Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

I ran the extension cord from the far side of the table so no one would trip on it.

Set up the stand mixer, pot, candy thermometer, sugar… Everything I purchased last week for the banana marshmallows. Only the hot plate is new.

I can’t help but think about the night we were supposed to have but didn’t, because my Rosie got hit by a fucking car.

I bend over the back of her chair and wrap my arms around her in a hug.

She makes a small sound of surprise but relaxes as I squeeze her.

“You’re really excited about these marshmallows.” Her murmur is just for me.

“I’m really excited that car didn’t fucking kill you.”

Rosie laughs, and it’s a light, breathy sound. “I’m excited about that too.” She pats my arm. “Little looser, Catcher.”

I’m beaming at her new nickname for me before I realize what she said. “Oh, sorry.” I loosen my hold so I’m no longer strangling her neck.

Then, because I can, I plant a noisy kiss on the top of her head.

“Gross.” Chelsea’s voice comes from behind us in the kitchen, and it just makes me smile more.

This is not a time for sappy sadness. This is a time for sugary pillows of joy.

I take a seat at the table, and Rosie walks me through each step.

She’s patient and forgiving. And we make our personal batch of banana cream marshmallows first—so I can practice on the ones that aren’t for the client. And then Chelsea joins us for the second batch, which is peach bellini flavored.

“I’m impressed with us,” I say around a mouthful of banana-flavored sugar.

“I’m impressed with you too.” Rosie leans back in her chair and looks around the kitchen.

Everything that needed to be prepped has been.

All the surfaces have been cleaned and set back to rights. And all the food is put away.

The appliances are stuffed to the max, but it worked. And I wonder how she’s done this out of her much smaller kitchen.

Rosie is a fucking wonder.

“I can’t thank you two enough,” Rosie says, turning her attention to the two who made this possible. “I’ll, of course, pay you for?—”

“Absolutely not.” Ruth cuts her off. “Nate here is family, and family doesn’t pay each other for help.” The woman only pauses long enough to lower herself into a chair opposite us at the table. “And I won’t hear anything about payment tomorrow either.”

“Tomorrow?” Rosie repeats.

Ruth nods. “You’re going to need help cooking everything, and I have nothing better to do.”

Rosie glances at me. But I just lift a shoulder. “There’s really no use arguing with her.”

Emotions war in Rosie’s eyes.

She doesn’t want to accept help.

She’s overwhelmed by the offer of help.

And she’s accepting that I’m right, that there’s no avoiding it now.

My girl sighs. “You’ve already done too much.” When Ruth opens her mouth, Rosie holds up a hand. “But you’re right. I would really appreciate your help again tomorrow.”