Page 108 of The Love Losers

“Rosie’s family,” she says. “I guess that means you probably are too. Remember that when we want to have a party at Smith House.”

“I will,” I promise as I walk into my bedroom and shut the door.

Damien clears his throat, then says, “The phone prank was clearly Nina, but that doesn’t mean all of it is. We’re still following up on the rival business deal.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this from anyone but you?” I ask. I sit at my desk, where I have the picture Jake sketched of The Ware spread out in front of me. My finger starts tracing the folds of the paper, the spread of the building.

“Because they’re trying to undercut you,” Nicole says with a laugh. “That’s not the kind of effort that rewards honesty.”

No, I suppose not.

“Thank you,” I say. “Please keep me updated.”

“See you Thursday,” Nicole says.

Then she disconnects the line.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ROSIE

When I wake up, the first thing I do is open the present from Anthony. It’s a gorgeous crystal unicorn that was probably unreasonably expensive, and when I perch it in my window, it sends rainbows cascading around my room. My heart feels enormous as I beam at it.

I need to share my admiration, so I hurry into Joy’s room so I can show her the gift, and after we both ooh and aah, we get dressed for the day and head downstairs for coffee and breakfast. It’s only then that we realize it’s past noon.

Declan is outside clearing the driveway, visible through the front windows.

“Let me get us some nice coffee,” Joy says, patting my hand. There’s no sign of Claire in the kitchen, so presumably she’s next door with Jake and Lainey.

We finish our first mug of life-giving coffee, enjoy some cinnamon rolls made by my lovely future-sister-in-law, and start discussing what, exactly, we can do to make tea parties interesting and unique if there’s no psychedelics involved.

We’re still in the thick of brainstorming—breakup parties, birthday parties, baby showers that don’t suck—when the front door opens.

Thirty seconds later, Declan comes into the kitchen, shedding snow even though he always stomps his boots just outside the door.

He grunts at us, and I go ahead and pour him a cup of coffee, because he obviously needs it.

He sits at the table, stewing in a dark silence, until Joy smiles at him and says, “Weren’t the roads nice and clear? What abeautifuljob my man does. I’m tempted to take a photo of the roads and frame it.”

Damn, Joy. Way to go for it.

My brother grunts again.

“Something wrong with your throat?” I ask sweetly.

“I saw footprints outside of your window,” he tells Joy with plenty of accusation in his tone.

“And you know I had a nighttime caller,” she says with a moony smile. “He understands how much I love my romance stories.”

“Breaking into someone’s room is considered romantic?” he says gruffly. “Not much of a manly thing to do, if you ask me.”

“Yes, of course,” she says, lifting her eyebrows. “Role-playing adds a certain thrill. You should try it sometime. I’ll bet that lovely girl of yours would thank you.”

He leaves the room so quickly he nearly spills his coffee all over the floor. But the inquisition doesn’t end there. It continues when Claire gets home, asking for all kinds of details about Joy’s snowplow driver. And then Jake and Lainey come over demanding to hear the same story.

Now, it’s late afternoon, I’m surrounded by people, and Joy and I have made up so many lies about this snowplow-driving, dark-romance-reading hero that I feel like we’ve willed him into existence. Actually, the gusto with which she’s embraced this whole thing makes me wonder if she’s interested in dating again.

Finally, while Joy’s answering the question of how she and her snowplow driver met for the fifth or maybe sixth time—Silver Foxes, an online dating site for senior citizens—my phone buzzes with a message from Mrs. Rosings’s phone.

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