Page 40 of Wild Love
Now I don’t have an excuse. I live here. And technically, I’m a dad.
I rake a hand through my hair, mussing it further. “Okay, tell him fine. Tell him that?—”
Rosie opens her mouth to speak, but then pulls her phone away from her ear to look at the screen. “He said, ‘See you tonight at seven,’ and then hung up on me.”
“Who is he?”
“Sebastian Rousseau.”
“Do I know him?”
“Nah. He moved here a while back. He’s an airtanker pilot. Came to town to fight a bushfire and loved it too much to leave. He works summers and picks up construction gigs when it’s not fire season. He’s kinda scary. But also nice.”
“Why’s he scary?”
“Cause he’s a grumpy asshole.”
“You tell me I’m a grumpy asshole.”
“Well, next to Bash, you’re a teddy bear.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, call him back and tell him I can’t do it tonight. I need time to find someone to watch Cora. I’m not leaving her alone when she just got here.”
Rosie tosses her phone down on her desk. “I’ll hang with her.”
“You’re going to spend a Thursday night hanging out with a twelve-year-old?”
“Why not? Is it somehow more badass when you do it?”
I bristle. I’m trying to play it cool, but I was looking forward to hanging out with her tonight. While stressing about Rosie on my drive back, I was also brainstorming dinner options.
“I told her we’d cook over the fire again.”
“I’ll ply her with pizza and a chick flick. She’s young. She’ll bounce back. Take one for the team, so we don’t have to work in a place that smells like mold. You’re not in the city anymore, Dorothy. Good contractors are not a dime a dozen. You can click your five-hundred-dollar Frye boots together all you want—these guys don’t just pop up out of nowhere.”
I give her a dry glare and walk over to my desk. As I toss my phone and planner down, a sheet lifts as the air wafts beneath it.
I pick it up and note the messy, loopy scrawl that fills the page. When my eyes catch on the date, I realize what I’m holding. The torn edge, the pale gray lines. Eighteen-year-old Rosie sat in my passenger seat writing on this exact page.
I turn to look at her, and her eyes are already on me.
Amusement twists her lips.
“Did you rip this out of your journal?”
“Sure did.” She crosses her legs, tall, black leather boots ending just below her knee.
“Why?”
“Because we touched on this exact entry the other night. You gonna read it? Or just stand here looking for something to disagree with me about? You’ll love it. I was horribly malicious and judgmental as a teenager. Like, even I’m horrified by my own word choices.”
I drop my eyes to the paper and read the first lines.
Dear Diary,
Travis Lynch is a piece of human garbage.
I glance at Rosie. “You sure I’m allowed to read it?”
