Page 23 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Perfect.” She claps her hands together. “Thenyoucan be on Rosie duty.”

Rosie duty? Is this going to be a permanent assignment or...?

“Take her over to the staff cottages—she’s in Dahlia.” She turns her attention back to me. “The on-site staff live in the same little pod, two staff members to each cottage. They’re all named after flowers. The cottages, not the staff members.” She giggles. “You’ll be living with our events coordinator, Daisy.” She scrunches her nose. “Well, shoot. This staff memberisnamed after a flower.” Then her eyes go wide, as if she’s just realized. “Daisy and Rosie!Twoflowers! It’s practically perfect.”

“In every way,” I answer in a British accent, finishing theMary Poppinslyric that I’m sure no one will catch on to.

Connie giggles again, and I decide she’s a character I’d like to play someday.

“Uh, I’m so sorry. Mrs. Spencer?” the girl calls out again, this time a little more desperately as she’s trying to help an older man wearing a sun visor and a scowl.

“I have to run, but we’ll have your suitcase delivered to your cottage, and tomorrow we’ll get you squared away, okay?” She starts walking away, then calls back over her shoulder, “Booker, tell her about family dinner!”

I turn back to Booker.

He looks at me.

I wince dramatically. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

“Guess so,” he says. “Should be entertaining.”

“Or annoying,” I say.

He raises a brow.

“Give it a day.”

He shakes his head. “Nah. You’re harmless. Honestly, a breath of fresh air.”

Me? A breath of fresh air?

He starts back in the direction of the door but makes a turn toward the elevator. “We’ll go downstairs first. Are you into fitness?”

I think about this. He probably likes women who hike trails and play mixed doubles... whatever they are. Which is probably why I blurt out, “Oh yeah. I’mveryinto fitness. I’m like... Ms. Peloton.”

The elevator opens, and he steps inside.

The words “That’s a lie” splutter out. I always make things sound better than they are—I know this about myself, and I hate it—but I’m strangely okay with the truth being enough at this moment. Here, I don’t have to pretend. At the end of the summer, I’ll never see any of these people again.

A strange feeling overwhelms me at that realization. I’m free here. I can be whoever I want to be. I can workshop a new personality for myself.

Or what if I was just myself?

I cling to that thought with both hands.

But then a new thought slips in its place—I’m not sure I know who that is anymore.

I meet his eyes. “I’m not into fitness. Or golf. I don’t really understand it. Or pickleball.”

“It’s the fastest growing sport in America,” he offers. “It’s pretty popular and easy to get the hang of. It’s like oversized Ping-Pong. You might like it.”

“Eh... I don’t think I will.”

“Have you ever played?”

“Not once.”

“Then how do you know you won’t like it?” The elevator doors start to close, and he lifts a hand to stop them. They brake and reopen. He leans his head out of the elevator because I’m still standing in the hallway, unsure I want to be in such a small space with him. “Are you going to stand out there, or are we going to tour this place?”

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