Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

I take the biggest inhale, then blow it out. “My girl brought me a sandwich.” I shake my head. “That’s it. I’m keeping you.”

I drop my hands from her face and slip an arm around her back, hook my other arm under her knees, and lift her into my arms.

Her crutches clatter to the floor.

“Nathan!” Rosie squeaks, but she still loops her arm around my neck.

“Don’t drop the sandwich,” I tell her as I start back down the hall the way I came.

She swings the bag up onto her lap. “You’re ridiculous.”

A few heads pop out of office doors as we move down the hall.

I dip my chin in greeting but keep walking.

Rosie isn’t an employee here. There are no rules against what I’m doing.

And even if there were, I’m in charge, so I could just change the rules.

As soon as we’re in sight, Blake jumps up from his desk.

Before he can say anything, I gesture with my head back behind me. “Can you go grab Rosie’s crutches? They’re in the hall.”

“Uh, okay.” His eyes land on Rosie and widen. And it’s like I can see the light bulb turn on that saysthat Rosalyn.

Rosie lifts her hand as we pass him. “Hi, Blake.”

Blake isn’t quick enough to reply before I step through my office door.

I pause.

If I’mnot busy working, I like to wander. So I don’t have a couch or big comfy chairs in my office like some people do.

Deciding my rolling desk chair is the best option, I cross the room and carefully lower Rosie into my seat.

She looks up at me like I’m absurd but doesn’t protest.

Footsteps sound from outside the door, and I turn in time to see Blake appear with Rosie’s crutches.

“Thanks.” I cross the room and take them from him. “My girlfriend made me a sandwich for lunch, so consider me unavailable”—I glance at the clock and see it’s just after eleven—“until noon.” Then I close the door.

“Why do I get the feeling you terrorize that poor man?”

I chuckle but focus on more important things. “Tell me you brought two sandwiches and that you plan to stay and eat yours with me.”

Rosie nods while she uses her good foot to scoot the chair back. “Before we eat, though, I have something to tell you.”

She sets the bag on the floor and pulls a hair binder off her wrist.

I approach as she secures her hair into a ponytail, and I have to assume she’s not about to give me bad news if she’s already prepping her hair to eat lunch.

Taking the opening she made, I move in front of her and lean back against the edge of my desk. “What is it?”

“It’s just something I need to confess before you go.” She scoots her chair forward, closing the space between us.

“You can tell me anything.”

She nods, then reaches under the chair.