Page 95 of Wild Love
“I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“Probably not. Plus, if someone was looking at your butt, Ford might kill them.”
That draws a sad little chuckle as the sounds of her righting herself in a fresh set of clothes fill the otherwise empty bathroom.
“Rosie?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s just… there’s alotof blood. Are you sure I’m okay?”
I lean against a sink and glance over my nails, trying not to laugh. Because it’s not funny. But it is a walk down memory lane. “Oh yeah. The first couple of days are often quite heavy.”
“How can you just… talk about this so casually?”
I try not to think about Ford. Showers. Dark towels There’s a man who talks about it casually. “Well, when it happens for one week out of every month, it eventually loses its shock value.”
“Oh my god. How am I going to handle having thisevery month? It’s so awful.”
“Don’t fret, little storm cloud. It’s not so bad. I’ll show you more when we get home.”
“Okay,” she says quietly before the sound of the toilet flushing fills the space.
When she comes out, she looks embarrassed as hell.
She reminds me so much of Ford that it’s hard not to smile.
“Come here.” I open my arms, and she shuffles forward. Her face drops against my chest and her arms go around my waist as I envelop her in a hug.
“Thank you, Rosie.”
I realize she probably thought her mom would be here for this occasion, and that just makes me squeeze her harder.
“Of course. Told you I’d always be here.”
“Can I skip the rest of the day?”
“Hell yeah. I’ll sign you out. Everyone at the office thinks I’m Mrs. Grant anyway.”
She laughs as she pulls away. “Would you ever want to be?”
My brows furrow. “Be what?”
“Mrs. Grant?”
Oh god.The way kids put you on the spot is so brutal.
I deflect with a wink and say, “Who wouldn’t?”
Luckily, that satisfies her because she nods, slips her hand into mine, and doesn’t let go as we walk out into the hallway.
“I’ll take you home. But first, we’ll make the stop that my mom made with me the day I got my period. I always told myself I’d do it with my daughter when her big day came.”
We both know I’m not her mom. But neither of us points it out.
In fact, all she does is give my hand a squeeze.
When we walk into Ford’s house after our short shopping excursion, he’s sitting at the kitchen counter staring at his laptop screen, pretending to work.
