Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROSE
I wanted to be mad at Ian for interfering, but it was nearly impossible.
As soon as Thea and Ari showed up at my front door just before noon, I had a feeling Ian had something to do with it.
And then Thea threw Ian directly under the bus in the way only good friends can do without guilt. Right in the doorway, Thea announced, “I wanted to come, Ari too, but we didn’t want to intrude. I was going to wait until you invited us. But Ian called and told us to come, anyway. So here we are.”
Ari elbowed Thea in the side, snickering. “You weren’t supposed to tell Rose that part. Now you’re going to get Ian in trouble.” Then she looked at me, smiling warmly. “I’m Ari, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. I really did want to come over to meet you. And don’t be too angry with Ian. He had good intentions.”
“It’s true.” Thea nodded in agreement. “Ian can be kind of a goof sometimes, but he’s really a great guy. You know he has a rescue dog, right? And he offers all the self-defense classes at the gym for free. And the whole volunteer firefighter thing… Plus, he’s not bad to look at, is he?”
Ari was laughing at that point, and I decided I already liked her. “Thea. Remember when I told you how I had a feeling about you and Ben, but I didn’t say anything because I wanted to let you discover it on your own?”
Thea humphed at her. “I’m just mentioning some interesting facts about Ian. That’s all.”
“Anyway.” Ari emphasized the word, signaling a change of topic. “Now that we’re here, do you mind if we come in? Just to hang out for a bit? We brought some snacks—she held up a bulging tote—and some other get-well things. Books. Candles. Aromatherapy. Stuff like that.”
There was no way I could say no.
And honestly, it was nice having company. Ari and Thea were so kind, and they made the whole thing feel natural and not like two people taking pity on me. We all sat around the living room—I really need a bigger couch—and ate junk food and talked about books and looked at pictures of Ari’s baby and watched a video of Laila performing in her school play.
Which was absolutely adorable, by the way. I’ve never thought much about having kids; I kind of thought that was for other people, but after seeing Laila playing the Snow Queen, tossing handfuls of glitter and looking absolutely ecstatic about it? I could see changing my mind, one day.
We even made plans to get together next week for wine and cheese and movies. I wasn’t sure when Ari brought it up, kind of grimacing at my stark apartment, but she just patted me on the shoulder and said, “You can come to my place. Thea can pick you up.”
“Or Ian could give you a ride,” Thea added meaningfully, then ducked away, laughing, when Ari tried to swat her. “Fine, fine. I’m done!”
It’s out of my comfort zone, for sure. This isn’t the kind of thing I’ve typically done, which makes me sound pretty lame, actually. But there was always this burning need to work, and now that I can’t… I don’t really want to sit around my apartment feeling sorry for myself.
So this is really a good thing for me.
That’s why there’s no way I could be mad at Ian. Especially when he texted me half-a-dozen times from work, asking if I was okay, if I needed anything, and finally, sharing a funny story about someone passing wind during his last class.
It was SO bad. I thought I'd smelled it all, but this was worse than college. And it happened right when the guy was doing a back kick. I’m still not sure how I kept a straight face.
It’s shocking how much I like him. I’ve only known Ian for two weeks, but there’s just something that draws me to him. This breathless feeling when I’m around him, the tingle every time we touch, this encompassing warmth he brings, how he makes me smile when it’s the last thing I’m thinking about.
And that’s not even taking into account the dreams I’ve had about him, and the aching emptiness I feel when I wake up.
I should be more cautious when it comes to him. Intellectually, I know it. Ian is still giving off conflicting vibes—sometimes he looks at me like he wants more than friendship, the next second, not—and it’s still early days. The smart thing would be to guard my heart and take things slow.
But when he knocks at my door and calls out, “Rose. We need to get you one of those Ring doorbells,” my heart throws caution to the side and races full speed ahead.
