Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

With no time to explain, I turn and shove her as hard as I can.

Presley yells something as she stumbles back, falling onto the sidewalk.

I feel a little bad. But she’s out of the way.

Safe.

I try to follow her.

Try to get out of the way.

But then the sound of metal meeting metal fills the air, and I know I’m out of time.

I have one moment to feel fear.

Then all I feel is pain.

SEVENTY-SEVEN

Nathan: How do you feel about Greek food?

Nathan: I can order ahead of time if you let me know when you think you’ll be done.

Nathan: Or I can be patient and wait for you to tell me what you’re in the mood for.

Nathan: Okay, fine, I’ll leave you alone so you can finish working, but Charles already knows his order.

SEVENTY-EIGHT

NATE

I drum my fingers against the couch armrest.

It’s still early. Not quite the time we agreed to meet. But late enough that Rosie should be done with her event by now.

I drum my fingers again.

Maybe I should just order food.

Another moment ticks by.

I pick up the remote and turn off the TV. I’m not watching it anyway.

I stand and start to pace.

I already put the mixing bowls and all the stuff we’ll need for marshmallows on the counter. But now, as I think about it, maybe it’s a stupid idea. Rosie literally spends all day cooking, and then I ask her to come over and do more…

I’m an asshole.

My feet change direction, and I head into the kitchen.

I’ll put everything away, and if she really wants to make them, then I can take everything back out.

My fingers wrap around the rim of a mixing bowl when my phone vibrates with a call.

Thinking it’s Rosie, I drop my hold of the bowl and yank my phone out.

It’s not a number I have saved in my phone.