaction. I kept trying to convince myself I needed time to adjust to the way winning felt. After all, I’d finally gotten what I thought I wanted.

As I stand just a few steps out the door of the bunkhouse, soaking in the wild beauty that surrounds me, it hits me full force—I don’t miss the city at all.

The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and the lake sparkles like a sheet of infinite diamonds. Even the crushing burden of my student loans and debilitating lack of income feel more tolerable in this peaceful setting.

This. This is what I missed. This is what I needed.

From my left, I can hear Emmy up and tearing around the farmhouse. Farther up the mountain, smoke curls from the chimney of my parents’ new build. I know I need to make the trip up there and fill them in—shit, even just say hi—but I’m dreading it down to the tips of my toes.

I don’t want to admit to them how thoroughly everything has fallen apart. West is the one who always had to come clean about making mistakes. Getting arrested. Crashing his car while drag racing. Knocking someone up. Getting injured. It’s only since he had kids and started his horse-training business that he’s taken a break from turning their hair gray.

But me? I’m the good one. The one who flies under the radar and handles her shit by herself so that no one needs to worry.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m tapped out on handling my own shit. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that I am monumentally tired of having it all together. Which is why after two weeks of moping around and sending out résumés that get no response—or that require a reference—I told Ryan I was going home to see my family. I couldn’t meet his eyes when I told him I didn’t know how long I’d be gone.

That was nearly twenty-four hours ago, and I have one lone text from him asking if everything is okay with me. It almost made me laugh when I saw it on my phone. He’s so agreeable. He didn’t even ask me to stay.

You do whatever you need to do was all he said.

We’ve probably been done for a long time, but we like each other too much to actually pull the plug. I don’t hate Ryan. Quite the opposite, in fact.

But I don’t miss him. And I don’t burn for him. And I’m acutely aware that like is not love.

Those thoughts stick with me as I make the short drive into town. While I navigate through the winding cliffs that lead to the hill descending into the main drag, I mull over why I should go back to the city at all. Without a job and without a partner, what’s there for me?

My friends are his friends.

My condo is, in fact, his condo.

It’s depressing if I let myself think about it for too long. The things that are truly mine are this car and a couple of postsecondary degrees, which go hand in hand with a mindboggling student loan balance.

Rosie Posie is really winning.

Pulling up in front of my favorite spot in town is a balm though. What I need is tea from the Bighorn Bistro. Café by day and farm-to-table restaurant by night. And the best tea ever brewed. No one can compete with Tabitha’s handpicked blends.

The door to the bistro jingles when I tug it open. It smells like warm croissants and rose petals when I walk inside. The interior is an oasis, with leafy green plants, twinkling lights wrapped around wide wood beams, and massive skylights that let in all the light you could want. Long rawedge lumber tables fill the dining area—everything here is family style. Something locals grumbled about when Tabitha first opened, and something they flock to now. It’s quite possibly the only “nice” restaurant in town, but the quality and attention to detail is better than anything I’ve seen in the city.