Page 19 of Wild Love
Rosie Posie is really winning.
Pulling up in front of my favorite spot in town is a balm though. What I need is tea from the Bighorn Bistro. Café byday and farm-to-table restaurant by night. And the best tea ever brewed. No one can compete with Tabitha’s handpicked blends.
The door to the bistro jingles when I tug it open. It smells like warm croissants and rose petals when I walk inside. The interior is an oasis, with leafy green plants, twinkling lights wrapped around wide wood beams, and massive skylights that let in all the light you could want. Long rawedge lumber tables fill the dining area—everything here is family style. Something locals grumbled about when Tabitha first opened, and something they flock to now. It’s quite possibly the only “nice” restaurant in town, but the quality and attention to detail is better than anything I’ve seen in the city.
I doubt Tabitha’s here this morning, but I make a mental note to reach out while I’m in town. She’s a couple of years younger than me, but we played on the volleyball team together in high school and she roamed around with me and my friends in the summer. And like I summoned her with my thoughts, she rounds the corner, wiping her hands on a white apron, dark hair in a messy braid falling out around her face. She even has a smudge of flour on her cheek.
“Rosie!” Her eyes go from tired to lit up when she sees me, and I can’t help but do the same. Tabitha’s the kind of person with whom I can waltz in and pick up exactly where I left off.
We’ve always been kindred spirits, in a way. Both of our families expected us to be the “easy” children, though where West was a little rough-and-tumble, her sister was truly down-and-out. She wasthatsmall-town story.
“Hi, Tabby. Surprise?” I offer a shrug and a small wave. “How’ve you been?”
She huffs out her breath and the loose hairs around her face fly away. “Tired.”
I chuckle. It feels like a normal part of adulthood that we all universally complain about how tired we are. So, I go with it. “I hear that,” I reply, eyes roaming the selection of beautiful pastries behind the glass.
“No. Like I am next-level tired. Remind me to never have a baby.”
My eyes snap up to her face. “A baby?”
“Erika.” She says her sister’s name with a hard look in her eyes, like that alone answers the question. And it does.
“She doing okay?” I feel awkward asking, but not asking seems worse.
“If okay means living in the city, getting knocked up, and constantly leaving a toddler with me while she takes off to do god knows what, then, yeah. She’s fucking fabulous.”
“A toddler?” I know little about small children, but I do know you don’t just up and leave them all the time. But Erika has been struggling for years. Last time I talked to Tabby, she’d paid for her sister’s treatment program herself and had set her up with a safe place to live in the city. My heart hurts to think it may not have worked out.
Tabitha wobbles her head back and forth. “Okay, well, he’s two. That saying about terrible twos is no joke. Luckily three is on the horizon. Do you know they call them threenagers then? Trying to convince myself that sounds better.”
A dry laugh sticks in my throat because I don’t knowwhat else to do. “What about your parents? They don’t help?”
She grimaces, and I recall her mentioning that her parents were thinking of cutting all ties with Erika. My heart hurts even worse now.
“Rosie, you don’t need this drama in your life. You need tea, am I right?”
I can tell Tabitha is trying to change the direction of the conversation, so I go with it. “Yeah. Tea and a croissant. But why don’t we grab a drink sometime when you’re not working or on toddler duty? My treat. You can tell me all your drama and I’ll tell you mine.”
Her entire body sags in relief. “Yeah? I would love that. So much.”
“It’s a date,” I say brightly.
“How long are you in town?”
My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. I’ve been avoiding looking at this reality too closely. Telling myself that after a brief break I’ll be able to head back to the city refreshed. Keeping my blinders on has been a decent strategy so far.
But this morning I answer her before I even think about it—before I can lie to myself or overthink the consequences.
With the stunning view from the bunkhouse in my mind, I say, “Indefinitely.”
Then I glance down at my receipt, realizing I just put a dent in my bank account by simply buying tea and a croissant.
I need to get a job.
The thought hits me—I could get one here, in RoseHill. That’s what a girl with only double digits left in her bank account would do. She’d woman up and go find herself a job.
I decide on the spot that I’ll take a walk down the main drag after this and see if any workplaces in town jump out at me. Any type of job would do really. I’m proud of my education, but I’ve never felt above any sort of employment. I’m a hard worker, and now, more than ever, the draw of a paycheck is my biggest motivator.
