Chapter 18
eighteen
LOCKE
Rosie sets a timer for the cookies to cool. Our entire apartment is drenched in the scent of apple oatmeal, and I desperately want to taste one, but she says I have to wait another thirty minutes.
When she took the cookies out of the oven, the leading lady on screen was recalling past feelings for her brother’s best friend. There were flashbacks of growing up together and lying to herself that he wasn’t the object of her affections.
My life is nowhere comparable to that. No small-town love story, back-and-forth pining, or family apple orchard to save. Still, while Rosie sets her cookies out on the stove and settles herself back down onto the sofa, I imagine it’s me. And her.
The woman on screen has amber red hair, but I see it in streaks of dark brown.
When she talks about loving her family’s business and the farm they run, the words are translated into math formulas and film analyses.
Her leading man looks and acts nothing like me.
Yet, there I am, in a cowboy hat I’d never wear, desperately waiting for one shot with the girl of my dreams.
My leg keeps twitching. I subtly try to keep it under control, but every thirty seconds I wonder if Rosalie can see through me. Through the hints I dropped at the café and the hours since, and through the deep interest I have in this movie.
It’s a good, lighthearted film. I’d enjoy it regardless. But imagining this love story is the two of us, makes it one I don’t want to look away from.
It’s strange for us to go this long without discussing something, either related to the film or to our everyday lives. It’s been almost ten minutes since she’s sat back down, and we haven’t passed a word. My hand comes up to mess with my glasses while I motivate myself to say something.
Since we met, it’s always been Rosalie leading the conversations. Rosie being the one to guide me and put her foot forward to make up for my shortcomings.
After Friday night, I know I want more. Between us, and for us. Especially, I want to show her I can do more. I’m willing to push past my nerves and cut the silence, if that’s what it takes.
“Is that accurate?” The question comes out a bit shaky. Her beautiful brown eyes glance over at me, and I’m reminded of what could be mine.
“Is what accurate?”
I clear my throat and point to the screen. “That.”
The film’s main girl is twisting a necklace in her hands. A secret one, from when she was younger and used to indulge in delusions of being with her brother’s best friend. The pendant is a silver S—for the leading man.
“The letter necklace?”
“Yeah.” I feel the rambling before it comes. It’s so different from how I usually approach conversations, but I have to try. “Do people like those sorts of things? They don’t think it’s weird to wear something that directly references the person they’re dating?”
I want to say she’s the type that would love a gesture like a letter necklace, but I don’t want to assume. If that’s the kind of thing she’d be turned off by, I want to know.
I want to know everything about her, actually.
She sits up straight, facing me with her legs slightly bent across the cushion between us.
“I can’t speak for everyone in the world, but personally, I love stuff like that.”
“You don’t think it’s strange?”
“No. I guess I can see what you’re saying.” Her fleece pajamas wrinkle when she bends her knee. Not moving her legs away but pulling the rest of her body closer. “I don’t see it that way, though. I think it’s a cute and subtle way to show your affection for someone.”
I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, but I continue to ramble. “Is it subtle? She’s literally wearing his name on her chest.”
Rosalie laughs, and I give up on trying to calm my heart.
Her hand motions to the television. “Exaggerating much? It’s a letter, not the full name.
It’s like a little secret she can choose to keep, if she wants.
A letter could mean anything. It doesn’t have to be for the guy she likes.
L could stand for love, or luck, or lobster-”
The list grows. Increasingly more ridiculous and outlandish words are piled on each other, and usually her joke would make me laugh. But everything around us has faded into background noise, the air has gone from crisp to warm, and my leg stops shaking.
“L?”
She goes quiet. The front door behind her is hazy. Rosie has become the only thing in focus. In her maroon sweater, hair messily tied together, brown eyes wide and her chest rising and falling.
The pause in conversation lasts too long. The expression on her face is shock, and panic, and anything but platonic.
I’ve become so comfortable around her, these nerves almost feel brand new.
Nothing like the ones I get when meeting new people or having to impress my father’s business partners.
These nerves are the ones that alit when I saw her for the first time.
When I heard her laugh across our first shared dinner, and when she accidentally brushed her hand against mine in the kitchen.
