11. Rosy
ELEVEN
ROSY
My heart’s racing, and it’s definitely not from my walk on the treadmill. It’s all entirely down to feeling Nate’s body heat so close, and the occasional brush of his hand against mine.
Is it intentional? Should I step away?
My body rebels against the latter. I want to feel his skin touching mine, and every time his hand brushes against me, it feeds that touch-starved part inside.
And that’s a depressing thought.
I’m craving the accidental touch from someone I hardly know. Steph’s right. I do need to meet someone. If I can try to attempt something casual…maybe a one off?
I’m pulled from my thoughts as we approach the doors to enter our building, and his arm snags the handle before I have the chance to do it myself.
As he pulls it open, his warm palm touches the middle of my back, nudging me gently through the opening.
Somehow, my legs remember to work, but as his hand falls away, I swear I feel his thumb stroke across the fabric of my lilac base layer.
My heart flutters over the small but intimate touch, wondering whether he would wrap that hand around the nape of my neck and lean in to press his lips to mine. Would he ask? Or just confidently take what I so want to offer him?
Fuck’s sake, Rosy.
He’s not going to be interested in you or what you have to offer.
Which is, what? Just a people-pleasing, anxiously introverted, sleep-deprived mess.
It would be better if I could at least cook or do something to compensate, but sadly there’s nothing of note here.
Just someone who can’t say no, who cares too much about people who don’t care back.
What about dopamine dressing? That might be quirky. Internally, I scoff. Wearing too many colours that are mismatched or clashing is hardly sexy. It might make my inner self feel happy, but it hardly does me any favours in the fashion department.
A throat clears beside me, and I blink quickly, my focus returning to my surroundings as I realise we’re in front of my door.
Well, shit, I bet that was awkward for him with me mentally checking out. Resisting the urge to cover my face with both hands, I look up at Nate and offer him a wide smile to compensate.
“You okay?” he asks, a slight furrow marking the skin between his brows.
“Yes, sorry. I was just in my thoughts. I didn’t mean to ignore you or anything. It was really nice having company at the gym today, and for walking home too.” Words just ramble out.
“You didn’t. I enjoy being in your company, Rosy.” My name on his lips as his gaze holds mine has tingles spreading down my arms to my fingertips, and I suddenly don’t want him to go.
Attempting to prolong being in his company, I ask him the first question that pops into my head. “Did you have a good day?”
I might as well have asked about the weather. Is it weird that I asked about his day even though we don’t know each other well?
“It was good. Started early, but I managed to get off early as none of the jobs were complicated,” he responds, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “How was yours?”
“Well, that’s good. An easy workday is always a bonus.
I’m glad you had that. Yeah, it was okay.
I managed to get most of what I needed to do completed.
But it’s a small business, so we all have to pitch in.
Some days it can be swamped.” I shrug, wishing the conversation didn’t suddenly feel so awkward.
“If you want company, it’s homemade pizza tonight,” he offers easily.
“Pizza sounds so tempting, but I don’t want to gatecrash your night again.” Finding myself desperately wanting to go, to be around others, surprises me, but their company feels easy compared to most other people.
“None of us think that. Please come?” His words sound intimate, enticing, and my breath hitches as his hand reaches up, tugging my lip out from between my teeth. “Stop mutilating that pretty lip.”
He thinks I have pretty lips? I blink mutely. All words have disappeared from my brain, so all I can do is nod in response as his thumb sweeps back and forth across my abused bottom lip.
“I’ll take that as a yes, so I will leave you to get ready before you come and eat with us.
” There’s not even a request in that sentence, and I feel my body sag with relief that he made the decision for me.
Nate’s fingers gently move from my mouth to brush back a loose wisp of hair behind my ear, then his fingertips graze down my neck as he steps back, turns, and walks over to his place.
Loudly exhaling the breath I’d been holding, I shakily open my door and walk through. My head feels eerily empty and quiet.
I wonder if he’d be okay with making all my life decisions for me.
But first, I need a shower to wash the day away.
After applying my evening skincare routine, I head into my room and get dressed into a pair of cosy green fleece joggers and an oversized pink jumper that says “Born to nap, forced to work” on the front.
“Hey cutie, how was your day?” I ask Moshi, bending down, until I’m level with his furry face. He looks a little more relaxed and less wary, but I still want him to get used to me more. The familiar guilt of having to work and be away, without putting more hours into the animals, hits.
The guilt has me reaching for my phone, and I pull up the contact for Nate, choosing to drop him a message rather than call.
Me
Hey Nate, it’s Rosy. I just wanted to ask what time dinner will be. I need to spend some time with the kitten I’m fostering first, but I would still love to come over for dinner. If that’s okay? But no worries if you need to eat now.
I quickly send the message, trying not to overthink it as I feel the familiar anxiety build over letting someone down and changing plans. Bubbles appear as he types a response.
GymAlpha
Hey you. There’s no rush. Bry is still cooking, and you can eat whenever you get here.
Before I can respond, more typing bubbles appear, and the following message makes me laugh out loud.
GymAlpha
Maxi’s being nosy. He’s on his way over to see the kitten. You don’t need to open the door. He needs to learn to mind his own business. Sorry, Rosy. Looking forward to seeing you when you get here.
Cupping my hand over my mouth, I stifle a laugh.
I can imagine Nate’s scowl as Max read the message over his shoulder, before rushing out in excitement…
and my heart can’t help but skip over the last part of his message.
We only just saw each other, and we only live next door, but I feel the same too.
A loud knocking on the front door has me standing in a panic.
Shitsticks.
I didn’t think about Max actually coming here.
Everything's messy. Rushing around, I try to hide away anything that isn’t neatly in its place.
