Page 30 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

At that, I freeze.

I know that our phones eavesdrop on our conversations because I’ve said things like,“Maybe I should start drinking energy drinks,”in casual conversation only later to be bombarded with ads for Red Bull every time I go on social media.

But there isno wayBooker could’ve heard me say this exact thing to my friends before I left for the bus.

“You good?” He gives me a quizzical look.

“Yeah. Yep. All good.” I give him a weak thumbs-up, and then, before I can decide if this is a sign from the universe, I say, “Pickleball injury.”

He squints, studying me. “Right. I should head out... But I’ll swing by in the morning to finish your tour,” he says. “That’ll give you some time to unpack and everything.”

“Sounds good.” I nod. “Go forth and heal.”

He smirks again, and after only a short time of knowing him, I’ve already decided it’s a trademark I could get used to.

He sticks his hand out toward me. “It was good to meet you, Rosie.”

I stare at it a beat too long, then slowly slip my hand in his. He squeezes it, and all I can think is that Connie was right.

I’m gooey on the inside, and I don’t want to let go. Ever.

Chapter 8

Booker’s hand is still wrapped around mine when out the front window I see a golf cart come screaming down the sidewalk and skid to a stop directly in front of the cottage.

A blond girl (definitelyyounger than me) jumps out, a wide smile on her face.

I drop Booker’s hand. “Is that—?”

He opens the front door, cutting me off midsentence. “Afternoon, Daisy!”

“Why, Booker Hayes,” she says, and I instantly detect another Southern accent because it comes out like“Whah, Book-uh Haize.”North Carolina. If I had to peg it, I’d say Charlotte. Odd for Wisconsin. “Well, aren’t you just as pretty as a pie supper?” She smiles in my direction but reaches for Booker, pulling him into a tight hug.

I make a mental note to tease him for this later.

Tan-skinned Daisy is wearing white denim cut-off shorts and a tight white tank top underneath a red gingham button-down knotted at the waist. She looks like a Fourth of July picnic table.

“Daisy, this is Rosie,” Booker says. “Your new housemate.”

Daisy looks at me, throws her hands in the air, and lets out a high-pitched scream. And I never thought I was the Elphaba before, but in this situation, I am clearly not the Glinda. “Well, goodnessgracious! Finally! I’ve been here all by myself forweeks!”She throws her arms around me and hugs me almost as tightly as she hugged Booker. She smells like strawberries. “Did this absolutedreamboat give you a tour?”

“The absolute dreamboat did,” I say mid-hug, tossing Booker a look over Daisy’s shoulder.

He seems amused by this whole fish-out-of-water scenario playing out in front of him.

Daisy gives a final squeeze, then releases me and pulls back. “Perfect. You’re going toloveit here.” She talks with her hands, all kinds of kinetic energy. “All the residents are so adorable and kind. Well, most of ’em. Arthur is salty, but that’s only because his sweet Annie passed away and he’s completely lost without her, and Belinda probably won’t like you because you’re pretty and she likes to be the most beautiful woman in every room. She really likes me, which I’m only just this second realizing is both a complimentandan insult.” Her smile is wide. “I’m desperate for a friend my age! Do you like to go out? There’s this great bar that’s mostly locals—I go there almost every weekend.” She looks at Booker. “You should come too, Booker. And maybe bring some of the other guys—Louie, maybe?” Back to me: “It’d be fun?”

I scrunch my face. “I’m not really into the bar scene. Or... going out.”

She scrunches her face right back at me, waving a hand in my general direction. “Well, we’ll work on that.” Daisy wraps her arm around me. “I’ll show you around your new home.” She looks at Booker and does a little curtsy. “You’re dismissed, handsome.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He mock salutes, then glances at me. “See you tomorrow.”

I don’t look away, mostly because I don’t feel like I can. But also because I don’t want to.

There’s something magnetic and mesmerizing about him, something I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt before.

He lingers for a few extra moments, then backs away, gets into the golf cart, and drives off, leaving me staring after him like I’m a puppy whose person just rode off into the sunset without her.

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