Page 381 of The Winslow Brothers

“Hi, my name is Rachel Rose, and I’m a weirdo,” she whispers quietly through an embarrassed giggle. When I look up to meet her eyes, she cringes. Though, I don’t know why she’s cringing. This is the most adorable, intriguing fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Do you do this often?”

“When I was a kid? Yes,” she answers with a little shrug of her bare shoulder. “But for the past several years? No. Not at all.”

I stare down at her skin again, tracing the words again with my finger, and smile. “This is beautiful.”

“You think so?” Her voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear it.

“I know so,” I respond and mean every word. And I can’t stop myself from wondering what these words mean to her.

What inspired her to write them? What hope has bloomed? And do I have anything to do with it?

“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks, and her voice is still so quiet, so vulnerable, that I give her my full attention without even thinking about it.

“Always.”

“I love the idea of writing a novel, but if I had a choice, I would write poetry.”

“And who says you don’t have a choice?”

She shrugs. “The great Nadine Rose didn’t write poetry.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask about Nadine Rose,” I respond and reach out to brush a piece of hair out of her face. “I asked about the great Rachel Rose.”

She rolls her eyes and snorts. Like my saying the great Rachel Rose doesn’t apply. Doesn’t mean anything.

“I already knew your words were powerful,” I tell her. “I’ve seen it in the notes you write on my students’ essays. I’ve also caught a few glimpses of some of your grad school papers that you maybe didn’t want me to read, but I accidentally read them.”

“What?”she questions on a shocked laugh. “When have you been reading my papers?”

“Don’t be mad, but you’ve been saving them in my Drive, and I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Ty!” she exclaims and smacks a playful hand to my chest. “You little sneak!”

“I’m sorry?” I respond, though, I’m not sorry at all. Rachel’s mind intrigues me endlessly.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” she chastises, though her smiling mouth is the opposite of her words.

“Well, I am. To a point. I mean, it’s not my fault you’re really fucking intriguing. And brilliant.”

Her gaze turns so soft it makes a little ache form inside my chest. “You think I’m brilliant?”

“Yes. Of course I do.” I rub my thumb across the words she drew on her skin. “And these words right here are proof that I’m right.”

She just stares down at where my hand meets her thigh.

“You should write more, Rachel,” I whisper toward her and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Not because I think you should live up to some kind of expectations, but because I think you’re really talented.”

She starts to open her mouth but quickly closes it.

And I decide not to push the conversation further.

I said what I needed to say. I said what I think she deserved to hear.

“By the way, I hope you’re hungry,” I add, purposely changing the subject as I get off the bed. “Because I ordered just about everything off the room service menu. They should be here shortly.”

She snorts. “You’re all about the everything this week, aren’t you?”

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