Rosalie looks up from her phone. “Wednesday is meet-the-teacher night. We can’t do it then.”
“Correct.”
Callie is now full-on snoring with her head lolling back against the couch. Rosalie scoops her up from the floor in front of her and settles her with a couch pillow under her head. A nap this late will ruin her for bedtime, but we’ll worry about that later.
I follow Rosalie to the big calendar in the kitchen so we can consult together. Our combined scheduling is not a perfect science. Sometimes things scribbled here don’t make it to our digital calendars, and vice versa.
Scheduling conflicts aside, there’s also the issue of whether Rosalie even wants to come. “I could say you’re not available this week, but she has your phone number, and she would absolutely use it to override me. That doesn’t mean you have to go with us, though.”
“I don’t mind. She’s right. It makes it easier on the kids. And her.” Rosalie ducks in front of me to write something down on the grocery list, and while I should move back to give her plenty of room, I don’t. She invaded my space first. I think it’s a dare.
Just as I thought, when she’s done writing, she turns so we’re facing each other. She’s just one upped me to see what I’ll do.
A strand of her hair has fallen out of her French braid, and I resist the impulse to tuck it behind her ear. She’s wearing pearl studs with little diamonds, a fancy contrast to her hot-pink tank top and worn-in jeans. I swallow hard, trying to regain my train of thought. “And then there’s the other problem, that I RSVP’d for two to their anniversary party.”
“You thought you’d be bringing Maggie?”
“Yeah. If I don’t bring someone, my mom will pick. Someone she deems worthy of a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-head dinner.”
“Would that be so bad?” She says it with a look of innocence, but we’re standing so close that she’s practically tucked into me.
I stare her down. “You tell me.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, but there isn’t a right thing. I don’t want to bring anyone else with me to anything. I like the people in my circle right now, and I’m not looking to make an addition. But should I say that? Could I say that?
Rosalie’s eyes narrow. “This is weird, you and I. Don’t you dare make me define it. I already tried that.”
“Friends,” I whisper. We’re at a standoff, a precipice, and I don’t know what’s on the other side. I just know the more I try to keep things where they are, the more it doesn’t work. I’m slipping further into her orbit with every second I spend at this desk. As it is, I’m dying to box her in against the calendar with my hands bracketing her sides. I want to slide the tip of my nose along her neck and smell peach blossoms and Rosalie-scented skin, and then trace that path with my lips. These are not friendship thoughts.
Despite her irritation with me, her gaze moves to my mouth, and I can practically see her deliberating. It wouldn’t be my fault if she initiated something, would it?
The front door bangs open and then closed, and Wyatt calls out, “Dad?”
In the history of straightening, no one has straightened as fast I straighten right then. And I’m relieved. What am I thinking? I cannot play with fire. She deserves better from me than dares and flirtation where neither of us are ready to admit what’s really going on. “Yeah, Wy? How was your friend’s house?”
“Great! He gave me his old baseball glove. I’m just gonna run it upstairs.”
I rub the back of my neck and stare at Rosalie. She stares back and me, and then she reaches behind her, takes a sticky note, and plants it on my forehead.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“It’s a reminder to get milk and bread the next time you’re at the store.”
I peel it off my forehead and look at it. “Will do.”
She’s the first to move away, stepping back and walking over to the hook where she keeps her bag. She takes it down and slips her shoes back on. Without looking at me, she says, “Thursday night would be best. Just let me know. I’m still planning to babysit for the party on Saturday night, regardless of your RSVP status.”
Before I can think of a good response, she’s gone. I’ve been called out, and rightly so. I asked her opinion on something I should already know. Am I that afraid of my mother? The man who eloped against her wishes can’t tell her he doesn’t need a date for a family party? The solution is so obvious that I’m embarrassed for trying to make Rosalie a part of it. I’ll call Mom today.
My only excuse is that I was trying to be more honest, the way Rosalie was honest with me about Trey. I can’t believe he burned her with caramel sauce. Although, I can’t say I’m not glad he’s an idiot.
Chapter 27 – A Little Bit of a Boss
Rosalie
Liam and I time it so that we’re pulling up and parking next to each other at the bottom of his parents’ long driveway on Thursday evening. They have a dramatic desert landscape front yard that leads up to a spacious Mediterranean-style house. It’s not the home where Liam grew up. They moved here about six years ago, and from what I understand, this was a downsize. I can’t even imagine.
Callie stops to splash her hands in the decorative fountain and gets the front of her dress all wet. Wyatt’s pulling seed pods off of a plant and hurling them against the giant planters that are taller than he is. Little kids are so unimpressed with wealth. I’ve already failed as a nanny to rein them in, but that’s not what has me worried.