Page 74 of Wild Love
My eyes flash to the staircase and I desperately hope this isn’t the first Saturday morning Cora decides not to sleep in.
“I mean, yeah. It would have taken me a minute to wrap my head around it, because you both almost feel like family to me. But no, I wouldn’t have been mad.”
“Cool, I’m so glad Ialmostfeel like family,” she deadpans. Then, “So you wouldn’t have felt betrayed?”
I run my hands through my hair, tugging, and then prop them behind my head. “No. I mean, maybe if you guys were sneaking around and not telling me.”
She slaps the counter. “Well, good. There’s your answer.”
It’s more complicated than that. Knowing the work situation Rosie just fled, knowing her financial situation, knowing I’ve hired her with a contract and everything… it feels slimy to go after her.
And as much as I see Willa’s point, I still feel guilty where West is concerned.
“I think there’s a little more to it than me knocking on West’s door and telling him I’m in love with his sister.” The words come out before I can stop them. Before I can think about them. Before I can process them.
“Oh boy. I really wish I could buy tickets for the coming weeks in Rose Hill. Sadly, the ranch is hella busy this time of year. So, I’m going to go hang out with my niece before I have to leave this afternoon. Maybe you should go for a swim or something. Figure your shit out.”
Then she salutes me and walks away. She’s at the base of the staircase, one hand on the wrought-iron banister, when she stops, spins, and marches right back up to me, placing her coffee on the counter.
“I know I tell you that you’re awful and boring all thetime, but I don’t mean it. You’re a good man, Ford. Don’t overthink yourself into unhappiness. Go afterexactlywhat you want for a change. I love you.” She wraps me in a rare hug—one I didn’t know I needed.
And I hug her back. “Thanks, Wils,” I murmur. “I love you too. That’s why you’re the sole beneficiary of my estate and holdings.”
“Fuck yesss.” She chuckles the words and squeezes me tighter. “But don’t die yet, okay? Dying young would break your boring streak.”
The door to the barn-turned-office creaks as I step into the space. Willa suggested a swim, but between the bar in the city, Gramophone, and this place, I feel like I’m drowning. So, working a couple of hours in an office that is finally almost organized is what will make me feel best.
The space has completely transformed over the past several weeks. Rosie wasn’t wrong about Bash. He works efficiently, and he doesn’t get in the way. We’ve had to work from my house for a couple of days here and there, when he’s deep in refurbishing, but things have mostly come together painlessly—despite the constant frown on Bash’s face.
The sliding barn doors have been retrofitted with glass and hung on new tracks. Built-in shelves have been mounted to the walls. New lighting wired. Even the exposed stone fireplace looks like it’s been given new life.
But it’s what’s across from the fireplace that stops me in my tracks. Rosie is fast asleep, curled on her side on theleather couch. She’s tucked her hands under her cheek and pulled her knees up like she might be cold.
I stand there, frozen, wondering what to do next. Deep down, I’m dying to slide in behind her. To curl around her and keep her warm. We could spend this entire Saturday lying together and listening to records.
Realistically, I know better. But it doesn’t keep me from wondering what she’s doing here, sleeping in the office. A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s 7:00 a.m. and not an unreasonable time for her to wake up. So I make my way across the room, the gummy soles of my suede Gazelles quiet on the hardwood floors.
When I sit on the couch’s far cushion, she stirs but doesn’t wake. Her Birkenstocks lie discarded on the floor nearby, and on her feet are the kind of socks you’d use to make a puppet. Gray and white with a red line.
Only Rosie could make socks and sandals cute.
I reach for her, my hand wrapping delicately around her slender ankle. Thumb rubbing against the bone that protrudes there. It takes every ounce of control to not crawl into the crook of this couch and hold her. It would be warm and cozy and completely inappropriate.
I stifle a groan and glance up at her pretty face. Her lashes flutter and her lips curve softly before she rolls onto her back and forces her legs straight into a stretch. One that has her feet pushing down into my leg and her gasping out a startled breath.
Her eyes fly open, and one hand lands on the center of her chest as she regards me with a look of shock. “Fuck me. I was not expecting you to be sitting there.”
“Sorry.” My voice comes out rough, like gravel. “I was trying to wake you up gently. I came to get a few hours of work done.”
Her hands cover her face, and she scrubs it a few times as though trying to get her bearings. “Why are you working on a Saturday?”
“No rest for the wicked.” I continue caressing her ankle, even though it’s now propped on my thigh. “You should know, you slept here.”
Her hands move off her eyes but land on her cheeks, bracketing her face as she stares at me. Clear blue eyes like fucking arrows to my heart.
“Didn’t seem right to sleep in the same room as Ryan.”
I’m hit with an instant sense of relief.
