37. Rosy
THIRTY-SEVEN
ROSY
I’d accepted that sleep was eluding me this morning, so I got up rather than rot in bed. Most days I’ll lie there, hoping for another few minutes, that some of the exhaustion will at least melt away. It never does, but I keep trying anyway.
Although getting up meant I got to spend time hanging out with Moshi. He’s made the best progress and finally brushed his cheek against my fingers. His character’s so sweet, it’s hard not to feel attached.
Another perk to getting up earlier meant I could sit in the cafe next to work and enjoy an almond croissant for breakfast. Except for the past few minutes, I’ve not managed another bite.
I’ve stared at it, undecided whether I should take a photo and send it to Max…
or whether that’s crossing the fragile friends-only boundary we have.
Last night with Nate gave me a slight confidence boost, though, almost as if all the anxious thoughts he erased from my mind with that shattering orgasm have yet to return. I mean they’re there…but not quite as persistent as they usually are.
Fuck it. I’m doing it.
Picking up the half-eaten pastry, I raise it to my mouth and turn on my phone’s camera, snapping the photo before I can decide otherwise. Then it's quickly sent without any text.
Adrenaline tingles through my body at the impulsive decision. I did it. No going back now and I’ve missed talking to him. Perhaps one of us needed to make the first move and start the conversation back up again.
Suddenly realising I’d never thanked them for the roses I’d received yesterday, I type a message and send it to Nate, Bry, and Noah, unsure which man sent them.
After I’d walked back with Nate, and he’d given me another melting kiss goodnight, there was a bouquet of white roses on the kitchen table with a note from Steph.
Apparently, they’d arrived earlier, but without a note of who they were from.
It was a really sweet, unexpected gift, and I don’t want to come across as ungrateful.
Bry
Good morning to you too, cutie. They weren’t from me, so I sadly can’t take credit for them. How are you? X
My phone vibrates, signalling another message has come through, so I quickly type a response back to Bry.
GymAlpha
Not me. Wouldn’t get you white. Colours make you happier. Who sends you flowers?
Biting my lip in a poor attempt to hold back my smile, heat radiates up my neck. How can he manage to come across as both thoughtful and territorial at the same time? I really do need to stop enjoying it so much.
Me
What flowers would you get me?
GymAlpha
Something wild and special. You didn’t answer my question. Who sends you flowers?
Me
No one. These were the first ones I’ve been sent. There wasn’t a note on them, so I thought it might be one of you. Must be Noah.
I finish my croissant, then wave to the staff working today.
Walking the short distance to the office, I find my hand splayed over my chest as my thoughts drift to Nate, specifically how much he's surprised me since we met. I never expected any of them to take care of me and consider my feelings as much as they do. But it’s so easy to judge Nate on both his exterior and first impressions.
Getting to know him has made me realise how much he holds beneath the surface.
Plus, he makes me smile; even now, I can feel it stretching across my face.
Rounding my desk, I tug off my coat and hang it up, then drop down onto my chair. A low, tired huff falls unbidden from my lips as I land. We’re midweek; after today, I’ll be one day closer to the weekend. The goal is just to survive today…
Rushing through the entrance of the Coffee Bar, I arrive right at 11:30 a.m. It’s not ideal, and I prefer to be early for meetings.
But traffic was a complete nightmare getting here, even though it’s only a short drive from the office.
Whilst I try to catch my breath, I try to spot the person Julia had asked me to meet.
I checked their CV and studied the photo, so I know what to expect. Thankfully, they’re not here yet.
Grabbing a table, I take a seat on the high stool and shrug off my coat, needing to cool down.
A server arrives to take my order, and I balk for a moment. Is it polite to order a drink if the other person hasn’t arrived yet? My parched mouth doesn’t think so, so I order a decaf chai tea latte.
As my drink arrives a few minutes later, bathing me in a calming scent of cinnamon and cardamom, I check the time again.
They’re almost ten minutes late. At this rate, Julia will arrive when they do, if not before.
Should I call to let her know the candidate hasn’t arrived?
I probably should, but dread sinks into my bones over the impending ire I’ll receive from her.
It doesn’t matter what I do, none of my colleagues seem to think I’m good enough for the team.
It takes a further five minutes for me to work up the nerve.
“Julia speaking,” she answers, sounding both bold and curt at the same time. I’m not sure I’ve managed either in my entire life.
