Page 98 of Rosie and the Beast Next Door

Shrubs of Fog.

There was no world in which I was going to read this book, but he looked so excited to give it to me. “It’s my personal copy. I can get it back from you at book club.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking it from him. Holy cow that was heavy. If he kept carrying books like this around, he could lift me in no time.

Well, not me.

But some other very lucky girl.

The Savages’ house wasdark when I walked inside, but I could hear the television. I poked my head into the living room to find Dylan sitting on the couch, watching the superhero moviewith the non-sexy hand flex. When he saw me, he turned the volume down.

I crawled into his lap without saying a word, and tucked myself into his chest, relief flooding me at seeing him again.

“Cold?” he murmured against my hair.

I nodded, even though I really wasn’t that cold. He grabbed a soft, worn quilt and wrapped it around me.

“You left before the finals were over.” I tilted my head to look up at him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch it anymore.”

I nodded and gave into the urge to tuck my face into my favorite spot right up next to his neck. I felt a sharp intake of his breath. Was he as affected by me as I was by him?

“What are we doing here?” I asked, my lips grazing his neck.

He exhaled on a shudder.

“Getting you warm,” he said a little too lightly. I lost my courage to ask what he meant by what he’d said in his video. But did we have to figure out what was fake and what wasn’t tonight? Or could I let myself remain wrapped up in his arms and make this a future-Rosie problem to solve?

Tonight had been a lot already—my brothers’ surprise visit, realizing I could have a chance with Max and turning him down, and the fight with my dad, which I couldn’t even think about without tearing up. I’d reach out to him tomorrow with my tips, and we could work through whatever that was. Perhaps he’d had as hard a day as me. It was time we talked and got to the bottom of what his plan going forward was.

I must have fallen asleep in Dylan’s arms, because my next awareness was him gently laying me down on the guest bed. He went to unwind my arms from around his neck, but I held him even tighter.

“Rosie,” he protested, his voice gravelly.

“Stay,” I pleaded. “Just a little longer.”

He paused, and I knew it was against his better judgment that he slowly lay on the bed next to me. He wrapped his arms around my middle and I curled into him.

Was this how it felt to be wholly and completely cared for? Safe?

“Why are you crying?” he asked, his thumb brushing against my wet cheek. Tears dripped from the bridge of my nose and onto the pillow.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice watery. I rolled away from him, and his arm went around my waist and pulled me even closer.

“I overheard your conversation with your dad,” he whispered into my hair.

I stilled and embarrassment rolled through me. It was one thing to have experienced the conversation myself and another to know that someone else was witness to it too. “He’s been stressed,” I said, not understanding why I was defending my dad, but still feeling compelled to do so. “He doesn’t usually talk to me like that.”

Dylan’s fingers scratched at my scalp and then ran through my hair, over and over, until the tenseness began to release from my shoulders. “You deserve better than that.”

“Maybe. But what if that’s all I can get from him?”

“Then he doesn’t deserve to get any part of you,” he said gently but still firmly. He might have been right, but what if I set boundaries, and Dad left because of it? What if my fears were realized, and he was only around to use me?

Chapter 37

Dylan

---