Page 11 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

I can’t indulge in a romance with Rose. She’s a vibrant young soul full of laughter and happiness. And me? I’m tied to my writing. Likely not to make Sea Shanty my permanent home. It’s not just the age gap; it’s the life I’ve chosen. A solitary existence where my characters are my only companions.

Not to mention I’m an ass who isn’t capable of giving Rose the affection she deserves.

A soft thud against my back door tears me from my thoughts. Honeybun has paid me another visit. Rolling my eyes, I rise from my chair, then go to open the door to find another wadded up ball of cotton left on my porch.

I sigh. "Again, Honeybun?" Picking it up, I know I should return it, along with the growing collection of other items the dog has pilfered. But they’re Rose's and the thought of parting with them twists something inside me. "What am I supposed to do with this, huh?" I ask the dog, who tilts his head in a way that says, “Are you stupid, dude? Figure this shit out.”

I feel like me and the silly animal have bonded over bacon and his daily swims, but it also feels like he’s trying to send me a message.

Back at my desk, I reach to open the top drawer and gaze at the other gifts from Honeybun. If someone had told me a few weeks ago I’d have a collection of my neighbor’s underwear in my desk, I would’ve said there’d be no way I’d be such a creep. Yet, here I am with a drawer full of bras, cotton panties, and thongs.

Yep. Full blown creeper.

Reaching in the drawer, I grab the white cotton panties Rose left from our last encounter. I hold them to my nose, inhaling her sweet essence, not wanting to forget the night or the taste of her. God, she tasted so good. Her wet arousal coating my tongue, making me want to drive my cock deep into that innocent pussy and making her mine. Damn all my doubts and good intentions.

I press on my gray jogger pants, attempting to relieve the pressure of my erection I got just from pressing my nose to her underwear, not even touching her. Fucking pitiful, and it’s my own fault. I should’ve never gone there with her.

If I wasn’t obsessed before, I am now.

Regretfully, I place the underwear back in the drawer with the others and firmly shut it. I have to focus on my writing.

I stare at the latest page of my manuscript. My main character, once a loner, is now grappling with feelings of love. It’s as if I’m writing about my own struggles.

But where to take this new relationship? Can I allow my character happiness when I shy away from it? My hand hovers over the keyboard, uncertainty clouding my vision. To let my protagonist fall completely could spell disaster. Or it could bring something to the story that I’d never tried before.

"Damn it, Rose. What have you done to me?"

Each word I type steps into territory that thrills and terrifies me. As the setting sun creeps through the blinds, I understand one thing now: without risk, there’s no reward.

Whether in fiction or real life, follow the story.

Maybe it’s time to allow myself and my character the happiness. It’s time to change the narrative. With this thought, I begin to write and plot for my future.

Chapter Nine

Rose

Amid the clatter of dishes and muffled conversations at Salty's, I absently wipe down the bar, feeling the weight of Braxton's rejection. It was a stupid plan of a young girl with a crush, trying to win him over, trying to make him crack. To make himlikeme.

Finally, I got so desperate I showed up at his door, forcing him to talk to me.

Now, after his rejection, I don’t know how I can face him again. Why did he have to go ruin my viewandmy life?

"Hello, Earth to Rose." Lila waves her hand in front of me with concern. “Why the frown?”

“Yeah, that’s not like you, little Rose.” Jack, Lila’s brother and co-owner of the bar, adds as he sets some clean glasses under the counter.

"Sorry, just..." I trail off, the sting of tears threatening to betray me. “Our ‘Operation Neighborly Love’ plan didn’t work, Lila. I tried. I really, really did. I made all the recipes just like my grandma used to and everyone always likes my cooking.”

Lila and Jack exchange wary glances, as if they know something I don’t.

"Ugh, he's such an asshole, Rose!" Lila says, a protective fierceness flaring in her gaze. "You're all sunshine and sweetness, and he doesn't deserve you."

I sigh, my shoulders slumping. "It wasn't just the cooking, Lila. I went to see him, and we kissed. It was amazing. Like really amazing. Then, he just stopped and said... he said I'm too young." My voice cracks.

"I just thought... I mean, my grandmother always said the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.” My voice is barely audible above the clatter of dishes in the background. "I poured my heart into those recipes, Lila. The ones grandma used to make for grandpa. But, then I guess she also used to say, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him stir the soup.’”

Again, Jack and Lila exchange puzzled looks.

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