“Hi Julia, it’s Rosy,” I begin, my hands already clammy.
I’m not sure why. I’m not the person who didn’t show up to the meeting.
None of it’s logically my fault, but that part of my brain is being oppressed by the intrusive thoughts demanding that it is, that I should’ve done better. Fixed it, even if it’s impossible to.
She stays silent, not even acknowledging me. The swallow I take to clear my throat feels too loud. “I know you’re due here any minute, but I wanted to let you know the candidate hasn’t yet arrived.”
“Oh, that. Yes, the meeting was cancelled,” she says brusquely.
“Why didn’t you let me know?” I manage to ask, pushing down the bitter ferocity that wants to snap back at her.
“Because I’m busy. It’s hardly a waste of your time.” She sighs, clearly irritated, and her low opinion of me hangs heavily in the air. She didn’t even need to voice the words, but I can feel them cutting through my skin.
“I’ve another call,” Julia adds, hanging up before I can respond.
Glowering at my now silent phone, all the sharp remarks I’d wanted to make filter through my mind. The version of myself that lives in my imagination is witty, quick, and confident. She’s uncaring that Julia doesn’t believe our call is important. She knows her worth.
Waving to a nearby server, I pay for my chai and take a couple of sips of it before heading back to the office, heavy with fatigue.
I’ve barely made it back to my desk, only managing to drop my bag down, when someone enters through the main door. Before looking up, I take a second to mentally shove aside my pity party, pasting on a smile as I look to the…
“Max?” Brows pulling tight, the smile slips from my face. He’s dressed for work, both his trousers and boots dusty, with his hair unruly. “What are you doing here?”
He comes up to my desk, leaning on it to peer down at me. “Well, I heard you have the best pastries nearby. So I thought you could take me there for lunch?” He grins, and it has me responding with one too. He glances at the coat I’m still wearing. “Unless you already have plans?”
“Oh, no, I was at a meeting. Outside. Out of the office, I mean, not outside…outside. Well, it was cancelled, not that I knew it was. But I don’t have any plans, no.” I rise, breathless from my uncontrollable word vomit.
His smile turns even wider as his head tilts. Great, now my ears are turning heated under his appraisal.
“You didn’t have to come all this way for lunch with me. I could’ve brought the pastries back for you,” I mumble, as I collect my bag and slip my arm through the strap.
“But we’re friends, and friends do lunch together. I was hungry, and our site isn’t far from where you said you worked. So it works out perfectly.” Opening the door, he gestures for me to walk through. “No pressure, but I’ve had plenty of good pastries before, so I have high expectations.”
He bumps my shoulder as we walk toward the cafe.
Snorting, I quip back, “I call bullshit. As long as it’s edible, your expectations aren’t that high.”
As I turn towards the cafe door, he darts forward and pulls it open for me. “That cut deep. I could be an undercover Michelin star critic for all you know.”
“Mm, well, seeing as they’re called inspectors and are very much anonymous…I don’t think I have to be worried.” I chuckle, and considering the day I’m having, it feels good.
Selecting a table, he pulls out a chair for me, then proceeds to sit on the one beside me, rather than opposite. With his knee brushing against mine, and his arm so close I can feel its warmth, it’s distinctly intimate.
“Twice in one day, are you stalking me?” Tilly teases as she walks over to our table, pulling a notepad from her apron.
“You know I’m here for the carbs; you’re just the added eye candy.”
“I’d be offended, but I spend too much of my time eating the leftovers to disagree.” Tilly shrugs.
Glancing at Max, I find him watching me, brows lifted with an amused expression.
“You ready to order?” She looks between us, eyes lingering on Max before they return to me with a salacious grin and raised eyebrow.
“Can I have the wild mushroom pesto croissant, but with added spinach and feta instead of mozzarella, please?” I list, already salivating over how it’s going to taste.
“Wait, you do croissant sandwiches?” Max exclaims, suddenly leaning forward and grabbing a menu from the table to read through. “How am I supposed to decide what to have now you’ve thrown sandwiches into the mix?”
“Well, you’ll just have to come back again, or go rogue and order more than one option.” Tilly laughs at his panic, and I join in. “But if you need a minute, I can serve another table and come back?”
“No, no, I’ll have a…roasted pepper chilli chicken croissant and an apple turnover and a pecan Danish to go, please?”
“You got it. Any drinks?”
I shake my head, and she turns to Max.
“Flat white would be great, thank you.”