Page 116 of Rosabel and the Billionaire Beast

“I’m no expert on love,” Hazel said. “I dated the same guy through college. When I thought Wesley was about to propose, he surprised me by breaking up instead.”

My brow furrowed. “Ouch. I’m so sorry. That sucks.”

Hazel shrugged my sympathy off. “I’ve blocked him in every way possible now, so I understand not wanting to get hurt. I guess you’ll have to decide if this Duncan of yours is worth the risk.”

His kisses, his confession last night—those were definitely worth a risk.

He’d also made promises that he would change. Promises that, so far, he’d stuck to. Promises that I’d continue to hold him to.

He’d kept every one of them so far—even the vow to carry out acts of service. I just hadn’t realizedIwould be the recipient of those acts.

Hazel’s tower came into view. The two of us jogged our way to the sidewalk in front of Duncan’s house. The August sunlight fully blazed now, shrouding the air with warmth.

“Guess I’ll head inside,” Hazel said, resting her hands on her hips. Sweat darkened the back of her blue shirt. I suspected my pink one looked similar.

“Thanks for talking this out with me,” I told Hazel as she traipsed toward the street. “I really needed someone to talk to this morning.”

Hazel paced a few steps in a small circle, allowing her pulse to slow, no doubt. She graced me with a lovely smile. “No problem, though I don’t know how much help I was.”

“You were,” I reassured her. “If I can ever return the favor, let me know.”

“Sure thing. Maybe I’ll bump into you again.” With a wave, Hazel made for her house.

I lingered outside a little while longer, trailing toward the back of the house and the immaculate rose garden situated back here. I followed the pavestone pathway toward a small white gazebo that served as an entryway for the magnificent spread of rosebushes I’d seen time and again through my window.

Pavestones continued, creating a path between bushes that were as tall as I was and that dripped with white, pink, red, and even yellow blossoms. The occasional Cupid-esque statue was positioned along the path, threatening to stab an unsuspecting passerby with his stone arrow. One statue looked shyly on as if caught peeking.

Mouth agape, I plunged through an archway that spilled roses along its every curve and followed the path toward a trickling pond whose water collected a dozen or so pink petals on its surface. Multicolored petals littered the way, making me feel as though I strolled along a path of colored diamonds.

My thoughts whirled from the beauty of this garden to the magic surrounding me, to the sweet, overriding smell of roses wafting in the lakeside air. The whole garden was dizzying.

“Dad would have loved this.”

He’d always stopped to point out different flowers to me or taken the time to tell me about things he’d read. Dad was a book afficionado—maybe that was where I learned to love reading so much.

My heart panged, and I thought again of the nurses watching over him, of the nurse Sarah had mentioned. The nurse whose name I didn’t recognize.

I pulled my phone back out again and tapped through my emails until I found the one that In-Home Angels had sent me the morning I’d decided to come here with Duncan.

I tapped through several of the documents they’d sent me, stopping when I came to the list of nurses. I skimmed down at the collection of names, and then, sure enough, at the bottom was a name I hadn’t remembered:

Stacey Montgomery.

“It’s fine,” I said, returning my phone to my pocket. “He’s fine. I’m just overreacting.”

Turning my back on the lake and the noisy boat, I climbed my way up to the road and jogged back to the lake house. But no matter how many times I tried to cast the worry aside, it wouldn’t leave me alone.

I showered, thinking maybe the hot water would succeed at washing this worry away, but it didn’t. Not as I dressed in the pink Eureka Springs t-shirt Duncan had bought for me. Not as I dried my hair and pulled it into a braid. Not as I applied mascara and hurried downstairs.

Noises clanged from the kitchen. Pat and Nicole’s laughter and chatter echoed off the vaulted ceiling, and the smell of what I suspected to be a roast in a crock pot filled the entire main level, making me salivate.

I peeked my head around and gave them each a little wave. “Hey, ladies,” I said.

Nicole dusted her hands on her apron. She was chewing on something and so gave me a tight-lipped smile. Pat turned away from the cutting board on the counter and waved to me.

“Hey, there, Rosabel. Anything we can get for you?”

“I’m just looking for Duncan,” I said. “Have you seen him?”

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