Rosie
“I love sitting out here,” I murmured, resting my head on Joel’s chest, staring up at the wide blue sky.
It was one of those beautiful summer evenings—the sun still up, not a cloud in sight, cerulean starting to turn to orange at the furthest reaches of the horizon. The trees whispered to us, a warm summer breeze rustling through their leaves.
“You mean you love me,” Joel teased, running his hands over my curls. “Because you get to lay on top of me.”
“I do love you as my pillow.” I burrowed closer, nipped at his throat, got a light swat to my butt in response. “But mostly,” I pressed up on his chest, throwing one leg over his middle, glad he’d finally gotten his cast off, “I just love you.”
He smiled. “I think you’re just glad that you’re finally done being mayor so you can plan a wedding.”
I couldn’t lie.
I was excited to plan a wedding—to plan our wedding.
Spreadsheets. Vendors. Cute little decor items. Customized washi tape for everyone! Flowers floating in vases. Garland and bows for the backs of chairs and dessert charcuterie boards for every table.
“I might have some ideas,” I said softly.
He chuckled. “I bet you do.” But then his face went serious, and he sat up, gathering me against his chest. “Two big things happened today, Rosie baby, and you seem to be handling them fine. Is that because you’ve locked them down, tucked away the worry and pain? Or is it because you’re really okay?”
A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to even have this conversation.
A couple of months ago, I would have just told this man whom I loved that I was fine—of course I was fine.
But…we’d both grown.
And with Joel, I didn’t always have to be okay.
So, I paused and considered, stopped and thought, hesitated as I sifted through the feelings in my heart and mind…and then I answered, “I’m more okay about stepping back from the job and doing something new than I am about my dad.”
His hand slid to my hip, squeezed lightly. “My dad says it’s going to be a long trial.”
I figured as much based on the amount of time it just took for opening arguments today. I didn’t attend because the federal courthouse was an hour’s drive and I’d wanted to be as fully present as possible.
But—proving how wonderful Rob was (something I already knew because he’d help make a wonderful son)—he’d gone to the first day of my father’s trial.
He’d sat through the pomp and circumstance and bullshit my dad’s lawyers were spinning.
And he’d warned me to brace.
Because things were going to get worse.
My mom was still on the run, or hiding, or just leaving my dad to his own pile of crap he’d worked so hard to create, but the charges had grown.
More evidence had been found.
And then my father had tried to skip out on bail.
So, he was fucked.
Bonus was that I hadn’t had to worry about running into him in town—or at least, not since he’d been arrested again and held without bail. I was footloose and fancy free…
And I had a brand new paper planner for my—cough, our—wedding.
Grinning, I leaned forward, explaining because while my brain had hurried ahead, my words hadn’t. “I’m okay, honey. I’m less worried about my dad—though, I can’t lie and say that all the worry about my mom has gone away, but it’s…less, I guess. The longer she’s away. The longer there’s no word about her.”
“Yeah?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I hope she’s not involved. And if she’s not, I hope that she’s out there, living her best life, and happy. I want her to actually be happy for a change.”
His chest rose and fell on a breath. “I hope that too, Rosie baby.” He tugged a curl. “Now, tell me what was making you smile. Because it sure as fuck wasn’t anything to do with your parents.”
No, it wasn’t.
But I didn’t make him work for this either. “I’m really happy with my planner, honey.”
Another chuckle, but the smile that accompanied it was soft, was gentle, was everything. I’d bounced my planner plans off him—everything from which system I wanted to implement, to the stickers I’d chosen, to the washi I was special ordering, to the type of paper…
And those were just the decisions I’d made for my planner.
The wedding was going to be…glorious for me, possibly torture for him.
“I’m glad, Rosie baby.”
I sighed and burrowed closer, enjoying this quiet moment, treasuring the way he held me so carefully, so tightly. Like I was precious.
To him, I was.
“Do you still have your meeting with team management tonight?” I asked.
Joel was scheduled to check in about his injuries and rehab and to discuss his contract and future plans. “Yeah,” he said softly.
“And do you know what you want to do?”
His arms tightened and he sighed. “I wish I could tell you. This last season was shit, baby. I hated being away from you, and if I play, it’s only going to get worse.”
“Do you think it was being away from me specifically? Or being away from me when bad shit was going down?”
I’d asked the question before.
I could see by the look on his face that his answer would be the same as it had been before.
“I don’t know.”
“So,” I said, leaning back and resting my hands on his shoulders. “You go and talk to them. You figure out what type of contract they’re going to offer, and what you’re willing to commit to. Maybe it’s a season,” I added softly, when his brows dragged together. “Maybe it’s a way to get away from your wedding-obsessed woman for a little bit. Maybe it’s for as long as you can still compete. Or”—I touched his jaw—“maybe you’re done, and any of those are okay.”
He sighed, dropped his forehead to mine. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Mmm,” I hummed, tapping a finger to my chin. “No, I don’t think you have—ek!” Suddenly, I was flat on my back, the grass tickling the exposed backs of my arms, my legs. “You’re meeting,” I said, sticking my hand between our mouths, preventing him from kissing me.
“We have time,” he murmured, slipping his palm beneath my shirt and sliding his hand up my side.
To my breast.
“We don’t—”
He nudged my bra out of the way, rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sending pleasure shooting through my middle, gathering between my legs.
“Okay,” I murmured. “If we’re quick, we have time.”
A wolfish grin.
My hand bumped out of the way, his lips descending toward mine.
And then he wasn’t very quick, but he proved we did have time.
“Bye, Rosie baby,” he murmured later, tugging my shirt back over my head and bending to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Good luck.”
I watched him walk out to his car, waved, then went back inside the house to wait for him to return.
To wait for him to call me and let me know how it went.
To wait for him to walk in through the door and tell me in person instead.
I waited for him for hours.
But…Joel never came home.