Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

ROSALYN

“Nathan, what’s the address here?” I call across to the kitchen.

“What for?”

I look up from my place on the couch. “Kidnap much?”

He smiles as he pours two cups of coffee at the island, and I’m grateful we’re past the days of Nathan telling me I can’t have caffeine.

“I’m ordering groceries,” I explain.

“Beautiful, I told you I’d get you whatever you want.”

There he goes. Using that damn nickname.

“It’s not for me.” I focus on the conversation. “I need to do a bunch of prep today for that fundraiser tomorrow night.” I remind him of the conversation we had last night.

He hums. “Was everything you need on that menu spreadsheet?”

My mouth opens and closes. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nathan sets the coffee carafe down and looks at me. “I sent the girls to the store with the list.” He glances at the clock on one of his ovens. “They should be here any minute.”

I look at my laptop, sitting on the cushion beside me. “That spreadsheet is on my laptop. It’s password protected.” I’m saying this mostly to myself. Because the laptop is also password protected.

“If there was something else you needed, we can order it.” Heignores the wholebreaking into my laptopthing. “And they’re both good in the kitchen, so they can help you, since Presley is out of town visiting her mom.”

“Nathan Waller.” Using his full name gets his attention. “Who are these girls you’re talking about? And why are you talking tomyPresley?”

“Rosie Posie.” He fights a smile as he carries both coffees toward the living room. “Presley called me to see how you were doing because she doesn’t trust you to tell her the truth.” He lifts an eyebrow at me, and I don’t bother responding. “And the girls”—there’s a knock on the door—“are here.”

He turns back around and deposits the mugs on the island.

“Nathan,” I hiss as I climb to my feet. “I’m not dressed for company.”

“You look perfect,” he says without even looking at me.

“I look like a troll,” I grumble under my breath. And Nathan smothers a laugh.

I’m wearing a pair of black leggings under my ankle brace, which is fine. But my soft, no-padding bralette and strappy gray tank top are not company appropriate. My girls require a lot more support if they’re going to be around other people.

Not to mention, I’ve had zero beauty routine, beyond using Nathan’s deodorant, since I got here.

I watch Nathan’s ass as he walks toward the door in another pair of sweatpants, and I have to think those aren’t for company either.

Freaking perfect Nathan.

I’ve never felt more comfortable around anyone before in my life. But I’ve also never felt more possessive.

I reach up and tighten my ponytail, thankful I’ve at least showered in the last twenty-four hours.

Nathan opens the door, and I squeeze the handles of my crutches, prepared to be confronted by beautiful women in business suits or dresses or something. But that’s not who enters.

“Mama Ruth. Smidge.” Nathan holds his arms out. “You two are the literal best.”

A woman in her sixties, dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a BitersT-shirt, steps into the condo first. She’s followed by a girl with dark brown hair, green shorts, and a tie-dye tank top, who must be somewhere between a tween and a teen.

The elder of the pair steps forward to accept Nathan’s hug. “Oh, Nate. You’re always such a sweetheart.”