Page 128 of Rule Breakers Fall Hardest

After plating up our dinner, I set them both on the table and join my two favorite people.

“We’ve established that you missed Sammy, but what about me?”

Rosie looks me up and down slyly. “What about you is it that you think is so miss-able?”

With a lighthearted scoff, I put a hand over my heart and rear back. “A wound straight to the heart.”

She uses the spoon to clean sweet potato puree off Sammy’s face. “You’re the one that asked.”

“So you didn’t miss me at all? Not even a little bit?”

She spares me a glance, lips twitching with a desire to smile. “Maybe a smidge. Like the size of my pinky nail. If that.”

“Well, baby,” I lower my voice as I lean into her, brushing my lips over her cheek, “I missed you a whole lot.”

Her breath stutters, and I sit back with a smirk, more than a little satisfied.

Rosie can pretend all she wants that she’s not affected by me, but it’s all for show.

She wants me as badly as I want her.

30

ROSIE

Cross-leggedon the floor of my bedroom, I sort through a box of papers I should’ve cleared out a long time ago but held on to for stupid sentimental reasons.

God, if Daire ever saw this stuff, he’d realize how obsessed I was with him as a girl.

Mrs. Rosie Hendricksis scribbled on page after page of notebook paper. I take those out and set them aside. It’s ridiculous that I lugged all this stuff with me to college, but stupidly, I wasn’t ready to throw any of it away—not even when Ihated his guts.

I pull a yearbook out and flip through it until I find my photo. I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, and I was sporting two missing front teeth and pigtails. Daire is easy to find. I’d recognize that blond hair and those blue eyes anywhere. Even as a little boy, he was beyond cute. Young Rosie had great taste. Older Rosie? She still has great taste.

But damn if our relationship isn’t complicated.

This was a short-term arrangement, and we vowed not to get feelings involved. But day by day, it’s getting harder to remember that.

With a huff, I close the yearbook and go back to sorting through the box.

I lift a small stack of journals out of the way, then flip through random pictures.

A drawing at the bottom catches my eye. I had to have been about fourteen when I drew it. I’m not an artist, and I don’t pretend to be, but I went through a phase where I thought I might become a fashion designer.

My favorite item of clothing to draw?

Wedding dresses.

Particularly dresses I envisioned myself wearing on the day I married Daire.

God, I was delusional. Like most teen girls, I suppose.

My bedroom door swings open, and Daire bursts in unannounced, scaring the shit out of me. I let out a scream and scramble to collect the papers scattered around me. Hastily, and with my heart beating out of my chest, I stuff as many as I can into the box. As I’m grasping at them, one of the drawings goes flying through the air and lands at his feet.

I slam the lid back on the box, panting.

The drawing is the least of my worries. I definitely don’t want him to discover my journals or the pages upon pages ofMrs. Daire Hendrickswritten in a dozen different ways. In print, in cursive, with hearts over the i’s, you name it.

Bending, he scoops the piece of paper up, studying it with a wrinkled brow. “What’s this?”

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