Page 48 of The Love Losers

“Rosie and I didn’t actually see anyone out there,” I point out.

Other than the three of us and a man who’s sitting in the far corner of the bar, mowing through a bowl of peanuts, the bar is empty tonight. The Rosie effect has worn off for the time being, or maybe her magic only works when she’s physically present.

Maybe that’s why I can’t finish this damn list.

Maybe that’s why I can’t do a single damned thing without thinking about her and our moment in the warehouse before everything went up in flames.

Leigh texted me this morning, asking about setting up another meeting to discuss our possible business collaboration, and I told her I’d get in touch after Christmas.

She responded thusly:

Of course. But I’d like to get this settled as soon as possible so the proper garments can be acquired.

It’s not her fault that the message repulsed me.

Christmas is on Monday, and the New Year’s Eve party-slash-wedding is on Sunday.

Time is running out.

No, time isgone. There are approximately four grains of sand left in my proverbial hourglass. I need to make a decision, and it has to be the right decision, or I’m not the only one who’ll suffer.

Still, Rosie’s magic hasn’t totally deserted me, because when I think about our dance, we’re not waltzing through a dirty, dark warehouse. We’re waltzing through The Ware. A finished version with clear skylights and plants all around the atrium.

I dreamed of it last night, exactly as I’d envisioned it years ago, when I’d hired an architect to make the drawings thatgot shit on by Simon and then the members of the board I unsuccessfully tried to court.

Rosie has lit a fire in me, and I don’t know how to put it out.

Truthfully, I don’twantto put it out.

It’s like…all the dreams I tucked away throughout my life are finding their way out. They’re asserting themselves loudly.

“What was it like getting brought into the station?” Dom presses, bringing me back to the present. “When that police officer came in on Thursday, I about shit my pants.”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant. As a rule, I’d prefer not to be brought into the police station.”

“I hear you, man,” Dom says. “Loud and clear. I got arrested for public urination once, and it totally ruined my date.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t the urination that did that?”

He cocks his head. “You know, I assumed it was the arrest, but you might have a point.”

I bend my head to the notebook in front of me, which has about fifty bucket list items scratched out—

Learn how to roller blade.

I’d prefer not to fall on my ass in front of Rosie.

Tell Wilson what I really think of him.

That’ll have to wait until after the wedding, which I still haven’t gotten around to inviting him and Nina to. I’d prefer not to do that until I have a bride locked down.

Tell my father what I really think of him.

It’s too late for that, surely.

Join a band.

I have no talent for musical instruments or desire to sing in front of other people.

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