Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(45)

She sucks in a breath at my instant reply, and the tip of her nose grazes mine as her face tips up to mine.

Then my stomach burns, because I know I can’t be doing this. I quickly drop her wrist and step back, feeling the metal rack behind me pressing into my shoulder blades.

She says nothing, but her breathing sounds heavier than before. More ragged.

“You let everyone think we made out in that closet,” I say in a raspy voice. “You told them it was good.”

I can faintly see the outline of her head nodding in agreement.

“Why?”

“Because people treating you like you couldn’t land a girl bothered me. And that’s exactly what I told West. How I got him off my ass about the whole thing.”

“I couldn’t land a girl.”

The closet falls silent, and then, “You could. You were just too good for all the ones who were interested.”

Interested? I’m not sure I even noticed them. All I saw was Rosie back then.

Still.

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. I watched.”

“Paying pretty close attention for someone who professed to hate me.”

She hums thoughtfully. “What’s that saying about keeping your enemies closer?”

“We’re not enemies, Rosalie.”

“Things might be a lot simpler if we were.”

Her words hang in the air between us. I’m not sure what to make of them. I wish I could see her face right now.

“I wasn’t making a reference to the signing bonus.”

Her head moves in a brisk nodding motion again. “Okay.”

“I wouldn’t mock you about that.”

“Only other things?” Her voice sounds almost hopeful as she asks the question.

I swallow. I only mock Rosie to cover for other things. But I also never tell her no. “Only other things.”

“Okay.”

“You’re qualified for this job, you know? It’s not a handout.”

She scoffs. “Please, Ford. I practically begged you.”

I shrug. “Be that as it may, I could pay you and not entrust any part of my business to you. But I haven’t done that. You’re an asset. Your work has value. And you’d be a fool not to take an opportunity like this. Let no one make you feel otherwise. Especially not me.”

Silence descends between us. Perhaps I took it too far, but I hate seeing her second-guess herself like this. I hate how someone made her feel like her value was wrapped up in the way she looks.

“You confuse me,” she blurts.

I chuckle dryly and scrub a hand over my jaw. “The feeling is very mutual.”

“Do you think…” She trails off and I wait for her words, leaning her way to hear what she might say next. “Do you think under different circumstances you and I might have been?—”

A click and a flood of light cuts Rosie off as Cora yanks the door open. “So? Did we work out our differences?”

I can’t believe I’m being scolded by a twelve-year-old. I can’t believe I’m wishing she’d lock us back in a dark closet together.

When I turn my attention back to Rosie, I’m struck by her wide eyes and her perfect cherry lips popped open. God, I so desperately want to know what was at the tip of her tongue.

More. Might we have been more? I wonder if that was her question.

It’s one I’ve asked myself many times over the years. But it’s never the right time to ask. There’s always too much at stake.

And this moment is no different.

I don’t look back at Cora when I respond with, “Yeah, we called a truce.”

Then I leave the pantry before I can spend too long analyzing the confusion painted on Rosie’s face.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


ROSIE





I’ve spent the last three weeks working my ass off to deserve the hundred thousand dollars Ford handed me, like it was a few bucks change to go buy a Slurpee at the corner store.

I create truly magnificent spreadsheets and projections and financial systems for Rose Hill Records.

I bring Ford a cup of hot tea anytime I make my own— especially since he stocked the kitchen at the office with my favorite blends from the Bighorn Bistro.

I help manage Bash and his timelines as the projects around the old-barn-turned-office-space carry on. In only a matter of a few weeks, he’s transformed the place with new drywall and modern light fixtures. The painting has yet to come, but I can already envision how beautiful it will be. Fresh but rustic all at once.

I pick Cora up from school every day—sometimes with Ford as a bitchy-faced chaperone—and try to play it cool when I see her wearing my scrunchie. We never talk about it, but she wears it daily, and it makes this pinching sensation pop up in my chest when I see it.

Ford and I are friendly. Too friendly. Too… bland. He keeps a respectable distance, never pulls my hair, and doesn’t say rude things like he has no plans for us to fuck. In fact, he swears more around Cora than he does around me.

On Sunday nights, I have dinner with my parents, West, and the kids—on the weeks that he has them.

Every other Thursday, I do pizza and a movie with Cora while Ford goes to Dads’ Night Out at the bowling alley. His team loses every time, but he always comes home smiling.