Page 32 of Roses for Rosie

But I send you a cream-white rosebudWith a flush on its petal tips;For the love that is purest and sweetestHas a kiss of desire on the lips.

~John Boyle O’Reilly

Under the printed poem is a handwritten line. “Roses for my Rosie. I can’t wait to see you again. Only eighteen more days until my kiss of desire will be on your lips. Adam”

I stand still, stunned into silence. I read the poem and Adam’s postscript over and over again, trying to convince myself that they are real. Should I dare to believe that my father was wrong about me and Adam? Can my heart take it if I allow myself to hope and he breaks my heart?

Tiny slivers of anticipation poke their way through the shroud of gloom I’ve worn since my father dropped his bomb of negativity this morning. The card says, “My Rosie.” It says he can’t wait to see me again, to kiss me. It says that he desires me.

Why would he send these flowers if he wasn’t planning to come back? Why would he hand write such a romantic message? I know how busy he is. He doesn’t have time to send roses to a woman he is just messing around with. He could find a woman to spend a casual night with in any city on his tour without blinking an eye. But instead, he sent me flowers. He sent me a poem.

My heart soars. Yes, I will risk optimism. What does my father know about love anyway? I will believe that Adam and I have a future. The evidence is staring me in the face. I reach out to caress a soft petal and bend to inhale their heavenly scent.

When I look up again, Vivian is smirking at me.

“My Rosie, huh? It looks like that date went better than you thought it did.”

“Maybe it did,” I hedge. I might be ready to harbor hope in my heart, but I’m not ready to wear it on my sleeve.

Chapter 16

Adam

I straighten my tie and look myself in the eye in the hotel room mirror. I try to summon up my award-winning smile, but it falls flat. Everything on this tour has fallen flat. I don’t think Jan has noticed yet, thank goodness. And the audiences are so high on their own adrenaline and expectations that they wouldn’t notice if I was replaced with an Adam-shaped automaton, but I’ve noticed.

I used to look forward to this part of being an author. I love writing, don’t get me wrong. I can get lost in crafting a compelling story and inventing relatable characters just like any other author, but I also feed on the attention of my readers. Being in the middle of a crowd of people who all feel like they know me and love me gives me a special type of thrill which I’ve never felt anywhere else.

The spotlights, the flash bulbs, the interviews, the magazine spreads, and the launch parties work for my extroverted nature. There is so much energy there, so much passion for the written word, for a good story, for strong sales and for making millions. It’s intoxicating and addictive.

But tonight, even in my favorite ice blue tie, all I can think about is Rosie. I was with her the last time I wore this tie. It was the night of the Nooks and Books reading. I can’t believe I fought with Jan about being forced to do that event. If I hadn’t been there, I never would have met Rosie. Her father would have gotten away with treating her like a second-class citizen. I wouldn’t even know what I am missing right now.

There is a crowd of thousands of people attending the awards show gala tonight, but the one woman I want to see won’t be there. She’s back in Jamesville. I wonder what she’s doing right now. I glance at the clock. She’s probably closing up the bookstore, maybe she’s staying late to finish a book. She could be curled up in the chair she was in when I first met her.

I was such a jerk that day, I muse. I can’t believe I expected her to fall at my feet and swoon over me just because I am me and I kissed her hand. I laugh, thinking about how she put me in my place. I wish she was here right now. Instead of going downstairs to this party, I would keep her here all night. She would look gorgeous in a formal gown, but she would look even more gorgeous out of it.

I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. This is no time to fantasize about Rosie and what I would like to do to her naked body. I need to finish getting ready, get my game face on and get downstairs to my adoring public.

I try the winning smile again, but it comes off rueful and more than a little forced. Oh well. It’ll have to do, I think as I close the door to my room behind me and head for the bank of elevators down the hall.

The doors open again in the lobby to reveal a scene of high fashion, beautiful people and no soul. Where are the cozy chairs around the fireplace? Where is the resident cat? Where are the dog-eared copies of books waiting to be signed? Back in Jamesville, that’s where.

Jan spots me and slides over in her formal gown and heels. “How’s my favorite best-selling author doing tonight? Ready to wow them?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She gives me a searching look. Jan has been my agent for years. She knows me inside and out and she can tell I’m not on my game this week. She pulls me away from the crowd and corners me.

“What’s bothering you, Adam? You haven’t been yourself all week.”

I debate telling her the truth. Jan is my agent, but she’s also my friend. It’s hard not to get close to someone you spend so much time with. I imagine the expression on her face when I tell her I’ve fallen for Rosie. She’s watched me work through so many meaningless encounters with women I’m not sure she would even take me seriously. I can’t bear the thought of her trivializing the connection I have with Rosie.

“I must have picked up a bug on the plane or something. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” I flash her a smile which I hope looks less fake than it feels and offer her my arm. She gives me a pass and follows me into the party.

Jan is the best person to have at your side during one of these events. She knows everyone and more importantly she remembers all of their names. And their spouses names, and their kids’ names and their dogs’ names.

“Sadie James, she was the leading lady in Martin Joseph’s rom-com last year. You met her in Miami last June,” she hisses in my ear as a woman in a blood red dress which looks like she was poured into approaches.

“Sadie,” I greet her with a kiss on the cheek. “How wonderful to see you. Been back to Miami lately?”

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