Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Wells
Christmas… With Complications
Truth be told, I’m not sure what’s more attractive about Rosalie Sullivan. Her quick wit, that smart little mouth, or the fact that she takes not a single ounce of my shit.
No matter how much I give her.
The combination of all three has my dick stirring behind my pants.
She’s not at all what I expected, and the more I learn about her, the more surprised I am.
“Okay, so back to getting our story straight. We’ll tell my family we met when I started working on Well + Good. You’re right next door, so it makes sense. Easy and believable. Also not technically a lie.”
“True. Yeah, you’re right, that makes it easy,” she says as she reaches for the tumbler of amber bourbon in front of her and brings it to her mouth.
I brought out my favorite bourbon, and I’ve barely taken a sip because I’ve been too caught up in watching her enjoy it.
It’s an experience, observing Rosalie. Cataloging everything just in case I need it for later.
My gaze follows the path as she takes a slow, unhurried sip and then drags the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip to catch the droplet left behind.
Fuck.
I can’t seem to stop staring at her mouth. The sensual curve of pink, dainty yet full, slightly upturned.
When she catches me staring, she says, “What? Is there something on my face?” Her eyes have gone wide. She sets the glass back down onto the counter and swipes along the corner of her lip with the pad of her thumb.
“No, sorry.” I clear my throat before I do something fucking stupid like tell her I was just fantasizing about her lips when I absolutely should not be thinking about anything outside of her being my pretend, very temporary girlfriend.
I fully realize how much of a complication my attraction to her is, but I tamp it down, focusing on anything but.
Swiping my glass from the table, I take a quick swallow of my bourbon before I look back at her. “Alright, we met while I was working on the bar. How long have we been dating?”
“Well, you’ve only been in town for a bit.
So it can’t be that long? Which actually helps us because we’re still in the early stages of our fictional relationship.
Let’s just say… shortly after you moved to town.
Not too specific. Leaves it more vague. Sounds long enough that it makes sense that I’m meeting your family, but also not too long to where we’re past the honeymoon stage. We’re still learning about each other.”
I nod. “Sounds good. Alright, so you’re going to have to give me the full Rosalie Sullivan rundown. Tell me everything. Things your boyfriend would know about you.”
She blows out a sigh, fingers tangling together in front of her as she stares over at me.
I can practically see the wheels turning behind her bright brown eyes.
“This feels like speed dating. My best friend, Kennedy, would love it. Speaking of, would it be okay if I tell her about this? She won’t tell anyone. ”
“Yeah. I’ll probably tell Collin. But anyone else… Maybe your grandparents?”
“Oh God,” she mutters before chewing the corner of her lip as she wrings her hands together.
“I don’t know. This is happening so quickly, I’ve hardly even had time to think about what that actually is going to really mean.
I don’t like lying to Grams and Gramps, but somehow, telling them the truth feels even more… weird?”
I lean back against the barstool with a nod. “Okay, so just Collin and Kennedy.”
“Yes. And honestly, I don’t know if I trust my grandparents not to accidentally tell someone,” she says.
Fair. My mother couldn’t keep a secret about something like this if her life depended on it.
After a few minutes of game planning our first meeting story, we move to the couch in the living room.
“Now, back to the rundown,” I say while Rosalie sinks down beside me, pulling her legs up into a crisscross as she turns on the cushions to face me. It surprises me how comfortable she seems to be in my house, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like having her here.
Usually, it’s just me and Frankie. It’s quiet, peaceful, and that’s how I’ve always preferred it, but it’s nice to have someone else here filling this big, empty house for a change.
“Let’s see. I never went to college. I’ve always worked at Sweet Sullivan’s with my grandparents since…
I dunno, I was a kid. Officially though, since I was in high school.
They tried to get me to leave Mistletoe Falls, to go explore the world and ‘live life,’ as they like to say, but honestly, I’ve always felt perfectly happy here.
The candy store is my happy place and exactly where I want to be.
I didn’t feel the need to do anything outside of it because I know in my heart that it’s my future. ”
I nod, listening intently as she tells me about herself, soaking in every ounce that she gives me. You know, just in case anyone in my family asks.
At least that’s what I’m going with.
“Um… I’m really a homebody type of person. I’d rather be home, cuddled up in a fluffy blanket with Penny, than somewhere with a ton of people, where I can’t wear my pajamas. I hate reality television with a passion. My favorite hobby is baking.”
That last part is unsurprising. She works in a candy store, after all.
She pins me with a glare when I chuckle and drag a hand over my mouth to quiet the sound. “What?”
“I dunno, that fits you. Maybe not the sweet part…”
Reaching out, she playfully shoves my chest with an eye roll.
“That’s my dream. One day, at least. To expand Sweet Sullivan’s into a bakery, too, so it’s the whole package.
Everything sweet you can imagine, all in one place.
It would have cakes, pies, and macarons.
But cookies are my specialty. That’s what I’d focus on the most.”
“Seems like you’ve got it all figured out, then.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but maybe one day, I will.
I haven’t even told my grandparents about that yet because I’m scared they’ll hate the idea, but one day, I’ll get enough courage.
Anyway, what about you? What did you do before you started renovating the bar?