As soon as I open the door—I’m only limping a little now, thankfully—he gives me a gently stern look. “You need security, Rose. Some Ring cameras. Or better yet, I’ve got some friends; they can install a whole setup for you. No charge.”
“Oh. Um.”
“Sorry.” He smiles sheepishly, and my heart makes an acrobatic swoop in my chest. “That’s not how I meant to say hi.” Then he carefully hugs me, taking care not to jostle my hand. “Hi, Rose. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. And you look great. But I do want to get you some security.”
I snort quietly. “I don’t look good, Ian. You don’t have to say that. I know what my face looks like.”
His eyes darken as he gazes down at me, his eyes a deep Atlantic blue. “The bruises are only temporary. I meant what I said. You look great. Now.” His expression sobers. “What about the security? It’s not that I think this place isn’t safe, but a woman living on her own… it’s just a good idea.”
“Can you do the Ring cameras?” I’m not sure how I feel about a bunch of Ian’s friends showing up to install a high-tech security system, especially at a place I’m only renting. “I was going to order some, and then everything happened.”
“Of course. I’d be happy to.” Ian takes my good hand and tugs me gently to the couch. Once we’re seated, he asks, “How was everything today? Really?”
“It was good. Ari and Thea are really nice.” With a smile, I add, “Thea threw you under the bus. She said it was your idea for them to come over.”
Red stains his cheeks. “She wasn’t supposed to say that.” He stops, then looks at me earnestly. “They wanted to come. It’s not like I forced them. But they were going to wait until you asked, and I just… well… I know. It was presumptuous.”
“It’s okay. They explained. And you’re right. I probably wouldn’t have asked. I know it doesn’t seem like it, with all of this”—I glance at my hand—“but I’m used to doing things on my own. And I’m not very good at asking people for things.”
“Not even your family?” Ian winces. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”
I nod. “Even them. I don’t have a big family; just my mom, my aunt, and my cousin and his wife. My mom is busy out in Colorado with her new husband, and she’s had to deal with a lot of bad stuff in the past. So I don’t like to worry her.”
“And your aunt? Your cousin?”
“They would help if I asked. But Drake—my cousin—he was hurt really badly while he was in the military. It was hard on the family. And then more recently, his wife—Alaska—was abducted. And then nearly abducted again. So I really don’t want to burden them with something as minor as this.”
His brows pull into a deep V. “It’s not—” he stops, and his expression gets fierce. “You’re not a burden to me, Rose. At all. Just so you know.”
Oh. It’s really hard to guard my heart when he says things like that.
Before I can reply, he moves on. “Anyway.” Ian tilts his head toward the brown paper bag on the floor by the front door. “I got takeout from D’Angelo’s; that’s the best place in town for authentic Italian. All we need to do is reheat it in the oven. I think between the two of us, we should be able to handle that, right?”
“I think so. Do you want to eat now?”
“Well…” His gaze darts over to the bag. “It did smell really good in the car coming over here. But if it’s too early for dinner…”
I’m not particularly hungry, but Ian looks like a kid waiting to open presents on Christmas, so I tell him, “It’s not too early for dinner. And you’re right, it smells delicious.”
He grins and stands up. “Wait until you taste the chicken parm. It’s great. And I got some cannolis for dessert. And some Italian cookies. I wasn’t sure what you like. Or I can go out after to pick up ice cream?—”
“It all sounds amazing.” I push myself up from the couch, wobbling a little when I put pressure on my injured foot. “Italian food is my favorite. Especially cannolis.”
Ian eyes me with concern. “Rose. Should you be walking around? How is your foot? And your hand? Have you been taking your pain meds?”
“I’m okay. And I’m just taking ibuprofen. The stronger stuff makes me dizzy.”
His brow furrows. “Then you’re definitely in pain.” He slips his arm around my waist and guides me back down to the couch. Gazing down at me with worried eyes, he continues, “I don’t want you doing anything that will hurt more. And that includes walking around. I’ll heat up the food. You stay here and relax.”
