Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROSE
Nothing is going to ruin my day this time.
Ian took the afternoon off specifically so we could do something fun together, and I’m not letting anything spoil it.
Not the flashback as I rinsed my hair in the shower, or the reminder of violence displayed on my breast in an array of vivid purples and blues.
Not the blast of fear that came with the thump at the front door— not an intruder, but just a package being delivered.
And especially not news about Diem. Or awful-Diem , as Ian refers to her, scowling each time her name comes up. “Even if she’s not behind this,” he told me the other day, “she’s still a bad person. Texting you just to rub it in about the show? I don’t like it. And I don’t like her .”
I can’t disagree with him. No matter how much I’ve tried to give her the benefit of the doubt over the years, she’s not a pleasant person. Which makes the news about her sting even more.
It shouldn’t matter. Just because she’s getting the fellowship I desperately wanted, the one I was a front-runner for, it doesn’t mean I was guaranteed to get it. The stipend and solo studio space on the NYU campus could have gone to any of the other finalists just as easily.
Except I know that’s not true, because when I called to withdraw my application—I couldn’t in good conscience stay in the running knowing how uncertain my future is—the head of the committee practically told me I would have won.
I think if the fellowship had gone to anyone else, it wouldn’t sting so much. But Diem? With her smug texts and her pretentious paintings and the last message she sent me, which was a link to an art teacher position at a private school in Manhattan, saying, Thought of you when I saw this …
It’s not that I think she’s really behind my attacks. The very idea of Diem approaching a seedy man in a bar, paying him to attack me—I can’t see it. But is she happy about my injury? Most likely.
If this had happened before I moved to Sleepy Hollow, it would have been a devastating blow. Art was my life, occasionally interrupted by obligatory events or the rare evening out when I couldn't come up with an excuse not to go.
But now it’s much different. I have Ian. And Ari and Thea. My new trivia team. All of Ian’s friends—Cash, Ben, Grant, Chris—who’ve all been nothing but kind to me. Even Mrs. Plimpton, who brought a stack of casseroles over yesterday, saying with a wry smile, “I’ve heard stories about how your Ian cooks. This will be much safer.”
Ian . The man I’m falling for.
Or if I’m honest with myself, I might already be there.
He’s everything I could ever want. Considerate. Sweet. Protective. Sensitive, though he keeps that part well-hidden. And the way he takes care of me… I never thought I needed that—I was happy being independent—but when Ian does things for me, I feel treasured.
Maybe even loved?
With Ian, I’m hopeful, regardless of what happens with my hand.
After spending the last few days at his house, I’m imagining a future here. Maybe it’s premature, but I can picture myself sitting by the window in the bedroom upstairs, reading in the afternoon sun. I can see Ian and I out on the patio, tossing a ball for Baxter, and possibly a clumsy puppy trailing after him.
I can imagine trivia each Wednesday, and going to the Food Fest every year. I can see days and months and years with Ian. Decades, even.
Thinking about it fills my heart with this incredible warmth, like the sun soaking into me.
So when Ian walks into the living room all fresh-smelling, his hair still damp, and his cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower, and asks, “Are you ready to go?” all the bad thoughts disappear and I’m flooded with this incredible happiness and anticipation.
“Yes.” I jump up from the couch and swipe the camera case from the coffee table. “I can’t wait.”
He hurries over to me and takes the case from me. “I’ll carry that, hun.” Then he cups my nape and kisses me; it’s soft and tender, but with a hint of possession.
It’s nothing over the top, but just the way Ian controls the angle of our kiss, how he rests his hand at the small of my back and pulls me toward him, the hungry look in his eyes…
I love it.
Humming in the back of my throat, I sink into the kiss, stroking his tongue, sucking at it, nibbling at his bottom lip. My good hand clutches his shoulder, my nails lightly digging in. His arousal prods at my belly, hard and insistent, and for a second I contemplate skipping this whole park thing and bringing Ian to the bedroom instead.
“Rose.” Ian pulls away and gives me a gently scolding look. “I thought you wanted to go to the park. If you keep that up, we’re not going anywhere.”
“No, I want to go.” Stepping back, I catch his hand in mine. “But you look so good. And when you kiss me…”
A satisfied smile pulls at his lips. “I could say the same.” His gaze moves down my body, eyes darkening in appreciation. “Especially in that sexy dress.”
It’s just a sundress, similar to the one I wore the other night, but this one has a pattern of pink flowers that makes me feel cheery all over. The neckline is high in the front, but it has a deep V in the back, and I’m looking forward to Ian noticing when I walk in front of him.
“Mmm. Maybe when we get back?”
