Dear Rosie, (Love Letters #2)

The base of the island and the cabinets are all a dusky blue, and all the hardware is gold.

Behind the massive stove, the marble goes all the way up the wall to the ceiling in the most over-the-top backsplash ever.

“Is it Rosalyn Restaurant approved?” I ask, breaking her trance.

Charles slips out from under my hand and struts across the counter toward Rosie.

Rosie stops on my side of the island and turns to me. “It’s fantastic.”

Her tone is so serious it makes me chuckle. “Is it really?”

She nods and absently reaches out to pet Charles. “It’s like you plucked my dream kitchen straight out of my mind.” Rosie looks down at Charles. “Cat and all.” Charles purrs louder. “Can I pick him up?”

Her question is quiet. Hesitant. And it takes me a moment to reply. “Charles? Yeah, he loves being held.”

Rosie holds her hands out to him. “Is that true, big guy? Can I give you a little hug?”

Charles steps between her outstretched hands, and Rosie scoops him up.

My no-loyalty cat goes boneless in her arms, and Rosie hugs him to her chest.

I can’t hear what she says as she rocks him side to side, mumbling something while she presses her face into his fur. But my heart still melts into a globby puddle inside my ribcage.

My cat and my girl.

I clear my throat. “How do you take your coffee?”

Rosie looks up at me, her cheek still pressed to Charles. “Black is good. But could you add an ice cube so I can drink it right away?”

“Sure thing.” I turn to the freezer and pull out two ice cubes, one for each of us. “I should really make some of those coffee ice cubes I see people do online.”

Rosie hums. “I did them once for a summer brunch event. They wanted those big drink dispensers filled with lemonade and cold brew. Worked so nothing got watered down.”

I lift my brows as I gently drop the cubes into the coffee. “Genius.”

Rosie rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I came up with the idea.”

“Don’t care.” I twist the lids onto the travel tumblers. “You still executed it.”

“I froze some liquids,” Rosie deadpans.

I move closer, holding our coffees. “You don’t take compliments well, do you?”

Rosie shrugs, then nuzzles her nose against my cat one more time.

She sets him back on the counter. “Bye, Charles.”

She sounds so fucking sad when she says it.

My brows lower.

Does she think she’ll never see him again?

Can she really believe this is a one-night thing?

SIXTY-FIVE

ROSALYN