Page 112 of The Love Losers

“Yes.” She tabs the table. “You’ve just proven yourself worthy. Welcome to the madhouse. By the way, you’ll get a million if you get divorced. That was the deal.”

“I don’t want it.”

Her eyes meet mine, so similar to Mrs. Rosings, so weary. “They always say that. You might feel differently in six months. My brother can be a pain in the ass.”

“I heard you glitter-bombed him once because he stood up for you with some bullies.”

Her mouth hitches up into a genuine smile. “He can be a pain in the ass. Iama pain the ass. There’s a difference.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ANTHONY

I text Pat the snowplow driver about Joy, and he responds with enthusiasm. So I invite him to the wedding. Then I respond to Wilson and tell him that I’ve misplaced my phone but we’d be “overjoyed” to meet them at The Peanut Bar on Thursday night. He responds so quickly I’m impressed with his typing speed—

Have I ever told you how much I love peanuts? I love them as peanut butter, and peanut cookies, and peanut candy, and you name it, I like it. We’ll see you there, man. I can’t wait. I want to show you my ice pack. And when I told Nina we were going, she said she loves playing games. So do they have like, Clue or Checkers or something at the bar, do you think? That would be cool. Anyway. See you soon!

Shaking my head, I forward the message to Nicole, Damien, and Rosie. Then I ask Jake to have lunch with me tomorrow so I can fill him in on everything, and I start revising my original business proposal about The Ware.

I feel…invigorated.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this way about work.

Before Rosie, it had been years since I’d felt this way about anything. A prickle of feeling would break through if I did something that stirred my adrenaline—going on a roller coaster ride, driving fast, or sex—but everything felt muted, like I was experiencing life through a filter. Now, everything is happening at once, and feelings keep washing through me in waves—undiluted and painful in their purity.

I can make this happen.

I can make it happen by myself, without Smith Investments.

I can keep the building and make The Ware. One or both housing developments might move forward with a different map, but I don’t need to play a part in them.

And I want to involve Rosie.

But I still feel…an obligation, so I decide to send the proposal to Simon after I’m finished. We can discuss it tomorrow morning.

By the time a knock lands on my door, it’s dark outside again, although that gives no insight into the time of day. It gets dark at five p.m. at this time of year, so it could be five or ten, for all I know. I glance at the time on my laptop screen and see that it’s eight.

Another knock.

“Come in.”

I know it’s Rosie from the way she opens the door. As if a gust of energy is pushing it open. Something inside of me lifts at the sight of her, radiant in a red sweater dress. She’s not wearing a coat, so presumably she was downstairs for a while, but she’s carrying a takeout bag of fast food.

“Are you okay?” I ask, alarmed, getting to my feet. “They didn’t—”

“Oh, they did,” she says, her eyes full of amusement as she crosses the floor to me and tosses the bag onto my desk. It nearly wipes out my laptop, but I’m surprisingly unfazed by it. “Or atleast your sister did. Your mother was MIA. I figured maybe she went to bed early to plot world domination.”

Then she launches herself at me, and I fall back into the chair, laughing, with Rosie in my lap. Where she belongs. A massive sense of relief engulfs me, because I wasn’t sure she’d really come. Part of me worried she’d have thought better of everything and would be halfway to New York City by now.

“Sorry,” I say into her hair, leaning in to kiss the fragrant side of her neck.

“I don’t mind,” she says as she turns slightly to face me, the perfect curve of her ass rubbing against me. “I expect you’re going to get some kind of inquisition from my brother soon.”

“We can go talk to him now.” I reach up to touch her lips, needing to feel them under the pad of my fingers. Right now, tonight, it feels like I could do anything. Possibilities that once felt like far-off glimmers are now reachable.

“Yeah, no,” she says, her lips stretching into a smile. “We’re not doing that. I want to layer this on him slowly. I already told him I’m not going to New York.”

“Was he upset?” I ask, wrapping my arms more firmly around her, as if that can keep him, or anyone, from taking her from me.

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