Page 128 of The Love Losers

Then she kisses my cheek and turns to them. “Can we go now? I just added something new to my bucket list.”

“How long is it going to be?” I ask with a grin.

“Endless. Especially now that I get to be Chief Bucket List Head Honcho at The Ware when we open.”

“Will that be your official title?”

She taps her chin with a finger. “How about Mrs. Rosie Rosings Smith, Chief Bucket List Head Honcho at the Ware?”

“I love it,” I say, pressing her hand to my chest. “I love—”

“Yeah, we’re leaving,” Nicole says.

“We’ll see you at the wedding,” Damien adds. “If we hear anything else, we’ll let you know.”

I nod at them, but I don’t follow them out. There’s something special about this place. This booth where we first connected.

Looking at Rosie, I say, “I think maybe the curse is broken.”

She laughs. “You think there really was a curse?”

“It felt like one,” I tell her, smiling. “Maybe it was tied to that tree.”

“It’s a fanciful thought, but it turns out I’m fanciful these days.”

“Joy would agree with you. She said she felt a dark force leaving after it came down. Do you think your mother felt it too?”

I think about the lightness I felt after the tree finally came down—and the closeness I’ve felt with my mom and Emma lately. I nod slowly. “Yeah, I do. But don’t try to find Husband Number Four for her.”

She laughs. “Why not? You know I like a challenge.”

“You do,” I say, brushing my fingers over her cheek. “Awakening statues and staging paint battles and setting up other people’s businesses. You’re some woman, Rosie. And I’m the luckiest man alive to have you wearing my ring.”

She takes my hand and kisses it on the knuckles, just like I’ve done to her any number of times. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She glances around, pretending to make sure no one’s listening in. “I’m pretty lucky, too.”

I lean in and kiss her, softly, quickly, because I don’t want Dom to start tapping on glasses or ringing bells. “Let’s get out of here and get bucket list-ing.”

“Oh, I like it as a verb.”

I slide out of the booth and help her up. We head for the door like that, hand in hand, to grab our coats from the rack.

But Dom waves us down from behind the bar. There are still a few people scattered here and there, and the way they’re sneaking covert glances at us suggests that our confrontationwith Nina and Wilson didn’t go unnoticed. But I feel no self-consciousness over that. No worry about the board finding out. It doesn’t matter if they find out.

We walk over to him, and he scratches his head. “Your friends left quickly. Did I screw up, man? The wine’s a little old, but—”

“How old?” I ask out of curiosity.

“I don’t know, maybe four months? Five?”

“I’ll make sure the owner gets some new bottles, but you’ve got to throw those out.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I know you’re right, man. But she asked for it, and I panicked, and now they left in a hurry. I’m sorry if I messed things up for you, Rosie. I heard what that guy was saying about her being your best friend.”

“My best friend wouldn’t order wine in the Peanut Bar,” Rosie says with a laugh. “Now, show us that sign you had made for Gene.”

He beams at us as he circles around the bar and leads the way to Gene’s booth.

Gene’s sitting there in a beanie tonight, wonder of wonders, with a poorly rendered reindeer on it. He gives us a nod and asks me, “Did you pull out the roots, son?”

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