Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(67)

Her cheeks rise, and she peeks up at me from beneath the fringe of her black bangs. “Consult on an album with Skylar Stone?”

“That seems less typical for a twelve-year-old. But yes. Once the booth is ready, we’ll get her out here. Okay?”

She nods back, serious. “Okay.” Then, “Thank you for having my back.”

Oh god. She looks like she’s going to cry. She and Rosie are going to be the death of me.

“I’m always going to have your back, Cora. No matter what happens. With you. With your mom. You’re kind of stuck with me now. That all right with you?”

She blinks rapidly and nods. Then she drops her gaze and her voice comes out a little watery when she asks, “So you’re not mad at me?”

I feel like I’ve been struck. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because you got called away from work because of me? Because I got in trouble at school? I’ve never been in trouble before. I don’t know why I just blurted it out. Did I embarrass you? You seem… tense since then.”

My shoulders sag as I take her in. This little girl who’s been so grown up for so long. “Oh, Cora. I am so far from mad at you. I’m mad that an adult charged with educating you said what he did. I’m mad we live in a world where people think about women that way. I’m sad Skylar’s being mocked when no one knows what’s going on with her.” I scrub a hand over my scruff and up into my hair. “I’m tense because I feel like I’m juggling a million balls and dropping the most important ones while trying to get it all done. And I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

“What are the most important ones?” She asks it with so much hope. It breaks my heart.

“You. You are the most important one.” And that’s what gets me. This girl needs me, and I feel like I haven’t been as present as I should be—as I could be.

“What about Rosie?” She says it innocently enough, but I’m not oblivious to her subtle comments. And clearly, she isn’t oblivious to whatever is going on between us, either. The handholding might have been a dead giveaway, but I wasn’t ready to let her go. We felt like a team in the principal’s office. And after so long going it on my own, refusing to trust anyone, it felt really fucking good to trust Rosie.

And unlike other people in my life, I know she would never let me down.

“She’s very important to me too. But don’t tell her that.

It’ll go straight to her head.”

Cora smiles shyly at that answer and returns her gaze back down to her hands. I barely hear her when she says, “Can I have another hug?”

It feels like she reached into my chest and cracked my rib cage right open. I just grunt, not especially trusting myself to speak, as I gather her into my arms from across the console. I squeeze her tight, but she squeezes me tighter.

“I miss my dad every day,” she whispers against my shoulder. “But I’m so glad I have you now.”

Then she grabs her backpack and leaps from the car like she’s being chased. I wipe at my nose and chuckle when I watch her peek over her shoulder with a tiny wave. That hot-pink scrunchie the one spot of color in her outfit.

When she’s gone, I’m stuck driving back to work. Worrying about Cora. And obsessing over Rosie and her white fucking panties.

It’s all too much. I like things orderly. And my life is now full-on chaos.

As I pull up to the office, I can’t help but smile. The old barn has transformed into a really cool space. Everything I envisioned and more. The stone chimney and barn-wood exterior have been preserved, but everything else is shiny and new.

Double-paned windows with black trim. On the side of the building, the sliding doors lead to a sprawling deck facing the lake. A new front door faces the parking lot, black with an ornate antique knocker and a keyless entry lock. The walkway leading to it is accented with trimmed garden beds. Rosie took it upon herself to plant bulbs for god knows what. Knowing her, she may have planted weeds just to piss me off.

Now, I just need the actual studio. The booth. The sound equipment. And I’m thinking a few tiny house-type cabins so artists can use the space as a retreat.

As I’m envisioning houses with old barn siding just beyond the tree line, my eyes land on a truck I don’t recognize.

Curious, I march in through the open sliding doors. And come to a screeching halt as I’m confronted with a feeling I haven’t known well until recently.

Hot. Sharp. Instant.

Jealousy.

Rosie sits at her desk while some guy in white, paint-splattered coveralls and a backward hat leans against the edge with hearts in his eyes. Practically flexing his biceps and giving her his best-in-show spiel like a big, dumb Labradoodle drooling on her desk.

“Good morning!” I announce my presence with a level of faux friendliness that makes Rosie shoot me a suspicious look.

“Hi?” she greets me with pure confusion.

“Who do we have here?” I march right up to the guy with my hand out, ready to death grip the hell out of his.

He takes it and I fake a smile as we shake hands. “I’m Scotty. Bash sent me up to work on painting some walls.”

“All right, Scott. Bash gave you a rundown? Or do you need me to give you one?” I edge in front of him, as though I can block Rosie from his view.