Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

Nathan winks at me, then turns to face the girl, slapping a hand to his chest. “Do you doubt me, oh wee one?”

Chelsea lifts a shoulder. “Just saying.”

“Uh-huh. Just saying my ass.”

“Nathan,” I scold, not sure if he should be swearing in front of this girl.

He grins at me. “I put a hundred in her swear jar at the beginning of every month.”

I look at the girl. “That true?”

She nods.

“Well, fuckity shits on a stick.” I turn back to Nathan. “Give her another hundred.”

The girl lets out a whoop.

“I like her,” Ruth says while looking at me.

It’s the simplest of compliments. She doesn’t even know me. But Ruth radiates a sort of maternal warmth that I want to curl up in.

I want to let her like me.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Nathan’s expression softens, and he closes the distance between us, placing his palm on my spine. “Come on, Girlfriend. Let’s get you all set up.”

ONE HUNDRED ONE

NATE

“Is it time?” I ask Rosie.

She bites her lip, like she’s trying not to smile, and nods. “I think so.”

Gripping the back of her chair, I wheel her over to the dining table.

After the initial introductions, the three ladies crowded around the island to sort the groceries and go over the recipes.

I know Rosie was uncomfortable at first, but she never questioned the fact that one of her helpers was a thirteen-year-old girl.

Not that she should. Chelsea could cook most adults I know under the table.

Within the hour, they were all chatting and chopping produce, seasoning meat, sorting ingredients…

Ruth ran her own flower business for a long time, so she’s good at task management. And Chelsea spends most of her time in the kitchen when she’s not at school. And despite her great comebacks, she’s actually really good at taking direction.

And based on the questions I heard Chelsea asking Rosie, Smidge is impressed with my girl’s catering business.

I pull the chair to a stop once Rosie is tucked into the table.

She fought me on the office chair—of course she did—but Iinsisted. And I’m glad I did, because there’s no way she could’ve been on her feet this long.

“Okay, Sensei, teach me your ways of the ’mallow.”

Rosie shakes her head, but her smile is genuine. “I can’t believe you bought a hot plate for this.”

I look at my setup on the kitchen table, feeling oddly proud.