Thankfully, there’s no dirty washing on the floor, and my bed’s still made, since I did it this morning.
Quickly leaving my room, I head to the front door and open it before I can give myself any more time to worry.
“Hey beautiful, I hear you have something cute and cuddly for me to snuggle with.” His hands clasp beneath his chin as he begs sweetly.
I snigger. “Hi Max, you can come and meet him. But he’s definitely not cuddly or snuggly right now. More feisty and scared, but with time, I’m hoping he becomes friendly.”
“Say no more. I am the world’s best pussycat tamer,” he answers with an exaggerated wink.
Rolling my eyes at him, I can’t help but chuckle again at his antics, because somehow his terrible jokes and pick-up lines seem less cheesy than they would be coming from anyone else.
“Come on through, Romeo. But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you get any love bites.”
Leading the way back through to my bedroom, I open the secured mesh doorway and usher him in before re-securing it. Dropping to my knees, I grab his wrist and tug him down with me, ignoring the tingles the contact between us gives.
“So he’s mainly in hiding mode, but it helps to talk to him and get him used to our presence. He likes food, so trying to get slowly closer whilst offering snacks can help too.”
“Look at this cute little ball of fur. How can you be so feisty when you're so teeny?” he croons.
Max is almost horizontal beside me, his chest on the floor, butt up in the air, and his arms stretched out towards the cat igloo bed Moshi hides in.
Smothering a giggle behind my hand, I can’t help but feel a warmth over this handsome man who cares enough to be on the floor trying to befriend a kitten.
I shake the tin of cat snacks. “Here, if you throw a couple of these into his bed, we can see if he’s relaxed enough to have a snack.”
I hand some over to Max, who sits back on his heels and gently throws some of the treats in front of Moshi.
His aim is so much better than mine ever is.
Most of the time, they fly past the bed or occasionally shock both Moshi and me by hitting him in the face.
The guilt every time has me spilling out countless apologies as he unapologetically swallows down the treat.
Max sits statue-still as he watches Moshi intently, waiting for him to take the offering. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him stay so still and quiet since we’ve met, and again, that fuzzy feeling swirls around inside me over him caring.
My gaze is drawn back to Moshi, as we watch his nose slowly twitch, scenting the tasty treats in front of him.
His eyes remain locked on us as he ever so slowly creeps forward, following his nose rather than risk taking his eyes off us.
As he tentatively takes the treat, Max releases the breath he was holding and flashes me a wide, infectious smile.
“He took it. Look, he’s eating it,” he whispers. I can’t help my body’s reaction to him as I reach and squeeze his hand in mine. Again, ignoring those pesky tingles.
“He’s doing so well. It helps that he’s still a kitten, as they tend to find it easier to learn to trust humans than adult cats do.
It’s really lovely that you’re here and taking the time to be here for him too.
I really appreciate it,” I whisper, bumping my shoulder softly into his.
I don’t want to startle Moshi, who’s finishing up the last treat whilst watching us steadily.
“What’s his name? He’s honestly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen…well, other than you.” He nudges my shoulder again and flashes those heart-stopping dimples.
Swallowing roughly, I drag my gaze up to his eyes, licking my lips to try to ease my suddenly parched mouth. Being so close to him has my pulse feeling jittery, as if all the blood in my body has been replaced with carbonated water.
“Mo—er—Moshi,” I croak out, and embarrassment heats my cheeks. All other words fail me, and I quickly go back to facing the cautious feline in front of us. He seems a little curious, his nose still twitching as his ears and eyes stay fixed on us.
I need to occupy myself with something. Anything. I’ve suddenly forgotten what it feels like to have limbs.
I panic.
But what do I do with my hands?
Why does my head feel difficult to hold up?
Get it together, Rosy.
Rifling back in the box beside me, I grab a small, tubed package and rip it open, then shuffle forward, slowly reaching out my hand.
Offering the lick-it snack to Moshi, I let him watch my movements as I steadily come closer on my knees, torso pressed low to the floor as I softly croon to him, keeping my words low and exhaling to release the tension from my body.
Behind me, Max lets out a grunt, but I block it out, not wanting to startle Moshi by turning around suddenly.
Ever so gently, I get close enough that I can boop a bit of the treat onto his nose, a familiar tactic I’ve been doing since yesterday, so he isn’t startled by the movement even if he is still tense about me being in his space.
“Come on, handsome, you know you want more of the yummy treat. Remember how good they taste?” I murmur gently.
His tongue pokes out and licks off the drop I put on his nose.
Then his eyes flick down to the rest of the treat waiting in my hand.
As he stretches his neck towards me, I quickly squeeze a little more, and he eagerly laps it up, his rough tongue catching it all before a single drop can fall to the floor.
“You're such a brave boy. See, I told you it’s the tasty stuff,” I continue, letting the hand holding the tube slowly inch its way up so my hand’s closer to his mouth.
As I get to the end, I gently squeeze some of the paste onto my finger, and on the next swipe of his tongue, I change the angle so he licks my finger instead.
Elation sweeps through me. It was a risk trying to progress things further with someone new in the room, but it paid off.
I continue to squeeze the rest of the paste onto my finger, letting Moshi lick it off each time until he finishes the packet.
Shuffling back slowly, I rise back up into a sitting position, unable to hide the wide grin on my face.
“That was so cool. You’re so good with him. That’s some next-level Dr Doolittle shit.” Max’s voice is animated, even with him trying to keep it at a whisper.
In my elation, I can’t even feel the embarrassment over his compliment, and I just smile wider at him.
He reaches out, taking one of my hands in his and settles it in his lap, brushing his thumb back and forth across my knuckles.