Page 51 of Dear Rosie

I know what he’s really asking. And there’s no point in avoiding it. He’ll either know now or when he comes back to eat.

Presley pulls the wagon up next to me.

Without explaining myself, and pretending my cheeks aren’t flushed, I pull out the tub I want from the stack.

Lifting the lid, I pick up one of the two-toned pink and green squares.

I should be using tongs. But it’s for Nathan. And after the pantry, we’re beyond being professional.

I ignore the giant grin on Presley’s face as I turn back to Nathan.

“It’s cherry lime.” I explain the colors as I hold it out.

Nathan slides his fingers against mine as he takes the marshmallow from my hand.

He bites off half. Then, as he chews, he looks at the half-eaten treat, inspecting it before putting the rest of it into his mouth.

My eyes slip down to watch his throat as he swallows.

I can’t believe he put it together just from the s’mores from the Lovelace party. But he’s right. I did think about him while I made these.

I always think of him when I make marshmallows. How could I not?

And I didn’t really intend for them to become my signature dish, but they have.

Nathan holds his hand out. “One for the road?”

I’ve also always wondered if he’d like them. Or if he would’ve outgrown them. And now I have my answer.

Presley thrusts the tub in front of me.

I pluck another marshmallow out and place it on Nathan’s exposed palm. “Don’t spoil your appetite.”

His eyes drop to my mouth. “Impossible.”

Heat fills my veins, and Nathan drags his eyes lower, over my chest, before he turns and strides away.

When Nathan disappears into the building, Presley pretends to collapse over the wagon. “God. Damn. How do you two make marshmallows hot?” Still draped, she lifts her head to look at me. “Tell me we’re here because he wants to make sweet, sweet love to you.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Ignoring her reply, I turn back to the food table and distract myself with work.

TWENTY-NINE

NATE

“You did good.” I clap Blake on the back.

The kid—who’s actually a man in his twenties—stumbles forward, dropping his brownie into the grass. “Oh, uh…”

He bends to pick it up, and I can’t stop my eye roll. I hardly touched him.

I’m sighing to myself when my gaze lands across the courtyard, and I find Rosie watching me.

She glances away quickly, but I see her fighting a smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Waller. I’m glad it all came together.” He brushes the brownie off, then takes a bite.

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