Page 18 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

I quirked an eyebrow at her before I could stop myself.

“I’d allegedly painted all over his new white shoes.”

To my shock, a small hint of a laugh broke from my chest. I paused in front of another painting, this one of the docks. It looked complete, and it made me feel like I was actually there, down to the punny names people loved to christen their boats with.

“That’s the one I was up most of the night working on. I’m donating it to the bookstore to hang in the local author section. It’ll be way better than the blank wall that’s there now. It’s kind of a surprise.”

She liked to talk, but I found I didn’t hate it. Her chatter chipped at the lingering awkwardness between us.

“Bookstore?” We hadn’t had one of those when I was a kid. We’d had a library and a bookstore in Ketchikan we’d call in ourorders to once a month, and someone would go pick them up for us. I was so used to one-day delivery, I’d completely forgotten about how exciting it was to get that package every month.

“Yeah. It opened up about five years ago.” She paused, then added, “We have a book club meeting tonight. You should come.”

“I’ll pass.”

“I could give you a run-down of the plot. It was depressing and boring, so believe me, I’m saving you from reading it. But Max gets annoyed if people don’t actually read the book—”

“Wait.” Her words caught up to me. “Max Eriksson?”

“Yeah,” she said with a bright smile. “He picks the books every month, since it’s his store. I used to read them all, because they’re absolutely brilliant but also super depressing. So now Charlie—your cousin Charlotte—and I trade off most months and fill each other in on the plot, themes, and other emotional reactions. That way we only have to read six heart-wrenching books a year each. If you want in on the arrangement, that would bring it down to four, which to be completely honest, would improve my quality of life greatly.”

“I’m not going,” I said abruptly.

Her smile dropped, but mingling with the local book club was not on my list to get back in Coach’s good graces. And even if it was, Max Eriksson was a pretentious tool I had no desire to hang out with.

All the ease between us disappeared. I edged away from her, refortifying my mental walls.

Get in, do the list, get out.

“I’m going for a long run,” I said. “The apartment is open. I noticed a lot of your … belongings were left behind.”

“Okay, I’ll sneak in and grab some clothes, then.”

Without my permission, my eyes flickered down to her bare legs. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a stepbackward, away from me, and who could blame her? I’d stolen her bed, woke her up half-dressed, turned down her friendly book club invitation, and then checked her out like a creep.

She backed up another step.

“Wait, the stairs—”

But she’d already taken another step backward, and her heel clipped the bottom step. Then, like a slow-motion scene in a movie where you know the inevitable, horrible thing is going to happen and there’s nothing you can do about it, she fell backward and landed sprawled on the stairs with a squeal. The neon shirt flew up around her waist, revealing toned thighs and … Sunflowers by Van Gogh underwear?

For half a beat, we stared at each other.

I held out my hand toward her slowly. “Are you o—?”

“I’m great.” She popped up without my help, and tugged the hem of her shirt down her legs with the dignity of a starlet on the red carpet. As she turned and took the stairs with easy grace, she muttered, “Perfectlygreat.”

Chapter 9

Rosie

Besties Chat

Charlie: Did you finish the book?

Rosie: Last night.

Charlie: And …

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