Page 81 of The Love Losers

Her expression shifts, her lips quivering, and for a second I’m filled with the horror of having potentially made my strong, iron-spined mother cry. Then she takes my hand again and squeezes it. “There you go, my boy, making me proud again.”

Rosie insiststhat we go Christmas shopping before our picnic, because she still needs to find something for Claire and I require gifts for my mother and Emma. So we do, and even though I usually loathe shopping almost as much as I do staff meetings, I have fun. Rosie befriends the shopkeepers, gets us deals, and finds out the back-story for each and every purchase. It’s a completely different experience from my usual approach ofget it done.

Afterward, she and I head out to the rose garden with the basket my mother’s cook prepared for us. She had the foresight to include a couple of wool blankets with the basket, thank God. I wrap both of them around Rosie, but it doesn’t seem like enough to protect her from the weather. A frigid breeze keeps whistling around the wall partially closing off the rose garden from the rest of the estate.

I’m guessing this isn’t how Rosie imagined her picnic. It’s definitely not how I imagined giving her the ring today.

“Let’s go back to the house,” I say. “We can eat in there.”

“No way.” She gives me an amused glance. There’s something beneath it, though. A disquiet I’ve noticed since she arrived in her Jeep. “It’s not every day I get to be in a real rose garden. I was promised my bucket list picnic, and I intend to have it.”

“Most of the bushes are covered with burlap. It’s not exactly scenic.”

She glances at me, smiling. “But there are a few roses in bloom in the middle of winter. That’s magical, and you can’t convince me otherwise with any talk of varietals or a warm winter. But I have to say…you look pretty cold.” She opens her blanket, unfurling it as if it’s a bird’s wing. “Why don’t you come in here and warm me up, big guy?”’

My mouth gets dry, and I push toward her, letting her engulf me in the blanket cocoon before I tug her onto my lap and adjust the blankets to cover both of us. She instantly leans back into me. “I spent all of yesterday morning in your lap. I think I could get used to this.”

“Good.” I wrap her up in my arms, finding a thread of perfect in the moment. “I like having you in my lap. I think it should be a daily occurrence. You know, there’s hot chocolate in that basket.”

She leans forward to open it, everything in me arresting at the sight, but then she stops and glances at me over her shoulder. “I have something for you.” A smile pushes across her face, like the sun through the clouds. “Fair warning. It’s kind of dumb. But you know…you’re the man who has everything.”

“Until very recently, I had nothing.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes, but it fades quickly, and I sense worry bubbling beneath it.

Maybe I shouldn’t have put the ring in the basket.

Maybe this is too much, too fast.

Oh, hell, it’s definitely too much, too fast.

But then she pulls a small package from her purse. It’s wrapped in green paper, and I give it a shake as I take it from her, feeling excitement wrap around my disquiet. I can’t remember the last time I was excited by a present. Probablywhen I was a little kid, brought to the stables to meet Sweetcheeks the First.

“Should I open it now?”

“I don’t know, Rule Breaker. Christmas is in less than twenty-four hours. Should you?”

She shifts in my lap, moving her legs so she’s straddling me, one thigh on either side of my legs, and my dick instantly starts to get hard. She presses into it, giving me a mischievous look that only makes it harder. “You really are going to kill me.”

“Open your present first. I want you to die happy.”

“That’s not what’ll make me die happy,” I say, but she just watches me, waiting. And even though I usually don’t like opening gifts in front of the person who gave them to me, I don’t feel the usual thrumming of self-consciousness with her—the stiff behavior that comes from being uncomfortable. I never have.

I tear the wrapping paper open.

There’s a folded rectangle of thick paper, and on top of it, a little music box—the kind with the metal tabs visible. I glance up at her and then turn the crank, grinning when “Time After Time” starts playing.

“How’d you know?” I ask.

Then I set it down, still playing the song, and wrap my arms around her, blankets and all, and stand up. She laughs in delight as I set her on her feet and start waltzing her to the music. The blankets are still wrapped around her, whipping in the wind. And when the music stops, I pull her to me for a kiss. Her lips are cold against mine, and there’s something desperate about her kiss as she raises her hands to the collar of my coat and uses it to pull me closer.

I wrap my arms around her and kiss her back, trying to assure myself that this gift, this kiss, means she doesn’t regretyesterday, and not that she’s trying to break the news to me gently.

She’s the one who pulls away.

“The paper,” she says, panting slightly, and I stoop to retrieve it, unfolding it as I stand.

My lips part as I realize what I’m holding. “Rosie.”

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