Page 43 of Roses for Rosie

Jamesville is dull and gray. I drag myself out of bed and shuffle down the hall to make my morning coffee. I’m not sure if it was the sunlight in Miami or Adam’s presence which made it glow, but life at home appears even bleaker than it did before I left.

It has been three days since I left Miami and flew back to Jamesville. Leaving Adam there and returning to the real world is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Life is magical when I’m with him. Things like snorkeling, shower sex, formal parties with champagne, penthouse suites and midnight pillow talk happen when he is around. I struggle to recall even one mildly interesting thing which has happened since I returned.

I think about it for a solid minute before giving up and returning my attention to the coffee pot. Turning my phone call with Adam from last night over in my mind significantly boosts my mood and I let myself indulge while I wait for the for the coffee to drip through the machine.

True to his word, Adam calls me every evening. Sometimes we just catch up on what we did that day. Other times we share stories about how we became the people we are. My favorite calls are the ones where he gets dirty. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he can describe the act of sex in a million different ways. I have read his books and they don’t leave anything to the imagination.

Hearing his voice bring those words to life is different from reading them though. Knowing those words are about me and that Adam is picturing my body while he is describing what he wants to do to me drives me to distraction.

Being with Adam brought me to heights of pleasure I never imagined were possible from my interactions with my vibrator. That isn’t surprising. I expected the attentions of a real man to be better than what I could do with a piece of plastic. It does surprise me that just hearing his voice over the phone can get me so hot though.

Heat rushes to my cheeks and spreads down to my core now as I remember our call. I feel the now familiar throb between my legs as I imagine Adam there, doing the incredible things he does with his fingers.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts of Adam and focus on what I need to do today. I have the early shift at the bookstore. As soon as the coffee is ready, I am heading out the door. Vivian didn’t make much progress on the book shelving project I was working on before I left so that is still on my list. I run a mental inventory of the shelves and where I might find enough empty space to house all those books.

I shake my head while I pour my coffee into my travel mug, marveling at the sheer volume of books Vivian has managed to acquire. I remember vowing to read every book on the library shelves when I was a kid. Not much has changed. I still want to crack the spine of every book that comes through our doors.

In the distance, I hear my father’s door creak open. I hastily cap my coffee and sneak out the front door. Any morning I can get out of the house without having to talk to him is a good morning. I am way too happy to allow my father to burst my bubble today. I hug thoughts of Adam close to me on my walk to Nooks and Books, reveling in being in love.

Moments later I push the door to the bookstore open. I inhale the familiar scent of old books, citrus and clove candles and popcorn, one of Vivian’s favorite afternoon snacks. I set my things down in the office and hang up my coat before I give Sammy a pet on the head and fill his food dish.

On my way to the front door, I grab a box of books to be shelved and drop it off by a shelf which is relatively less bursting with books than its neighbors. I flip the sign on the door to ‘Open’ and ready myself for another day.

It’s always quiet at the store in the mornings. I love the peace and silence of these early hours. It’s just me and the books. Even Sammy is taking a nap in the front window in a patch of sunlight. I hum quietly to myself as I find a home for each book, mostly succeeding in not opening them to take a peek at the contents as I do.

Sammy’s patch of sunlight has shifted several feet across the bay window when I hear the bell over the door chime. I look up from my project, startled by the sound. I almost forgot the store was even open today.

I’m even more surprised to see who has just entered Nooks and Books. Rather than one of my neighbors or the couple dozen regular customers I greet each week, I am presented with Scarlett Smith, Adam’s ex-girlfriend. She is even more stunning in person than she was in the photos I’ve seen of her with Adam in magazines and on websites.

She is always beautiful, but in person she is stunning. From her glossy blowout, past her perfectly applied makeup with the cat eye eyeliner I have never been able to pull off, to her designer jeans and tall black leather boots, she screams style. Her posture says she knows exactly how amazing she looks.

I feel dowdy in comparison. In my defense, when I got dressed this morning I didn’t know I would be competing with a famous actress. I thought I would be shelving books, a demanding and often sweaty job. My baggy sweater and tennis shoes pale in the light Scarlett casts over Nooks and Books. With the exception of Adam, she is probably the most famous person who has ever walked through the door.

I wonder how I should address her. Is she one of those celebrities who get annoyed when fans fawn all over her and ask for autographs? In that case, maybe I should play it like I don’t recognize her and let her act the part of a regular everyday person out doing some errands.

On the other hand, she could be one of those people who expect special treatment because they are rich and famous. She might be insulted if I don’t acknowledge her as the superior human she knows herself to be.

Before I can decide how to address her, she addresses me. First, she looks me up and down like I’m something smelly stuck to her shoe. “Are you,” she pauses, “Rosie?” She says my name like it’s a contagious disease.

“The one and only. If I’m not mistaken, you’re Scarlett Smith, right?”

“Indeed.”

“What can I do for you, Scarlett? Are you looking for a new book?” I ask, looking around the store and wondering what type of book a woman like Scarlett might read.

“You can get your hands off my man is what you can do for me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Adam. He’s mine. Keep your distance, Rosebud. You don’t have what it takes to play with the big girls.”

“Adam doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Shut up. I know he was introducing you as his girlfriend at the Peterson party last week. I have news for you, missy. Adam isn’t who you think he is.”

“Who is he then? An undercover cop sent to bust our small-town book selling crime ring?”

“He’s my boyfriend. Fiancé, actually,” she says in a confident tone. She holds out a hand with a diamond the size of a cherry on it. The light from the bay window reflects off of it, casting rainbow prisms on all the walls.

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