Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(23)
“Ugh. I should really start writing in a diary again. So cathartic. Probably will need to if I’m going to work with you all day, every day.”
I scoff and run a hand through my hair, watching the water ripple beneath the spring breeze. “I don’t know what I’m doing with her. I mean, I’ve got a roof over her head and food for her to eat, but we’re strangers. I don’t know how to be a dad.”
“I don’t think she needs you to be her dad. She has one of those—or had. She just needs you to be there for her in whatever way works for the two of you.”
“This whole thing is fucking weird, and we both know it.”
Rosie nods, lost in thought, still kicking her feet in an almost childlike way. “Yeah. It is. But sometimes we’re just doing the best we can, ya know? Like this is brand-new for both of you. There’s going to be an adjustment period. And I remember being her age, so full of angst and hormones and thinking I knew so much more than I did. You need to find a common ground with her, something you can do together that doesn’t feel like… like homework or something. Clearly, she doesn’t enjoy swimming, but what does she like?”
I snort. “The color black.”
“Black is a great color.”
“Rosie, black isn’t a color. It’s a shade. And that’s rich coming from the girl who’s been wearing pink almost exclusively since I first met her at nine years old.”
She laughs. “You’re such a nerd. And I don’t only wear pink. Currently my bra and panties are bright red.”
I freeze for a beat and then wipe my face with an open palm. I huff out a beleaguered sigh, pretending like I’m exasperated by her when I really just need a moment to regain my composure.
And to keep myself from imagining Rosalie Belmont in bright red lingerie.
A soft laugh filters over from her. “Calm your tits, Junior. It was a joke.”
With that, she… throws a chip at my face.
Her eyes widen like she can’t believe what she just did, and then she laughs with a subtle shake of her head. “I swear I revert to a bratty twelve-year-old when I’m around you.”
I chuckle, look down at my hands, and… throw my chip at her face.
“Ford Grant. I know you did not just do that.” She gasps the words out, struggling to keep it together. Her cheeks pull up into round, rose-colored apples. If I have to throw chips at her to make her laugh like this—the kind of laughter that hurts your stomach and gets you kicked out of class—so be it.
I’ll throw chips at Rosie Belmont every damn day.
All I do is shoot her a wink and toss another one, which hits the bow of her top lip, leaving a dusting of sour cream and onion powder in its path.
She throws her head back and laughs, that long ponytail cascading farther down her back. A little moisture leaks from the corner of her eye as she pulls a chip from the bag, but before she can throw it at me, my hand whips out. I’m laughing too when my fingers curl around her dainty wrist.
We’re both laughing when I playfully tug her closer and reach for the chip gripped between her fingers. She tumbles into me, and it crumbles all over us as we fall and fight over it like two children over a toy. The bag of chips gets discarded on the other side of her.
Her free palm lands between the thick lapels of my terry cloth bathrobe, on my bare chest.
And that’s when the laughter stops.
Her eyes fall to where her skin presses against mine. All the immature playfulness between us bleeds away, dripping between the boards of the dock and washing away in the lake.
When my eyes snap back up to hers, I get the full experience of watching Rosalie Belmont lick her lips while the tips of her fingers curve lightly into the indent just below my collarbone. She’s taking a good, long, blatant look.
And I’m too stunned to move. Too weak to stop her.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” West’s voice, cutting through the golden twilight air, has her gaze flying up to meet my own.
We both shoot up to a sitting position as if we’ve been caught doing something wrong.
I’ve barely gotten my bearings when she pats my shoulder like she’s consoling a child and whispers, “Sorry.”
With no warning, she shoves me off the end of the dock and into the lake to the sound of her brother’s laughter. I only drop below the water for a moment before I burst back above the surface.
“Taking a walk down memory lane,” she calls back to West as he strolls down the dock in heavy boots.
Both Belmonts laugh while I wipe the water from my eyes and look up. I point at Rosie, not sure what just happened, but certain of one thing for sure…
“You’re going to pay for that one, Rosie Posie.”
CHAPTER TEN
ROSIE
When I walk into the mildew-scented building we’re calling an office, I’m ready to face the day.
I toned down my regular work attire, but my blazer is a dusty rose—pink, I guess—and that makes me happy. I’ve paired it with a plain white tee, baggy boyfriend jeans, and a pair of suede, beige boots with chunky heels—hopefully, they’ll hurt when I kick Ford’s ass for being so utterly bewildering.
The hair tug. The way he went eerily still at my red underwear joke. The way he dragged me closer to him. The way his chest peeking from beneath his robe stopped me in my tracks.