Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(21)
Greta settles into the flower-print love seat, close to her daughter. Cora and I take opposite ends of the couch facing them—the same couch I passed out on after too many beers as a teenager, I’m sure. And after setting a tray with a teapot, cups, and a plate of shortbread cookies in the center of the coffee table, Andy takes the navy-blue leather La-Z-Boy chair, possibly the only piece of furniture from this decade.
“No Ryan this trip?” Greta asks as she leans forward to pour the first cup.
“No,” Rosie says quickly, eyes flitting up to mine as Cora homes in on the cookies. “Not this time.”
“Oh my god. This cookie is so dry,” Cora whispers so only I can hear, holding it in front of her face like it could be a specimen in a lab.
“Is he doing well? That boy works too hard.”
Rosie’s lips roll together, and I can’t help but feel like she’s avoiding my gaze. “He definitely works a lot.”
“Too much?” Andy pipes up. He poses it as a question, but his eyes make it feel more like a statement. Like he knows something.
Greta sends him a silent reprimand while Rosie dives for a cookie and shoves it into her mouth, like it might keep her from having this conversation. “Probably,” she mumbles, quickly wiping a crumb from her lip.
“What?” Andy says, still looking at his wife. “She shows up out of nowhere, unannounced, with Ford at her side? We always expected this would happen.”
Rosie’s eyes go comically wide, and then she coughs like the dry-as-dust cookie she’s just thrown back has gone down the wrong tube. Her mom slaps her back, which does nothing but knock dry crumbs violently out of her mouth.
Fuck me, this is the world’s most awkward tea party.
With one hand on her throat and one on her mom’s knee—a silent plea for her to stop beating on her spine— Rosie struggles to catch her breath.
“Maybe you should give her the Heimlich,” Cora provides, unhelpfully, from her end of the couch.
Rosie shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.” She swipes the back of her hand over her mouth and then glares at her dad. “First, you always expected what would happen?” Then she looks at Greta. “And second, good god those cookies are so dry, they might as well be a mouthful of flour.”
Cora nods before blurting, “Accurate.”
Me? I lean forward, prop my elbows on my knees, and rub my fingers at my temples. Perhaps I can conjure up a strictly platonic reason I felt the need to accompany Rosie to this meeting like some sort of dickhead knight in shining armor.
Except all the reasons that pop up in my mind are ones that don’t belong there. Ones I could never give voice to. There’s nothing platonic about the way I feel when it comes to Rosie. And I’m happier than I have any right to be that she’s back in town.
“I mean, it’s the way the two of you always bicker?—”
“Dad, I’m going to stop you right there. There are three reasons you’re wrong. One, Ford is West’s best friend. Two, he’s my new boss?—”
“What?” Greta sounds shocked.
Andy appears more and more suspicious. “What about your fancy big-city job?”
With a defeated sigh, Rosie draws herself up and looks him in the eye. “It didn’t work out, Dad.”
They stare at each other for a few beats, like they’re having some sort of silent conversation.
Then Andy nods firmly.
Rosie offers the same back.
The rest of us just watch in confusion.
“So anyway,” Rosie carries on, waving in my direction with one hand. “I’ve taken a position as Ford’s personal assistant.”
Personal assistant. Is that what she thinks? I’ll admit, I wasn’t much of a conversationalist today. Something about having her in my space set me on edge. I felt like I was constantly orienting in her direction, like my gaze was pulled to her against my will.
It was unsettling.
And it kept me from telling her what I really imagined her doing for the business.
“No,” I say, and she starts at the one word that cuts through the room. “I’m hiring Rosalie as my business manager. Right after we have a formal interview tomorrow, where we lay out some ground rules, and I get a chance to view her résumé.”
“She has her MBA,” Andy says proudly.
I nod and look him in the eye. “I know, sir. I’ve seen her LinkedIn profile.” My eyes move back to Rosie, like they always do. She’s too stunned to say anything snippy, which is unusual, to say the least. “And she has a hell of a mind for business, I’m sure. That’s why I’ll have her help with getting Rose Hill Records up and running. Then I can focus on the creative side, knowing the numbers are in good hands.”
Rosie blinks, mouth slightly ajar.
“And what about when she goes back to the city?” Greta just comes up and kicks me in the hypothetical gut for no good reason. Hits me with what I know is probably true. My stomach drops hard and fast, just like it did when Rosie left town the first time.
She has a life in Vancouver. A boyfriend.
I know she’s not going to stay in Rose Hill for long.
But I also don’t like to think about that. I’ll never admit it to anyone, but I’m feeling awfully sentimental about having her so close again.