Page 56 of Dear Rosie

Is that why he chose that number?

Because the last time we saw each other was when I was eight?

I gulp the wine this time.

The money would be nice. And if it was from anyone else—literally anyone else—I’d accept it.

I stare at my new bank balance and groan. Because I know I can’t keep it.

Even if I never see Nathan again. With our history. With what happened in the pantry… I have to give it back.

Swallowing down the rest of my wine, I stand.

Leaving the glass next to the sink, I turn off the few lights that are on and head to my bedroom.

Inside my nightstand, beside the velvet bag holding my silicone friend, is a small piece of paper. With Nathan’s signature.

And his phone number.

THIRTY-FIVE

NATE

It only takes a few minutes before it happens.

My phone alerts me to a text.

Rosie: Nate, this is Rosalyn Edwards. Although generous, I can’t accept your tip.

I smirk at the phone.

Does she realize how that sounds?

And does she really think I need her last name to know who she is?

I might’ve forgotten about Rosie once. But I remember her now.

Rosie: It’s too big.

This time, my smirk grows into a grin.

Rosie: Seriously, I can’t take it.

I shake my head and type out my reply.

Me: Rosie, you’re killing me.

Me:And it’s Nathan.

As I wait for her to realize what she said and how it sounded, I lower my left hand and stroke Charles.

He rumbles under my touch. And when I stop—hovering my hand over his ribcage—he twists his neck so he can bump his little orange head against my palm.

“Such a needy boy,” I pretend to complain.

He meows in response.

I look back at the phone screen and wonder if Rosie is lying in bed like I am.

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