Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(55)
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her eyes bug out and her coffee cup taps against the counter as she places it down a little harder than necessary. “Oh my god, Ford! You are so dumb. You’ve been in love with that girl since you were a teenager. You should absolutely have made a move.”
I scoff. “I have not been in love with her since then.”
“You have.”
“That’s not true, and we both know it. You were probably too young to understand that I mostly hated Rosie.”
Or at least my cover was that I did.
Willa shakes her head and reaches for her coffee again, like she is profoundly disappointed in me. “You don’t hate her. You never did. You hate that you think you can’t have her.”
“Deep. Except, I don’t just think that. I know it.”
“Who told you that? Did Rosie tell you that?”
I tilt my neck, feigning a stretch to buy myself a moment to choose my next words. “I’ve been friends with West for?—”
“Pardon my French, but fuck West.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, seriously. You’ve never been weird about me dating a guy. Haven’t walked around like you have some sort of claim over my body or my life.”
“Never figured you’d meet someone nuts enough to take you on,” I mutter just loud enough that she hears me.
“If I had told you I was dating West, what would you have done?”
I look her dead in the eye. “Invested in having a top-of-the-line bomb shelter built because the two of you together would certainly bring about some sort of nuclear event.”
What I get in return is an exasperated eye roll. “Seriously, would you have been mad at West? Are you really telling me your best friend—who has held that title for literal years— wouldn’t be good enough to date me? What would that say about you?”
My eyes flash to the staircase and I desperately hope this isn’t the first Saturday morning Cora decides not to sleep in.
“I mean, yeah. It would have taken me a minute to wrap my head around it, because you both almost feel like family to me. But no, I wouldn’t have been mad.”
“Cool, I’m so glad I almost feel like family,” she deadpans. Then, “So you wouldn’t have felt betrayed?”
I run my hands through my hair, tugging, and then prop them behind my head. “No. I mean, maybe if you guys were sneaking around and not telling me.”
She slaps the counter. “Well, good. There’s your answer.”
It’s more complicated than that. Knowing the work situation Rosie just fled, knowing her financial situation, knowing I’ve hired her with a contract and everything… it feels slimy to go after her.
And as much as I see Willa’s point, I still feel guilty where West is concerned.
“I think there’s a little more to it than me knocking on West’s door and telling him I’m in love with his sister.” The words come out before I can stop them. Before I can think about them. Before I can process them.
“Oh boy. I really wish I could buy tickets for the coming weeks in Rose Hill. Sadly, the ranch is hella busy this time of year. So, I’m going to go hang out with my niece before I have to leave this afternoon. Maybe you should go for a swim or something. Figure your shit out.”
Then she salutes me and walks away. She’s at the base of the staircase, one hand on the wrought-iron banister, when she stops, spins, and marches right back up to me, placing her coffee on the counter.
“I know I tell you that you’re awful and boring all the time, but I don’t mean it. You’re a good man, Ford. Don’t overthink yourself into unhappiness. Go after exactly what you want for a change. I love you.” She wraps me in a rare hug—one I didn’t know I needed.
And I hug her back. “Thanks, Wils,” I murmur. “I love you too. That’s why you’re the sole beneficiary of my estate and holdings.”
“Fuck yesss.” She chuckles the words and squeezes me tighter. “But don’t die yet, okay? Dying young would break your boring streak.”
The door to the barn-turned-office creaks as I step into the space. Willa suggested a swim, but between the bar in the city, Gramophone, and this place, I feel like I’m drowning. So, working a couple of hours in an office that is finally almost organized is what will make me feel best.
The space has completely transformed over the past several weeks. Rosie wasn’t wrong about Bash. He works efficiently, and he doesn’t get in the way. We’ve had to work from my house for a couple of days here and there, when he’s deep in refurbishing, but things have mostly come together painlessly—despite the constant frown on Bash’s face.
The sliding barn doors have been retrofitted with glass and hung on new tracks. Built-in shelves have been mounted to the walls. New lighting wired. Even the exposed stone fireplace looks like it’s been given new life.
But it’s what’s across from the fireplace that stops me in my tracks. Rosie is fast asleep, curled on her side on the leather couch. She’s tucked her hands under her cheek and pulled her knees up like she might be cold.
I stand there, frozen, wondering what to do next. Deep down, I’m dying to slide in behind her. To curl around her and keep her warm. We could spend this entire Saturday lying together and listening to records.