Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
IAN
So much for taking things slowly.
That plan went out the window sometime last night while Rose and I sat together on her loveseat. As we got comfortable, she leaned against my side, her slight weight fitting against me perfectly. We talked for much longer than I expected to—about her art training at RISD, the awards she’d won, and how she was so excited the first time she sold a painting and could send some money to her mom.
I told her about adopting Baxter, and how important he’s become to me. Rose admitted to always wanting a pet, but living in New York City in an apartment with other people, it didn’t seem to make sense. “Maybe in Sleepy Hollow, though,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe I could adopt a rescue, like you did.”
And then she dozed off on my shoulder, her chestnut hair like silk brushing my chin, her soft breaths feathering across my neck, and I could barely breathe from how right it felt.
Once I woke her up—after holding her for over an hour—there was zero hesitation about asking to see her again the next day.
I said it was to install her Ring cameras. Which is true. She really does need some kind of security, and I could see how uncomfortable she looked when I suggested having the Blade and Arrow guys help. And I’m happy to do it.
Would I consider it a date?
If I’m being honest with myself, yes. But there’s still that insecure voice whispering to me, what if she hurts you?
I don’t think Rose would. Everything I’ve seen of her is kind and sweet. But I didn’t think Amanda would, either, and I found out the hard way how wrong I was.
But there’s still something about Rose that makes me think it might be worth taking the risk.
It’s not just that she’s sweet and thoughtful and quietly funny, like how she teased me about the oven and even clapped when I presented dinner without burning anything.
She’s beautiful, with gorgeous green-gold eyes and a perfect heart-shaped face, and a smile that makes my heart catch every time I see it.
Rose is smart. Strong, even when she has so much stacked against her. And so incredibly talented.
Then there’s the way my body responds when I’m around her. It’s so much more than attraction. Last night, when we were talking on the loveseat, there were so many times I wanted to kiss her.
I didn’t. Because that would send a message I’m not sure I’m ready for. Rose isn’t the type to just kiss and walk away from. If I kiss her, it’s going to be the start of something.
Since I’m still wavering between courage and fear—me, a thirty-five-year-old man who owns a business and runs into burning buildings, afraid to get hurt again—I’m showing up at Rose’s apartment still clinging to the weak claim that I’m just here as a friend.
Until she opens the door and I see her face.
Then all my talk about friendship goes flat.
Rose is smiling, but it’s clear she’s upset. There are tiny lines of worry etched between her eyes and across her forehead. Her eyes have dulled to a tarnished bronze. Even her voice is strained.
“Ian. I’m so glad you’re here.” Her smile looks real, but it’s the rest I’m worried about.
“Hey.” I step through the doorway and instinctively pull her into my arms. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, of course.” It’s too quick. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
This is definitely a fine that doesn’t mean it.
I don’t want to push her, though; maybe she’ll tell me later herself. So I say quickly, “No reason.” Then I step back and hold up the bag with the Ring cameras in it. “Security expert Ian at your service.”
The tension in Rose’s features relaxes a little, and her smile brightens. “Thank you, Ian. I really appreciate this. And I ordered pizza, since I figured you’d be hungry after work. I wanted to buy some beer for you, but I can’t drive; there’s that market I could walk to, but…”
But she was probably scared to go there on her own. And looking at Rose still all bruised, so small and fragile, anger washes over me all over again.
Gritting my teeth, I swallow it back. “It’s fine, hun. I don’t need a beer. But if you want to go to the store, I can take you.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I can figure something out. Delivery or an Uber or something.”
The idea of Rose having to go grocery shopping on her own—trying to manage the cart and all the bags and people staring at her swollen cheek and bandaged hand—doesn’t sit right with me. What if someone bangs into her? Or makes her feel uncomfortable? In a small town, people think nothing of asking personal questions, and Rose isn’t used to that.
Shit. I’m about two seconds from announcing that I’ll do all Rose’s grocery shopping, but I don’t think she’ll really appreciate that.
After sorting through possible answers that won’t make me sound like a controlling jerk or an overprotective boyfriend, I settle on, “Well, I wouldn’t mind. I usually hit the grocery store on Friday evenings. So if you wanted to come with me… I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Rose stares at me for a second, hesitating. “I don’t want to put you out, Ian. You’re already doing so much. I’m sure you don’t have much free time, with the gym and volunteering and seeing your friends… I don’t want to be selfish.”
“You’re not. And you’re a friend—” Her face drops and I immediately wish I could take it back. The feelings I have for Rose go beyond friendship, but it’s this damn fear that’s making me deny it. “That’s not what I?—”
“It’s okay, Ian.” This time, her smile is forced. “I still have some food from shopping last weekend. I’m not going to worry about it right now.”
Crap. Now I feel like an ass. Rose is clearly struggling with something and I’m not helping at all.
I have to fix this. But I’m not sure how.
