Page 79 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

Yes, I was a sucker.

Lizzy squealed in protest, so I took Rosie’s sweater peeking out from the top of her bag and wrapped it snuggly around Lizzy. She burrowed completely inside of it, disappearing into the fabric.

Rosie was washing her hands at the kitchen sink, relief spreading across her face. I joined her and hissed when the steaming hot water burned me, which caused her to laugh.

Mom tried to not-so-obviously watch us as I flicked some of the water onto Rosie’s cheek.

She stirred some delicious smelling stew in steady rhythms. “So what brings you here?”

“Rosie’s ceiling caved in.”

“What?” The spoon stopped moving.

“Last night, while I was sleeping.” Rosie dried her red hands on the dish towel next to the sink.

“We were hoping to use your electricity. And maybe your shower? And a couple of guest rooms?” I dashed a glance at Rosie who, with a teasing glint in her eye, mouthed,Was that painful?

I nodded. Yes. Absolutely. Asking for help had never been easy for me.

“Of course,” Mom said. “Rosie, the shower is upstairs, first door on the right.”

Rosie walked past me, snagged her bag, and bounded upstairs without a single glance back. I guess I knew where I stood when it came to choosing between saving me from awkwardness and a hot shower.

Mom motioned for me to take a seat at the dining table, and I realized I’d been staring after Rosie like a besotted alien kitten. Might as well wear a sign on my forehead that said, “I have a crush on Rosie Forrester.”

Mom set a steaming bowl of stew and two buttered biscuits in front of me. My stomach growled loudly. With all the time we spent packing and making phone calls, I hadn’t eaten anything today.

My first bite of the stew was heaven. Tender roast beef, potatoes, and carrots. This was one of my favorite meals, and I hadn’t had it in years. I closed my eyes and savored another bite.

“I’ll get you the honey,” Mom said, sounding pleased. She set it at my elbow, and I wasted no time in pouring it over her homemade biscuits. They were buttery and flaky, and I’d never been able to find anything like them in Montana. And I’d tried.

“We don’t know how long it’s going to take the restoration company to fix the damage to Rosie’s apartments and store,” I said after the quiet had gone on for a few seconds too long. I stared into my bowl, putting together the perfect spoonful of a roast chunk, a potato wedge, and a carrot.

“You can stay here as long as you need. Both of you,” she added, her eyes bright.

“I think Rosie will go to Bennett’s once he gets back in town.”

“Until then, I’ll put her in Lily’s old room.”

Rosie was going to love that.

“We, um, turned your old bedroom into a quilting room”—She winced, but it wasn’t like I’d expected her to keep my bedroom as a shrine to me for so many years—“so you’ll have to sleep out here on the pull-out couch.”

We both turned to look at the threadbare couch in the living room that had been there since I was a child. It was green and fading, sagging in the middle, but my parents rarely got rid of anything.

Except all the furniture in my bedroom. And who could blame them?

“That’s fine. Thank y—”

Mom pushed her chair back with a screech. “What. Is. That?”

I turned to find Lizzy strolling into the kitchen like she owned the place. When she spotted me, she began to whine, as if to let me know she’d been having a very hard time of it.

When had I started speaking cat?

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. It was the lack of sleep making me lose my mind—notany actual softness toward the walking skin bag.

“That is Rosie’s cat,” I said with a sigh. Actually, a double sigh, because I was the sucker that leaned down and pulled her into my lap. Lizzy purred in contentment as she pressed herself closer to me.

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