Wrapping his arm around my waist, he leads me to the front door. “ Definitely when we get back.” Then his hand slides up my bare back, and he growls low in his throat. “Rose. I thought this was just a regular dress.”
“It is.” My lips twitch, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this free and happy. “Don’t you like it?”
“You know I do.” He drags me to him again, this time kissing me hard and fast. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here before my willpower is completely gone.”
As much as I’m looking forward to it, when we get to Rockefeller Park, I have a brief flash of unease. Even though it’s broad daylight, there are families and runners and people walking their dogs, there’s still a moment when I think, What if he’s here?
But wonderful Ian just hugs me close and kisses me softly on the top of my head. “It’s fine, hun. I’m right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know.” And I do.
It doesn’t stop me from clinging to his hand tightly for the first ten minutes of our walk through the park. Or keeping my eyes on a swivel, unable to stop searching for any sign of danger.
Once we get to Swan Lake, I finally start to relax. The trail we’re on runs all the way around the lake, giving expansive views of the crystalline blue water, lush, green trees, and bright spots of yellow flowers scattered by the lake’s edge. The sky is nearly cloudless, only spotted with a few wisps of white.
As I take in all the details of the scene—a bird winging its way across the sky, the faint ripples in the water, cattails swaying in the breeze—all the things I’ve tried not to think about since my hand was broken come back to me. The contrast of the rich greens and vivid blues. The juxtaposition of slender cattails next to blossoming Black-eyed Susans. That one bird swooping low to the water, a spot of color in a canvas of blue.
It’s like coming home. My eyes burn at the pure sweetness of it.
“Rose, are you okay?” Ian squeezes my hand. His expression is filled with concern. “Are you crying?”
“No.” Sniffling, I blink the tears away. “I’m not sad. I just… I tried not to think about this. Seeing something I’d want to paint. But now that I’m here…”
“Ah, hun. If it’s too soon?—”
“It’s not.” I take a deep breath to steady myself. “It’s good. Before, I felt like something was missing. But now… I think I’d like to take some pictures. It feels right.”
Emotion washes across Ian’s face, and he gives me a small smile. “Okay. Let’s take some pictures, then.”
It was an idea Finn’s wife, Hanna, gave me two nights ago, when I stayed at Blade and Arrow while Ian volunteered at the station. He hadn’t wanted to go, too worried about leaving me alone, but I insisted. All I could think of was how comforted I’d been when Ian and Grant and Cash showed up to help me, and how selfish it would be to keep Ian from helping someone else just because I wanted him with me.
So I went over to the B and A headquarters and spent the evening hanging out with Elle and Hanna, drinking wine and talking about books and having a really good time. We were at Hanna’s apartment—the entire team lives there on the upper floors of the building—and I was looking at all the framed photos on the walls. That was when Hanna made her suggestion.
She said cautiously, “Maybe it’s none of my business, Rose. I can’t imagine how hard it must be not to paint right now. But I’m thinking… maybe you could try taking some photos. All that creativity, all cooped up inside you, and it might help to have a way to get it out.”
My instinct was to say no immediately. How could taking photos compensate for not painting? But Hanna’s a professional photographer, so she really does understand how it feels to see something and be compelled to capture it. So I thought about it for the rest of the night, and just before Ian was due to pick me up, I took her up on the offer of a camera to borrow.
“This one should be easy to use one-handed,” Hanna explained. “It’s digital, super lightweight, and takes really high-quality photos. I think you’ll like it.”
I wasn’t sure, even coming over here, how I’d feel about it. Would it feel like giving up? Just taking a photo of something instead of creating it myself? But as I take picture after picture, carefully composing each frame, it doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels like a fractured part of me is starting to heal.
And once I start, I don’t want to stop. Once I’ve taken my fill at the lake, we head through the trails; Ian endlessly patient and encouraging as I snap photos of gracefully drooping tree branches and colorful riots of flowers. We find a spot Hanna mentioned—a large rock called a glacial erratic—and once I’ve taken the artistic shots, Ian and I take selfies in front of it and I’m more excited to see those pictures than any of the others.
As we walk through the park, we chat about easy things. Movies we want to watch together. Brushing up on current events for our next trivia night. Whether we want to have one of the casseroles Mrs. Plimpton left, or cook chicken on the grill. And Ian’s constantly touching me, either holding my hand, wrapping his arm around my waist, or when I’m taking a photo, resting his hand on my bare back.
It’s a perfect day. With the perfect man.
And I know—this deep-down certainty—that even if I can’t paint again, I’m going to be okay.
When our stomachs start rumbling, we reluctantly head back to the car. Just as we’re looping past the lake again, Ian tugs me off the path, so we’re standing just at the edge of the water.