I give him a reassuring smile. “That’s not necessary. I’ve been walking around all day. It’s fine.”
Ian is adamant. “But I’m here now. So you don’t have to.”
And before I can argue, he leans over and cups my cheek. His gaze burns into mine. “I want to do this, Rose. You do enough on your own. Okay?”
It’s a good thing I’m sitting down or I’d be in a puddle on the floor. Slightly breathlessly, I tell him, “Okay.”
As the food heats, he tells me about all the funny things that happened at the gym that day—the toxic fart during karate class, the kid who put food coloring in the water cooler, and someone named Mrs. Plimpton, who’s really invested in them installing a smoothie bar.
“Today she came in with samples,” Ian recalls, chuckling. “So we could see how good they are. The woman drove out to Tarrytown to get ten different smoothie varieties. Like she thought Chris and I don’t know what smoothies are.”
“Are you going to put one in?”
“We might.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Will you come to the gym if we do?”
“Maybe.” I tap my lip and make a thoughtful face. “I do love smoothies.”
“Hmm.” His lips twitch. “And you wouldn’t come just to see me?”
I let my smile drop into something more serious. “I would. Smoothies or not. I can’t wait to see your gym. You doing your thing, teaching classes… ”
“Anytime you want to come.” Ian touches my arm, sending a little frisson of electricity through my body. “I’d love to show you around.”
Once dinner is ready, Ian carries me into the kitchen, and I should insist on walking but it feels really amazing to be held in his arms, so I keep my mouth shut. His chest is firm with muscle and I can feel his biceps flexing and he smells incredible, kind of like cedar and citrus but with this indistinguishable scent that’s uniquely him.
When he puts me down, I know my face is flushed and my heart is thrumming along double-time, so of course Ian puts the back of his hand on my forehead and asks worriedly, “Are you feeling alright, Rose? You seem hot. Do you have a thermometer?”
The last thing I want is for Ian to leave because he thinks I’m sick, so I hurry to reassure him. “I’m good. Really. Probably just the heat from the oven.”
He casts me a skeptical look, but thankfully decides not to push it. “Okay. But if you aren’t feeling well…”
“I feel great.” I lean across the table to catch his hand. “I’m not sick. And this food looks amazing.”
Great might be a bit of an exaggeration. My hand is still throbbing, my ribs are sore, the cut inside my lip pulls when I eat, and there’s a constant undercurrent of anxiety I can’t get rid of.
But then I look across the table at Ian and everything feels just a little better. The band around my chest loosens a bit. My heart lifts.
Could this just be gratitude toward a man who’s gone out of his way to be kind to me?
Or is it possible to have real feelings for Ian this quickly?
When he squeezes my hand and says, “I’m glad I’m here, Rose,” I know it feels real.
And over cannolis, when he brushes a crumb off my chin and my heart actually skips, it feels like much more than gratitude.
Then, when we’re back on the loveseat, which forces us to sit close enough for our knees to touch, the little static zips of attraction feel like the real thing.
Did I think the loveseat was too small? Nonsense. This size is perfect.
“What are you smiling at?” Ian puts his hand on my leg to get my attention. “Did I do something funny?”
My cheeks get warm again. “No. Just thinking about the furniture, actually.”
“The furniture?”
Why did I say that? Now I have to explain, and what am I supposed to say? I like the loveseat because now I get to sit closer to you? And I feel this crazy attraction for you that I’ve never felt before? And I’m worried this is all one-sided and you’re really just being friendly?
“Um.” Now my face must be fuchsia, and Ian’s really going to think I’m sick. In a rush, I babble, “Just that I don’t have much furniture. Because of coming from a small apartment in the city. And how small the loveseat is. I should probably buy something bigger. So it’s not so squished.”
He stares at me for a second. Then he moves closer, so our legs are touching, and his arm loops around my shoulder.
“I don’t know, Rose.” His lips quirk up. “I think the size of this loveseat is perfect.”