Page 43 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

“Are you okay?” She looked at me too closely for comfort.

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” she said dryly.

I swallowed. It wasn’t Rosie’s fault I couldn’t play hockey or that I didn’t come home for Shiloh’s funeral. But it felt like me versus this whole town sometimes. How could they understand the decisions I’d made when I couldn’t fully understand them myself?

“You have a few minutes? I have something I want to show you.”

“I have nothing but time.” It sounded more bitter than I intended.

She slipped her hand into mine and locked our fingers together.

I didn’t know why I followed Rosie, except that it was almost like I couldn’tnotfollow her. And not just because of the tight grip she had on my hand, or because I’d agreed to be her boyfriend. Rosie Forrester made me want to believe in hope again.

She seemed to sense I needed distraction and spent most of our walk talking about some of the strange characters who hadcome into the shop that morning from the cruise ship, including a family of eight wearing matching tan trench coats—and then the dad singing “The Rose” when he learned Rosie’s name. He ripped off his trench coat at one point to reveal a T-shirt that saidAlaskans know how to chill.

“It happens more often than you might think,” she said.

“People ripping off their trench coats?”

“Yes. All the time. It’s like a trench coat strip-club in there.”

“That doesn’t sound disturbing at all.”

“As long as they all have punny t-shirts on underneath, I’m cool with it. Helps pass the time. And the serenade wasn’t as bad as some. He had a smooth baritone.”

I laughed, surprised to realize I didn’t feel quite as bleak as I had moments before. “What about ‘Kissed by a Rose’? Do you get that one a lot?”

“That’s the most popular option when it comes to my name. They all think they’re clever, too, like they’re the first person to make the connection.”

“Is your legal name Rose?”

“Yeah. My brothers started calling me Rosie when I was a baby, and it stuck.”

“Rosie fits.” My breathing was coming easier now, and when I exhaled, it felt like some of the stress from my lunch went with it. How long had Dad been holding onto that question for?

Everyone had to be wondering. I’d been avoiding Hudson’s calls and texts since the funeral, not sure how to face him. Hudson had even been living less than thirty minutes away from me for the last couple of months, taking care of Shiloh’s wife, Amelia, and their daughter Quinn. He was giving me space—something he knew me well enough to know I needed. Or he was avoiding me because I was the tool who skipped his brother’s funeral.

Shiloh would never have missed mine if our roles were reversed.

If only they were reversed.

Rosie’s soft hand squeezed mine and brought me back to the present. We turned onto the dirt road that wound behind the high school and stopped at the old baseball field. Dust was kicked up as people in baseball caps and orange shirts played catch and casually talked with one another. I didn’t recognize most of them, but Charlie spotted me and waved. She’d pulled her hair back into a long ponytail that swung from the back of her hat as she jogged over, her gaze zeroed in on our held hands.

She pulled me into a hug first, then Rosie. “So …” Charlie motioned toward our hands.

“Oh.” Rosie laughed and rested her head on my bicep, bringing her coconut-scented hair closer to my nose. “Charlie, meet Wickham.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, my gosh. Rosie.”

“He agreed to it.”

“What’s a Wickham?” I asked.

“The rake Elizabeth Bennet falls for,” Rosie said.

Rake?I mouthed to Charlie, who sighed, but was also fighting back a smile.

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