101. Nate
ONE HUNDRED ONE
NATE
“Is it time?” I ask Rosie.
She bites her lip, like she’s trying not to smile, and nods. “I think so.”
Gripping the back of her chair, I wheel her over to the dining table.
After the initial introductions, the three ladies crowded around the island to sort the groceries and go over the recipes.
I know Rosie was uncomfortable at first, but she never questioned the fact that one of her helpers was a thirteen-year-old girl.
Not that she should. Chelsea could cook most adults I know under the table.
Within the hour, they were all chatting and chopping produce, seasoning meat, sorting ingredients…
Ruth ran her own flower business for a long time, so she’s good at task management. And Chelsea spends most of her time in the kitchen when she’s not at school. And despite her great comebacks, she’s actually really good at taking direction.
And based on the questions I heard Chelsea asking Rosie, Smidge is impressed with my girl’s catering business.
I pull the chair to a stop once Rosie is tucked into the table.
She fought me on the office chair—of course she did—but I insisted. And I’m glad I did, because there’s no way she could’ve been on her feet this long.
“Okay, Sensei, teach me your ways of the ’mallow.”
Rosie shakes her head, but her smile is genuine. “I can’t believe you bought a hot plate for this.”
I look at my setup on the kitchen table, feeling oddly proud.
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.”
“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.
“I can 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.