Page 57 of The Perfect Snipe

“He moved to London. Our mother . . . she’s a lot. When Winston came out, she turned it into this whole production that wasn’t about supporting my brother. It was about her.”

“So he left?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out rougher than I intend, scraping against my throat like sandpaper. “What she did not only caused a rift between the two of them but the entire family. He doesn’t even have a relationship with his niece and nephew. Cat’s trying to avoid this situation getting to that level.”

Rosa leans back in her chair, taking a sip of her tea.

I fold my hands, allowing some time to pass before continuing. “I know change is scary, leaving what's familiar. But sometimes it's necessary. Sometimes it opens up new opportunities.”

“This isn't just about change, Leo. This is my life.”

“I know. No one's trying to take that away from you. We want you to be safe, to have the best quality of life possible.” I gesture to the brochures, the glossy images of smiling seniors and well-kept facilities almost mocking in their brightness. “These places, they're not prisons. They're about support when you need it, freedom when you don't.”

Rosa picks up one of the brochures, her fingers tracing the edges as she flips through the pages, her brows pinching together. “And my friends? My routines?”

“The ones I looked into have communities.” I lean over to point out features on one of the brochures. “They organize outings, have clubs. You can still go out, have visitors. It’s not about taking away your independence; it’s about making sure you’re safe while still living your life.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then she looks up at me, a sly smile spreading across her face, and I know that look. It’s the same one Cat gets when she’s about to say something that’ll drive me up the wall. “For someone so concerned about my living situation, you seem to be avoiding your own issues.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“You and my granddaughter. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at her.”

Heat creeps up my neck, spreading to my ears. Dammit. “Rosa, I—”

“Ah, ah.” She cuts me off, wagging a finger. “Don't try to deny it. I may be old, but I'm not blind. So, tell me, what are your intentions?”

I sigh, running a hand over my face, trying to hide the flush that’s creeping up my cheeks. This woman is relentless, like a dog with their favorite chew toy. “It’s complicated.”

“Life’s complicated. That's not an answer.”

I swallow hard, my fingers tracing the edge of the table as if searching for steady ground. No point in bullshitting her. She'd see right through it anyway. “I care about Cat, more than I thought I could care about someone after my wife.”

“And?” Rosa leans forward, her eyes boring into me.

“And . . . I'm scared.” The admission sits uncomfortably on my tongue, like trying to fit into a coat that’s not mine. “I'm falling for her, but the timing's wrong. There's so much going on, so many people to consider.”

Rosa leans back in her chair, fixing me with a piercing gaze that makes me feel like I'm under a microscope. “Let me tell you something. There's never a perfect time for love. Life’s always going to be complicated. If you wait for everything to be perfect, you'll be waiting forever.”

My hand tightens around the armrest of the love seat, knuckles whitening. “I know, but—”

“No buts,” she interrupts, her voice sharp. “You've already lost one love. Don't let fear keep you from finding another.”

A tightness coils around my chest, every breath shallow and forced, as if the air itself is resisting me. “It's more than just fear.” My voice falters, and I look down, my hands gripping the arms of the chair like they’re the only thing keeping me grounded. “ It's responsibility to my kids, the team, Cat herself. What if it doesn't work out?”

Rosa reaches over, patting my hand. Her skin is soft, papery thin across prominent veins. “That's the risk we all take. But let me ask you this—what if it does work out?”

Her words rattle around in my head, bumping up against my doubts and fears. She has a point, as much as I hate to admit it. “You're pretty wise for someone who’s denying her own well-being.”

She laughs, a warm, rich sound that fills the room. “Touché, Leo. Touché.” She picks up another brochure, her expression thoughtful. “How about we make a deal?”

I lean back, one corner of my mouth quirking up as I nod for her to continue. “Go on.”

“I'll agree to read through the brochures—actually give them a fair chance. But in return, you have to promise me something.”

“What's that?”

“You tell Cat how you feel. No more hiding behind excuses.”

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