” She sits back against the arm of the couch, pressing her back into it and drawing her knees up to her chest. She’s wearing the cutest fucking ruffle socks that stop right above her ankle, pink and dainty. Like her.
What the fuck is wrong with me? They’re goddamn socks, Wells. For fuck’s sake.
I reach up and drag my palm along the back of my neck. I hate talking about the injury… about my retirement in general. Mostly because the wound still feels fresh, and each time I relive it, it’s as if it opens right back up.
For that reason, I hesitate.
“What, are you secretly in the mafia or something?” Rosalie giggles, pressing her neatly manicured fingers against her mouth.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Nah. Not a mail thief and not in the mafia. You watch way too much TV.”
Her eyes twinkle with amusement.
“I played professional hockey for eight seasons, but I retired early because of a shoulder injury,” I force out, pushing down the tightness that always makes an appearance deep in my chest when I tell the story.
Her eyes trail down to my shoulders, her throat bobbing. “Is it okay now?”
I shrug. “Most days. It still bothers me when I push myself too far when I’m working, or sometimes it aches when it rains.
I had surgery, and they were able to repair a lot of the damage.
Most of it was from old injuries that never properly healed, so when the last happened, that was it.
My career was done. All those years, just… gone.”
“I’m sorry, Wells,” she whispers softly. “I know that must have been incredibly difficult for you.”
That’s putting it mildly. But the last thing I want to do is talk about how difficult the last year and a half of my life has been.
It’s too damn heavy.
“Yeah, it was… rough. But I learned that sometimes life deals you a hand that you’ll never be ready for, and I guess it all worked out because injuring my shoulder is the reason that I ended up here in Mistletoe Falls and opening Well + Good.
My family has always had the cabin in Cedar Ridge, so it made sense to come here when I was ready to leave Vancouver and try to get on with my future.
I figured this was a good place to start.
Collin was already here. We’ve known each other since we were kids.
We met when we first started to come to Cedar Ridge, and now I have the bar.
My house. I’ve just been trying to figure out who I am without hockey. ”
She nods along as if she completely understands what I’m saying, her gaze lingering on mine.
“Are you close with your family?”
“I am, yeah. They’re great, and I think you’ll find being around them is easy, even if they are a bit…
much. I don’t think I would’ve made it through the injury and all of that without them.
Truly.” There’s a heavy pause between us, lingering in the air before I say, “Anyway.” I clear the lump that’s settled heavily in the base of my throat.
“So now I’ll work on getting the bar finished up, and then I’ll spend my days there.
” I’m desperate at this point to move away from the topic, so I plaster on a smirk.
“I’m also a homebody. Hate any kind of TV at all, really, and I can’t bake for shit.
But I can grill an incredible steak, and for hobbies… I like the extracurricular, fun kind.”
When I shoot her a wink, I’m transfixed watching how quickly her cheeks turn pink and a swallow makes its way down the delicate column of her throat.
Her lips part as her mouth falls open, and after a few beats of staring at me, she finally snaps it shut only to open it again and say, “Speaking of, we should probably talk about how we want the… physical aspect of this to go?”
My brow lifts nearly to my fucking hairline.
Is there a physical part of this, and I had no fucking clue?
“I mean, um, we’re going to have to behave like a couple, Wells,” she stammers, more nervous than I’ve ever seen her.
I don’t have a whole lot to go on, but damn.
It’s cute. Her fingers move to the ends of her hair, and she swirls it around the tip.
“Couples kiss and hug and hold hands. That’s probably going to be so uncomfortable to do that.
I mean, I know I’m just some random girl wh—”
I promptly shut her up by closing the small distance of the couch between us and grasping her chin between my fingers, letting the rough pad of my thumb sweep along the soft, smooth skin.
I probably shouldn’t.
Nah, I really fucking shouldn’t, but who gives a shit.
“Any guy would be the luckiest motherfucker on this planet to be able to touch you, and if he says otherwise, he’s a liar.
” We’re so close I can feel the soft puff of air that escapes between her lips as she sucks in a breath.
“So no, having to touch you, kiss you, hold your hand when we’re in public isn’t going to make me feel uncomfortable. Even if it’s fake.”
She blinks up at me, slowly nodding, my hand moving lower, curling around the nape of her neck as my thumb traces the pulse point in her neck.
We’re both leaning in closer. Another inch and I’ll taste her, my blood thrumming with anticipation and need.
So close that I can taste the sweetness of my favorite bourbon on her breath as it ghosts along my lips.
Fuck, I want to kiss her.
But then there’s a loud series of woofs from Penny and Frankie, and she startles, pulling back, the moment suddenly broken by our apparently cockblocking weenies. Where’s the fucking irony in that?
Rosalie tears her gaze from mine, looking anywhere but where I’m sitting. “Okay. Cool. Sounds great. Yep. That’s perfectly fine for me.”
Her words come out as a rush, and it makes me grin, knowing that the proximity and my touch affect her in the same way it does me.
My heart’s still pounding in my chest as she looks over at me, heat barreling through her hooded gaze.
Yeah, I’m in some real fucking trouble when it comes to Rosalie Sullivan.