They’re solely reserved for Rosie.
“L?” I repeat myself. My body sits still, with the shaking finding its place in my voice.
She spends another moment gaping at my question, before hurriedly waving her hands around. “That wasn’t- It was just-”
“I know what it was.”
I spent most of my life unsure of who I am and what I’m doing, but not here. There’s no doubt in my mind what this has become, or what Rosalie deserves.
She takes a deep breath. Her body starts to shift, moving away from her spot on the couch and closer to me, lip finding a place between her teeth.
I think Rosie is about to make the first move. If she’s created a place in her heart for me—with my awkward interactions and slow approach to friendship—she might think she has to.
She shouldn’t have to. The most amazing girl in the world deserves someone who recognizes her, what she needs, and what she wants. I might not be the most confident guy in the room, but I know Rosie wants to be treated like a princess. I’m determined to give it to her.
When I speak again, I focus all my energy on keeping my voice steady. My chest feels like it could explode at any moment, and every part of my skin is burning, but she deserves a man who is proud of what he feels for her. I’ll be exactly that, no matter what.
“We’re more than roommates. We’re friends—close friends—but it’s more than that.
I feel more than that. I’ve been caught in silence my whole life.
I always hated it until I was with you. I can sit with you for hours and it’s comfortable.
It’s like you see me. I don’t even know what there is to see, but you do.
There’s something between us I know I’ve never had before.
“I know I’ll never have this again. My heart won’t connect to someone else like this.
My soul won’t yearn for someone who isn’t you.
I think about you, your passions, your mind, every minute.
Every day. There’s only you, Rosie. Your existence, the fact that you’re real, is almost too much for me to comprehend.
And I know you could have anyone you want-”
“I want you.”
My throat is dry, chest heaving. For the first time since I started speaking, I gather the courage to look at her, and I can’t remember how to breathe.
“I want you,” she repeats herself, and I fix my glasses.
“What?”
“You’re shaking, Locke.”
I am. Gripping onto my glasses, I realize my vision is only blurry because I can’t sit still.
Rosalie slowly moves my hand away, intertwines our fingers, and smiles.
“You don’t need to be nervous. Everything you said was so beautiful, and I know it must’ve taken you a lot to say it.
Thank you for being so much to me, Locke, but you don’t have to be nervous.
I want you—more than anyone or anything else. ”
Blood won’t stop rushing to my face, and my leg is shaking again, but I focus everything on relief.
We’re so obvious. After the time we’ve spent together, there’s no reality that could exist, other than the two of us wanting one another. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly worthy of a woman like Rosie, but I know no one will give her more than me.
Our knees knock together, hands still clasped as one. A deep red blush blooms on the apples of her cheeks. She’s so effortlessly adorable.
“We have feelings for each other,” I state the obvious.
I don’t need any further confirmation. I just love saying it aloud.
While my nerves start to calm, Rosalie hums.
“We do have feelings for each other.” I mull over what move to make next, but she nudges my thigh with her foot. “What do we do, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“About this.” Her hand moves back and forth between us. “About how we feel. What do we do?”
I try to make sense of what she’s asking, but I can’t. In the ten minutes since we solidified our feelings, I’ve already decided what I’d be getting her for Christmas.
I’ll rent out a theater. For the entire month of December.
Have them prepared to play any Christmas movie she wants, with every snack she could dream of ready, and a brand-new recliner chair installed so she’s always comfortable.
She’ll be able to analyze and discuss a film to her heart’s content without worrying about someone shushing her over their five-dollar slushie.
It might make more sense for me to rent out the theater until Valentine’s Day, actually.
Rosalie nudges my thigh again while I’m rethinking my plan, and my eyebrows knit. “Sorry. I don’t get what you’re saying.”
Sighing, she scoots closer to me, heat radiating off her skin. “What do you… expect from this?”
When she laughs, she sounds like a different person. There’s no infliction of joy or lightheartedness. She’s awkwardly stumbling and entirely avoiding my eyes. Her hand anxiously reaches up to rub her collarbone, right where an L initial necklace would sit perfectly.