Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

“Anything you need, dear.” Ruth rests her hand on the table.

“Anything?” Rosie repeats.

I drop into a chair next to Rosie, eyebrows raised since it sounds like she’s going to ask for something more.

Ruth also perks up. “I feel a sense of intrigue all the sudden.”

Rosie chuckles. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. I just need a dress and some makeup picked up from my apartment.”

“Of course,” Ruth answers without even asking where the apartment is.

“Ican do it,” I interject. I’m glad Rosie is willing to ask Ruth, but I have time to go over there.

Rosie turns to me. “How familiar are you with bronzer brushes?”

“Uh, what?” My brows furrow.

Rosie nods and turns back to Ruth, dismissing my offer. “You at least have to let me pay for gas or something.”

Ruth shakes her head. “Maddox keeps telling me to use my driver more often, so we’ll just stop and pick up what you need on our way over tomorrow. I’ll give you my number before we leave.”

Before she can say more, Ruth’s phone rings, and she answers it.

While she’s talking, Rosie turns to me. “Should we offer to order dinner or something?”

I can see how exhausted she is, and I’m sure her social battery is damn near dead, but she’s still thinking about feeding the people who helped her.

A fucking wonder.

Reaching up, I brush my thumb across her cheek.

I’ve never really thought about bravery. All the examples that come to mind are of famous battles or movies with actors like Drake Daniels doing wild stunts. But every day with Rosie, I learn a little more about what it means to be brave.

Being brave is being a girl facing the day, knowing it’s going to hurt.

Being brave is betting on yourself when no one else will.

Being brave is putting your heart out there and doing things you don’t want to do because you know they’ll make someone else happy.

Being brave is being Rosie.

I look at her like I already love her.

Because I do.

ONE HUNDRED TWO

ROSALYN

“What is it?” I whisper.

Nathan brushes his thumb across my cheek again, and his throat works on a swallow.

I reach up and grip his forearm.

His mouth opens.

“They’re here,” Ruth declares, setting her phone back on the table.