Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(22)

Rosie Belmont took off to start her life ten years ago and has barely been back. It crushed me then when she left.

I don’t even want to think about what it might do to me now.

“I’m sure she could work remotely.” I force a smile, then peek at Rosie before adding, “If that’s what she wants.”





Cold water sluices over my skin as I turn my head to suck in a harsh breath. My arms move in long, slow strokes while my brain runs wild. A swim usually helps clear my head, but today, on the heels of that tea party, it’s not working.

I think about Cora.

I think about the mold I found in one wall of the office today when I tried to replace a light switch.

I think about the artists who are filling my email, wanting to work with me.

I think about not having an opening date in sight.

But most of all, I think about Rosie.

Which is why her voice stops me dead in my tracks during my evening swim.

“Are you stalking me, Junior?”

I come to a screeching stop as I draw in a breath and use both palms to push my hair off my face.

At the end of the dock, Rosalie is snuggled up in a Navajo blanket, enjoying a bag of chips. Staring at me like I’m an idiot—as usual.

“What?”

“You keep swimming past my dock. I’ve been watching you. You just go back and forth between this post and that buoy, over and over again. Like a lion pacing in its cage. Or like a weirdo trying to catch sight of me.”

To be fair, I feel a bit like a lion pacing his cage. And I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t considered catching sight of her.

“And it’s fucking cold out. You don’t win any sort of hero award for swimming in the lake before June.”

My legs kick and my arms trace the top of the water as I stare back at her. “I just like it. Clears my head. Tires me out. You should try it sometime. It might make you more agreeable.”

She pops another chip into her mouth, legs swinging off the end of the dock. “I’m good. Watching you exercise makes me feel like I’m almost experiencing it myself. Plus, we both know I’ll never be agreeable with you and that water is glacier-cold this time of year. It would just make things worse. No, thank you, sir.”

“It’s good for my metabolism,” I reply simply, treading water and staring back at her.

When her eyes wander over my shoulders, I look away, gooseflesh popping up on my skin, heart pounding just a bit harder.

“If you’re cold, I’ll let you sit on my dock. Might even share my chips with you. No point in having a good metabolism if you can’t eat fried potatoes whenever you feel like it.”

I smile. It’s a small one, but it’s a smile all the same. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to let me sit on your dock and eat your chips?”

She shrugs and grins back. “Yeah. I need to be somewhat nice to my new boss.”

I give my head a shake, but I also don’t say no. Instead, I swim to the shore, grab my towel and shrug on my robe, and walk along the dock toward Rosie, plunking down a safe distance from her.

Her head tilts. “I won’t bite, Junior. That’s too far to share chips. Or am I supposed to throw them at you? Because I’m not opposed to that plan. Open wide and I’ll pretend I’m aiming for your mouth.”

I grumble and push up on my palms, edging closer toward her. Close enough to eat chips but far enough to keep things professional. Or familial. Or whatever the fuck my best friend’s little sister is supposed to be to me.

She holds the bag out, still looking out over the water.

“Still only eat Old Dutch sour cream and onion?”

I’m met with a soft giggle. “I can’t believe you remember that. But yeah. They’re getting harder and harder to find in the box though. Sometimes I have to settle for the bag.” She sneers at her snack.

“Does it matter?”

“The box is more charming. Tastes better too, I think.”

“You think so?” I pop one into my mouth and it’s like instant déjà vu. While Rosie has been eating these chips her entire life, I’ve never eaten them with anyone other than her. Sunburnt shoulders, freckles on our noses, wet towels, an entire pack of kids here for the summer pushing each other off the dock.

“Yeah, it’s like Coke out of a glass bottle—superior in every way.”

I wobble my head as I reach for another chip. “You’re not wrong.”

She smiles, satisfaction painting her features. “Music to my ears, Junior. Haven’t heard how right I am in a while.”

The comment is offhanded enough, but it still gets my gears turning. Rosie is studious and bright, and even though she’s a grade A shit-talker, she’s an exceptional human. I know she is. Who the fuck has been telling her she’s anything other than right?

“Where’s Cora?” she asks between crunches, clearly not giving a shit about looking prim or polite in front of me. And that’s special—someone who treats me like I’m me. She treats me like I’m just a regular dude and not the planet’s sexiest bajillionaire or whatever the fuck that stupid article was called.

I don’t want to be him, and with Rosie I don’t need to be.

“Writing frantically in her journal. I asked her if she wanted to come down to the lake with me, and she shot me a dirty look.”