Page 11 of Roses for Rosie

Most of the time I’m OK with that. Today though something feels different. Something feels off. Today I feel lonely, like a shell of a person. I wish someone would look past the exterior and get to know the real me.

I wish that someone would be Rosie. I know she’s just a small-town girl at a bookstore. I know I shouldn’t care what she thinks. But I do care. I made an ass of myself the last time we were together, expecting her to fall all over herself because sex god Adam Smythe was hitting on her.

She was right to knock me down a few pegs. Her ability to withstand the spotlight of my advances only makes me want her more. Women fall at my feet all the time. Frankly, it’s become a little boring.

They are all the same and they want the same thing. Unfortunately, what they want isn’t me, it’s that guy in the picture on the back of my books. They want the guy who makes them swoon when their favorite characters fall into bed together.

Rosie’s different though. Rosie sees past the shiny author Adam Smythe façade and recognizes the person I am underneath. She might hate the person I really am, but at least she is smart enough to see that I am a person.

How can I show her who I really am? I can start by treating her with a little respect, I think as I shake my head at my reflection. I can’t believe I treated her like one of my groupies and expected her to swoon over me. Rosie isn’t that kind of girl and I’m glad she isn’t.

The strong, smart, spunky woman she is sparks something inside me that I haven’t felt stir for a long time. I’m intrigued as well as attracted. I’m excited to learn more about her, not just to get her into bed. I want to learn her secrets, what makes her smile, what she looks like when her eyes flutter shut on her pillow at night, where her sensitive spots are and what she sounds like when she comes. I want to know it all.

What would one of my characters do to win her over? He would start with a few dozen roses, I think. Is that too cliché? Roses for a woman named Rosie? No, I think, roses for Rosie is the perfect idea. I pick up my phone to search out a florist on the way to Jamesville and find one just off the main highway.

“Hello, yes, I need a bouquet of three dozen roses ready for pick up in an hour,” I tell the woman who picks up my call.

“Three dozen, sir? That will be expensive.”

“Money is no object. Add some green leafy stuff and a nice ribbon while you’re at it. I’ll be there shortly.” I hang up the phone and grab my coat and my bag. If I’m going to make a stop along the way, I better leave now.

I pull up in front of Nooks and Books with several minutes to spare before they are expecting me. I check my tie in the rearview mirror and grab my jacket from the passenger seat. After sliding it on, I remove the flowers from the back seat. I knew three dozen roses was a lot, but I didn’t realize just how large a bouquet they would make. I shake my head at the gaudy pile of flowers. I wanted to make an impression, and these can’t possibly fail to do that.

A single glance inside the bookstore reveals Rosie. She is dressed up for tonight’s event too. She is standing on a chair in her bare feet, hanging a banner. The dress she is wearing hugs her in all the right places. As she stretches up on her tip toes to reach the top of the bookshelf she is attaching the banner to, it rides up a little revealing the curve of her thigh.

If I’m quick, I might just get inside while she is still up there. I don’t want to miss my chance for a close up of this. I hold the flowers up in front of my face and enter the store, peeking at her from between the flowers. She jumps when she hears the bell over the door ring and spins around. A look of confusion passes over her face when she sees me.

I feel the defensive energy pouring off of her. She is expecting stuck up, chauvinist Adam Smythe and is clearly ready to start the night with her hackles up. The flowers throw her off though. She isn’t sure what to expect from me now. This is just the momentary advantage I need to make my case.

I hold the bouquet out to her with one hand while offering my other hand to help her down from her chair. “A peace offering,” I say as she takes them from me and buries her nose in the fragrant blooms. “Forgive me for my abominable behavior last time?”

Her eyes flick from the flowers to my face and then back to the flowers. She’s thinking about it. That’s more than I expected and frankly more than I deserve.

“You think you can win me over with a few flowers?” she asks, giving me a tough stare.

“One of my adoring fans, yes. You, no. But I hope the flowers are enough to convince you to give me a second chance, a chance to prove I’m not the guy I acted like last time.”

“Who are you then?”

“I’m Adam Smythe,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand like we just met. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiles and returns my handshake. “Rosie Todd. It’s nice to meet you too.”

“I really am sorry about last time. I should never have treated you that way. I would like to get to know you better.”

“We both said things we shouldn’t have.” She blushes.

She has a point, I think, remembering the delightfully dirty things she said. “Water under the bridge. Where should I put my things?” I indicate the overnight bag I brought with me.

“We have a storeroom in the back where we keep the extra inventory. The door locks so your things will be safe there. Follow me.”

I will follow her anywhere if it means I can keep looking at her ass. It sways as she walks, like there is music in her head and she can’t help but dance to it. She pulls a key out of the bunch hung from the chain around her neck and unlocks the door to the storeroom, leading me inside.

She flicks on the light to reveal stacks of books. There must be thousands of them. They are piled on shelves, in boxes on the floor, tilting precariously off of chairs, and hiding the top of what I assume is a desk in the rear of the room.

Rosie turns to me and sees my shocked expression. She laughs out loud, saying, “Yeah, Vivan can’t say no to a good book or ten. She always buys more than we can possibly display. They all end up in here while I try to sell enough of what is already out there to make space for these.”

Something about her laugh gets under my skin in the best way. The carefree abandon she gives in to as she throws her head back and enjoys herself draws me to her. I take a step forward and set my bag down at her feet.

---