With an overly chipper voice, Rose asks, “Do you want to eat first? Or do the cameras?” She glances at the bag in my hand. “The pizza came a little early, so I have it warming in the oven. So it should be okay to eat whenever.”
Since it feels like there’s a lump of iron in my stomach, pizza doesn’t sound very appealing right now. “Cameras first.” I walk over to the coffee table and set the bag down on it. “I got the video doorbell, a camera to go over the back door, and a bunch of those magnetic sensors for all the first-floor windows.”
Rose comes beside me and peers at the boxes scattered across the table. A little line forms between her eyebrows. “Ian, that’s too much. I thought we were just doing the doorbell. And I would have ordered everything online if I knew you were buying all this.”
“It’s not.” Ignoring my stubborn reservations, I loop my arm around her waist and pull her into my side. “I want you to have a safe apartment. It makes me happy to do this for you. Okay?”
She takes a deep breath and then leans her weight against me. “Okay.”
Things are a little less tense after that, but I still feel like shit.
Not that Rose does anything to make me feel that way. As she tags along, watching me install the cameras, she asks me questions about work and volunteering and Baxter and if I wasn't looking for it, I’d never know she’s still upset. If not for that tiny line, and the way her smile drops whenever she thinks I’m not looking, and the slump of her shoulders…
Dammit. Once I’m done with all the cameras, I have to do something. Push her to talk about it. Apologize. Stop being a coward.
We’ve just come inside after I finished installing the doorbell when Rose finally says quietly, “I had a bad day today.”
“Ah, Rose.” I close the front door behind me. “What happened?”
She heads over to the loveseat and sits down with a sigh. “I had to make a lot of calls today. And they didn’t go well.”
I hurry to sit down beside her. “How so?”
“Well, I had to call the owner of the gallery I usually show at. In Manhattan. I’m supposed to have a big show there in November, but…” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to have enough paintings. Not the way things are going now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can’t say I was surprised. Avery—that’s the gallery owner—wants to show twenty paintings. I only have twelve ready. But I had hoped she might go with a smaller show. Or maybe I could add in some of the ones I have here. But Avery wants all new works, and these”—Rose gestures at the walls—“have already been displayed elsewhere.”
“So what now?”
Her jaw tightens. “Unless I can get eight more paintings done by the end of October, the show will be canceled. I don’t know… And I have an exclusive contract with her. I can’t show anywhere else in the city. I can try to find a gallery somewhere else, Boston or Philadelphia or something. It’s just… with my hand, and now everyone knows. It was on Page Six. Can you believe that?”
“I’m sorry, Rose.”
A sad smile appears. “After that, I called NYU—I teach a class in advanced oil painting there—to ask if they had any additional classes I could pick up. Adult Ed or something, at least. But there’s nothing until winter semester.”
Now I’m really glad I bought all the security stuff myself. I hadn’t given much thought to Rose’s finances before; I kind of assumed she did pretty well, but then again, it’s not like all her paintings sell for twenty K. Plus there are all her expenses—the apartment, the studio, moving…
“It’s going to be okay.” Her voice is soft, contemplative, almost like she’s reassuring herself. “I’ll make it work.”
“You will.” My arm goes around Rose’s shoulders. “I’m sure you will.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry to be whining about this. I think I’m just… stressed. Tired.”
“Tired?”
Her gaze dips. In a low voice, she says, “I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I think he’s found me. That he’s back.”
Ah, fuck.
My chest feels carved out, aching.
“ Rose .” I need to hold her. Not as a friend, but more.
So I carefully gather her in my arms, one hand on her back, the other cupping her head. Then I press my lips to her hair, breathing in her sweet scent, and murmur, “I’m so sorry, hun. So sorry.”
“Ian.” It’s a soft whisper as Rose sags into my chest. Her good hand snakes around me to clutch at the back of my shirt.
Oh. This feeling.
It’s so many emotions colliding. Affection. Protectiveness. Joy.
Fear. Anger.
I’m not sure how long I hold her before she pulls away, her eyes slightly damp. “I’m sorry. You came over to help with the cameras, and now I’m… this isn’t who I am. Complaining. Scared. You’re just being friendly and I’m taking advantage?—”
“No.” Emotion makes my voice rough. “You’re not.”
She blinks at me. “But.”
“What I said earlier. About you just being a friend.” My heart thuds unevenly. “It wasn’t right.”
Her brows pull into a little V. “It wasn’t?”
“It—” Just say it. “It feels like more than that. To me, at least. I know we haven’t known each other long, but when I’m with you… I feel something. More than I would for just a friend.”
Confusion creases her forehead. “Ian. What are you saying?”
“I don’t want to just be friends with you, Rose. I want more.” And after six years of resolutely staying single, I throw everything out there. “Dating. Kissing. Seeing where this goes. That is”—my chest gets tight—“if you want, of course.”
As I wait for her answer, time seems to come to a stop.
Then her face lights up. “Yes. I want to. Date, I mean.” Her lips quirk. “And kiss.”
