Liam
It’s completely possible that I’ve read this all wrong. And if I’m not endgame, regardless of any attraction she feels, then I’ve ruined our working relationship. She’ll continue to watch the kids, at least until they don’t need someone after school, but then we’ll have minimal contact, and eventually, she’ll be gone for good except for calls and visits with Wyatt and Callie where I stay out of the way.
That outcome is so awful, it’s hard not to let it circle again and again around the drain of my thoughts like a bad clog.
But when I let my thoughts slow down, I can rewind the last few weeks and see it doesn’t fit. Beyond my fears, I see all the times she encouraged me to do it. Blow things up. Get to knowher better. Fall for her. Rosalie likes to retreat until she feels in control again. It’s very possible that’s what she’s doing now and I’m being unnecessarily morose. I’m very good at that. It’s what I know.
My mind swam between those two opposing forces all night—steady trust treading water against the waves of familiar doubt. I didn’t sleep well, but after living through Callie’s sleep schedule as a baby, it wasn’t the worst night of sleep I’ve ever had.
I have enough energy for a morning workout, and while it doesn’t keep me from overthinking, it helps with the tension in my neck and shoulders. It’s quiet in the house without the kids. I don’t love it. Workout music doesn’t hold a candle to the background noise of running feet, teasing accusations, and banging cupboards. I took off work, but I could go into the office anyway, stay busy.
When my phone dings with a message, I shake out my limbs and go to check it. Esther probably has a question about the kids. Lately, they’ve decided they don’t like cereal, the most low-maintenance breakfast food in existence.
Rosalie: Want to meet me at that breakfast place we’re always talking about trying out? I’m craving French toast and your company.
And there’s their enabler, someone who also hates cereal and loves warm breakfasts that create mountains of dishes. My throat and eyes burn. It wasn’t wrong to take a risk.
Liam: I’d love to. What time?
We hash out the details like this is a normal conversation, and she didn’t just use the word crave in connection with spending time with me. I’m craving her company, too. But I’ll keep that to myself. I’ve overshared enough.
She’s ready whenever I am, so I take a fast shower, decide what to wear while I’m shaving, and get ready in record time. Favorite jeans. Favorite soft T-shirt.
When I get there, the parking lot is full. I spot her 4Runner parked at the end of a back row. I end up parking next door at the bank and hopping over the four-foot dividing block fence.
She must have called ahead and reserved a table because she’s already seated, staring straight ahead with the menu closed in front of her. The look on her face is contemplative and relaxed, while I feel like I’m on fire and juggling cats.
When she spots me heading her way, she slides out of the booth and stands there with her hands clasped together, the first sign of nerves I see from her. It makes me smile, and she smiles back, taking in a deep breath before dancing on the balls of her feet.
I have to dodge several patrons, but then I reach her, and as though we’ve synchronized it, she moves in at the same time that I envelop her in a hug. She presses her face into the crook of my neck like she belongs there and has no intention of leaving, her hands sliding up my chest to rest there in the perfect cuddle. Why have I never hugged her? I want to hold her like this every day for the rest of my life.
I’m not sure how much time goes by. Enough for me to memorize the feel of her inside my arms and to carefully move her hair out of the way so I’m not tugging on it. She gives a small shudder and a sniff.
“Don’t cry,” I whisper.
“That never works when you say it,” she murmurs. “Also, we should probably sit down now. I can sense people staring.”
I can see people staring. Their interest is almost palpable. A waitress moves around us, giving me an amused smile before heading to talk to the patrons in a booth a few down from us.
“I’m okay with staring,” I tell her. Let them look.
She sighs. “Me too.” But after a few seconds she steps back and gazes up at me, wiping at her face. “You scared me last night. That’s why I ghosted you.”
“I know.” I pull her into a hug again, and I swear someone groans behind us. She laughs into my neck. “I promise to sit by you.”
“Deal.”
We squeeze in together on one side of the booth and hold hands under the table like it’s a forbidden luxury. Which it is. I went from making sure I never inadvertently touched her to this. Her fingers laced with mine, with both our hands resting on my knee feels scandalous, but also perfectly right.
“By the way, I love you, too,” she whispers.
This is definitely the happiest I’ve ever felt in a restaurant.
Chapter 33 – Book Club
Rosalie
We don’t talk through breakfast, both of us soaking up the newness of being out together, just the two of us. It’s all I can do not to stare at him every second and mentally stamp “mine” across his chest. All the fluttery feelings I’ve been suppressing for months are throwing a party.