Page 51 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

“You can set it down right here. No, not against the wall!” She sounded panicked, and out of instinct, I opened my eyes.

Her hands flew over my eyes, bringing her close enough to nearly distract me from the colorful mural on her wall. She smelled like peppermint and something light and airy. Her loose nightshirt brushed against my exposed skin, making me more aware of every muscle group in my chest and stomach than ever before.

“What did you see?” she demanded.

“The ocean.”

She groaned. “What else?”

“A mermaid … cat? I’m not quite sure.”

Her heavy sigh blew against my clavicle. “It’s a cat,” she confirmed. “Okay, what you’re about to see might change your perception of me … in a bad way.”

“I doubt that.” But I didn’t mind letting her linger close for another minute, or much, much longer. As long as I could get. Breathing her in, feeling her so casually pressed against me.

“Trust me.” She lowered her hands, revealing a wall filled with whimsy. There was no other word for it. The flow of the ocean waves, the bubbles rising up to mingle with foam, the dimension of the different blues, the way it felt like I’d entered a differentworld. A world with mermaid cats and octopuses dressed in fancy attire, a different type of dress shoe for every tentacle.

It entranced me. I knew nothing about art. But I was struck by the realism of the ocean, blended with the fantastical nature of the sea creatures, which appeared more cartoony in style, especially with their smiles and costumes and knowing eyes.

“Now I really want to trade back,” I breathed out. I could spend hours looking at all the intricate details of this mural.

She laughed nervously. “Too late. No take-backs.” Rosie wrung her hands in front of her, but I sensed she had no idea she was even doing it. “But if you could do me a favor and never tell a soul about this, that would be great.”

“Why don’t you want anyone to know?” I knelt down to open the mattress box. Sure enough, a shrink- wrapped mattress was rolled inside of it like a tube.

“It’s not my usual, serious style. It took me a long time to get people to take my art seriously. This is the kind of artwork they expect Rosie Forrester to do. And it’s kind of deflating that they’re right.”

“To be so predictable?” In some ways, I could get that. There was a sweet spot on the ice, where I needed to be predictable enough that my teammates could anticipate my next move and where they’d need to be, but I also needed to keep the other team on their toes, guessing what I might do next.

She retrieved a small pair of scissors from a paint-splattered nightstand, and I cut the thick plastic open. It was like opening a can of biscuits at first, but the mattress then unfurled anti-climatically.

“It’s supposed to fluff up over the next couple of days,” She poked at it. Her right eye was watery, and she was doing something weird where she was winking it closed for a few seconds at a time. “And yes, I don’t want to be predictable. I don’t want to be Rosie, who always screws up and is constantlygetting sent to the station and doesn’t take anything seriously, even her art.”

“This is why the door was locked!”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t question it while you lived here.” Her eyelashes fluttered, and she looked upward as she placed her fingers near the corner of her eye, then yanked her hand back.

“What’s going on with your eye?”

“I think I have an eyelash in it,” she said. “And I hate touching my eye. I keep hoping I can blink it out.”

“Let me see.”

She shook her head, but I motioned her close to me, not lifting my stare until she took a reluctant step forward. “It’s fine.”

“I happen to be an expert eyelash remover. Tip your head back and look up.”

She held her breath but did as I asked. I could see the dark eyelash right away, near the corner of her eye. As gently as I could, I used my pinkie finger to slide it away from her eye and onto the very top of her cheeks. I plucked it away and held it in front of her mouth.

“Make a wish.” It was something my mom had said to me when I was a kid. I didn’t even remember how that had started.

She blew on my fingers, and I released the eyelash. For a moment, time stopped. The world around us disappeared, and all of me was focused on Rosie watching me.

This time, there was no mistaking the moment her gaze swept over me, landing on my tattooed shoulder. Her fingers rose to graze the puck with Shiloh’s birthday written in it, but then she ripped her hand away just as quickly. We could both see how hard my heart was beating in the rise and fall of my left pec. I wanted to kiss Rosie Forrester more than I’d ever wanted to kiss anyone in my life.

She met my gaze again and caught her breath at what she saw there. I waited a beat, waited for her to pull away, and when she didn’t, I lowered my mouth.

And caught her ear.

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