Yes . Kissing would be nice.
Especially as I’m looking at Rose’s rosebud lips, slightly parted and practically calling to me to kiss them. And she’s gazing at me with this expression of… longing, I think. The same feeling I have for her.
I cup her cheek, stroking my thumb across the silk of her skin. Her breath quickens.
“What do you think?” As I lean closer, she moves toward me; two magnets inescapably attracted. “Should we, then?”
Her hand comes to my shoulder. “We should.”
But just before I kiss her, I have a moment of worry. “Rose. Your chin. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You couldn’t.”
And then Rose kisses me.
It’s tentative at first, just the lightest brush of her lips against mine.
Then a bit more—a hint of tongue, a tiny nip at my lower lip—inviting me to join her.
I cup her nape, my fingers tunneling through her hair.
We come together. My mouth slants over hers. My tongue traces the line of her lips, teasing them open.
As we keep kissing, Rose presses against me, and I can feel the swell of her breasts and her nipples tightening into hard peaks.
Arousal throbs, hard and needy.
I want to devour her, yank her onto my lap and make love to her mouth, slide my hands under her shirt and touch her enticing curves.
I want to notch myself at Rose’s hot, slick heat. I want to feel her opening for me.
She makes a little moan in the back of her throat, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.
Everything about kissing Rose is perfection. Her small body tucked against mine. Her soft lips. The feel of her hair. Her sweet scent. Those noises she’s making.
But despite my ravenous desire for her, Rose is still hurt, and I need to be gentle. So I reluctantly drag my mouth from hers, brushing the dampness from her kiss-swollen lips.
Before I can say anything, she makes a cute little face at me. “Why did you stop? Was it bad?”
“Not at all.” I brush a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I stopped because you’re hurt, and I want to be careful with you. Not because I didn’t like kissing you.”
“So you did like kissing me?”
“Rose. Look at me.” Her gaze follows mine to the very large bulge in my pants. “Trust me. It was incredible.”
Pink touches her cheeks. “Oh. Okay, then.” She glances below my waist again. “Good. I just wanted to make sure.” Then she shifts around to snuggle against me, her head resting on my shoulder. With a little laugh, she says, “Well. My day just got a lot better.”
“Mine too.”
We fall into silence for a minute, both of us deep in our thoughts.
I think about my ex, and the six years I spent single. I think about the occasional hookups I had, and how little they meant. And I think about this thing with Rose. How I just know there’s something different about her. About me when I’m with her.
And that’s why I say, out of the blue, “My ex-wife cheated on me. After that, I didn’t want a relationship. It's been six years since my divorce. You’re the first woman I could see something with. That I’ve wanted to date.”
Rose tilts her head to look up at me. A small frown pulls at her lips. “She cheated on you?”
On our first date, I’d mentioned to Rose that I was married before—that’s not something I would ever keep a secret—but I didn’t tell her why the marriage ended.
“Yes.” And it still stings, not because I still love Amanda, but because of the betrayal.
Her face jerks with shock. “On you? Why ?” A beat, and then, “Forget I asked that. It’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. If we’re going to be dating… well, assuming you still want to… I want you to know.”
“Of course I still want to.”
“Well, Amanda—my ex—was never happy with my career. Or how much money I made. We met in college; she knew what I wanted to do, but we were young, and maybe she thought I’d change my mind. But over the years, she got resentful. That I wasn’t making more. Buying her more things.”
At Rose’s affronted expression, I let out a low chuckle. “It’s okay. We wanted different things. And we should have just split up, really. But I still wanted to try to make it work. And then the opportunity with the gym came up, and Amanda was actually enthusiastic about it. She liked the idea of living closer to the city, and me owning a gym…”
“But?”
“She got a job as an executive assistant in Manhattan. Started spending a lot of evenings there, for work events. I didn’t realize—” I sigh, shaking my head. “She found a guy in the city. A hedge fund manager who worked in her building. And then she told me she was leaving me for him. Because he was successful. He could treat her the way she deserved.”
With a touch of bitterness, I finish the story. “She blamed me for it. Said if I’d gotten a better job, she would have stayed. Back then, it hurt. Now, I’m glad it happened. I’m happy with my life as it is.”
Rose stares at me for a moment, scowling. Then she sets her jaw. “Ian. Your ex sounds horrible. You are amazing . I like everything about you. I’m sorry she hurt you; you didn’t deserve that. But I’m selfishly glad that she’s such a crap person, because that means I get to be with you.”
Warmth expands in my chest; this incredible, happy feeling. “I’m glad too. And Rose—” I take her hand between mine. “Part of the reason I told you is because I want you to know… Dating you. It’s a big deal to me. Maybe that sounds cheesy?—”
“It doesn’t.” She leans in to give me a soft kiss. “And I’ve never felt this way before. Just so you know. I’ve dated… but this thing between us. It’s different. And it’s a big deal to me, too.”