Page 91 of Wild Love
It’ll go straight to her head.”
Cora smiles shyly at that answer and returns her gaze back down to her hands. I barely hear her when she says, “Can I have another hug?”
It feels like she reached into my chest and cracked my rib cage right open. I just grunt, not especially trusting myself to speak, as I gather her into my arms from across the console. I squeeze her tight, but she squeezes me tighter.
“I miss my dad every day,” she whispers against my shoulder. “But I’m so glad I have you now.”
Then she grabs her backpack and leaps from the car like she’s being chased. I wipe at my nose and chuckle when I watch her peek over her shoulder with a tiny wave. That hot-pink scrunchie the one spot of color in her outfit.
When she’s gone, I’m stuck driving back to work. Worrying about Cora. And obsessing over Rosie and her white fucking panties.
It’s all too much. I like things orderly. And my life is now full-on chaos.
As I pull up to the office, I can’t help but smile. The old barn has transformed into a really cool space. Everything I envisioned and more. The stone chimney and barn-wood exterior have been preserved, but everything else is shiny and new.
Double-paned windows with black trim. On the side of the building, the sliding doors lead to a sprawling deckfacing the lake. A new front door faces the parking lot, black with an ornate antique knocker and a keyless entry lock. The walkway leading to it is accented with trimmed garden beds. Rosie took it upon herself to plant bulbs for god knows what. Knowing her, she may have planted weeds just to piss me off.
Now, I just need the actual studio. The booth. The sound equipment. And I’m thinking a few tiny house-type cabins so artists can use the space as a retreat.
As I’m envisioning houses with old barn siding just beyond the tree line, my eyes land on a truck I don’t recognize.
Curious, I march in through the open sliding doors. And come to a screeching halt as I’m confronted with a feeling I haven’t known well until recently.
Hot. Sharp. Instant.
Jealousy.
Rosie sits at her desk while some guy in white, paint-splattered coveralls and a backward hat leans against the edge with hearts in his eyes. Practically flexing his biceps and giving her his best-in-show spiel like a big, dumb Labradoodle drooling on her desk.
“Good morning!” I announce my presence with a level of faux friendliness that makes Rosie shoot me a suspicious look.
“Hi?” she greets me with pure confusion.
“Who do we have here?” I march right up to the guy with my hand out, ready to death grip the hell out of his.
He takes it and I fake a smile as we shake hands. “I’m Scotty. Bash sent me up to work on painting some walls.”
“All right, Scott. Bash gave you a rundown? Or do youneed me to give you one?” I edge in front of him, as though I can block Rosie from his view.
He chuckles. “Oh, nah, man. Scott is my last name. Derek is my first. But everyone calls me Scotty.”
Scotty. I almost roll my eyes. What is it with men in this town who introduce themselves using a nickname when they have a perfectly professional-sounding first name?
“Okay, Derek. Do you need a rundown?”
He looks confused, his almost-baby face scrunching up. “Oh, no, I’m good.”
“Okay, great.” I cross my arms and stare at him.
His gaze flits over my shoulder to Rosie, then back to me. “Okay, great,” he repeats.
And then he’s off, walking back out to actually do something he’s supposed to.
“That was entertaining,” Rosie pipes up from behind me. She’s smiling when I turn to face her, but it drops quickly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She turns and starts clicking on her computer. “How was Cora this morning?”