“Rose.” His smile slides into something more serious, and my heart flutters nervously. “I need to tell you something.”
Oh, please, nothing bad . Through a constricting throat, I ask, “What?”
“It’s not bad.” He pauses. “At least, I hope.”
That’s not reassuring. “Okay?”
“I—” His hand tightens around mine, and he sucks in a deep breath. “I should say this better. But I’m not sure how. I just know how I feel. And Rose…” Another deep breath. “I’m falling for you.”
Oh . Did he say what I thought he did? “You are?”
“I know it’s soon, but I’ve never felt this way for anyone. Not even—not anyone. Just you. And it’s okay if you don’t feel it yet. I just wanted?—”
“I do. I’ve been.” My heart rockets to triple speed, not from fear this time, but joy. “I’m falling for you, too.”
“Oh, Rose.” It’s a relieved exhale. “Thank God.” Pulling me close, his mouth captures mine. “I said it was okay if you didn’t, but I was hoping?—”
“Well, I do.” I grin at him, happiness fizzing in my chest. “How could I not? You’re amazing.”
“So are you.” And we beam at each other; the rest of the world fading away. It’s just us, sharing this incredible moment. A gift that came out of darkness.
After a minute or an hour, my stomach makes another loud rumble, and I clutch at my belly as if that could somehow stifle it. “Stupid stomach,” I grumble, laughing at the same time. “Ruining the moment.”
“It’s okay.” Ian loops his arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go home, get something to eat, and then…”
My phone buzzes, cutting off his sentence. It’s tucked in the camera bag Ian’s holding, and as he reaches in the front pocket, I hurry to say, “I can get it later. I’m sure it’s nothing important.”
Or at least, it’s nothing I want to deal with now. Right now, I want to stay in this love-bubble and spend the entire night with Ian without anything else interrupting us.
“It’s Drake,” Ian says, glancing at the screen. “Are you sure you don’t want to answer it?”
“Drake?” My pulse speeds up. Is there something wrong? Is he hurt? Alaska? His mom? My mom? Hand shaking, I reach out for the phone. “I should answer.”
But as soon as I swipe to answer, I’m not so sure.
“ Ro .” His rumbly voice is sterner than usual. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Um.” I try to sound innocent. “Tell you about what?”
“That you were attacked? Twice? You were hurt? Your hand is broken? You’re in danger? Pick one.”
Eeep. “How did you find out?”
He sighs heavily. “Rose. You know I have connections. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Not worry? Are you kidding me? You’ve been in danger for weeks. You’re hurt, alone—why didn’t you come to me?” Incredulity shifts to hurt. “I would have come, Ro. We could have brought you here, protected you.”
“I didn’t want that, Drake. For you and Alaska to have something else to worry about. For Mom… she’s finally happy. I don’t want to ruin that.”
“And what if something else happened to you? Do you think your mom is going to be happy when she finds out you hid it from her? And Alaska is so worried. She’s afraid you’re going to be abducted. I’m scared for you.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat. In a small voice, I say, “I’m sorry. But you know everything my mom went through. Cancer. Her accident in high school. Working all those jobs. She’s so happy that I’m doing well. That I’m a success. I don’t want to ruin it for her.”
Ian slides his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. His brows are pulled into a deep V.
“You could have told me ,” Drake retorts. “You know what I’ve done. You know I could help.”
Sniffling, I whisper, “But you and Alaska?—”
“That doesn’t matter, Rose.” His tone dips. “You’re family. And now you’re across the country, handling this on your own, and you?—”
“That’s enough.” Ian takes the phone from me and puts it on speaker. To Drake, he says firmly, “Rose is capable of handing anything on her own. But she’s not. She’s accepting help from people in Sleepy Hollow. People who care about her.”
There’s a surprised silence, and then, “Who is this ?”
Ian’s jaw sets. “Ian Reilly. Rose’s boyfriend. And one of the people keeping her safe.”
“You haven’t done a very good job so far,” Drake shoots back, in full protective-mode.
“The second attack was unexpected.” There’s an undercurrent of self-recrimination in his words. “More than anything, I wish I had been there to stop it. But I’m not leaving Rose alone like that again.”
“And who are you to protect Rose?”
“Drake.” I sharpen my voice, interrupting him. “Don’t talk to Ian like that. First off, he’s my boyfriend, and I want you to get along. Also, he’s an expert in martial arts. He has what, six”—I glance at Ian and he nods—“black belts. And he did stop the man who attacked me. If Ian hadn’t come when he did…” My chest goes tight, and I trail off.
“It’s not just me,” Ian adds, his tone more conciliatory now. “We have Blade and Arrow on this. And I have all my friends looking out for Rose. She’s not on her own.”
The phone goes silent for a second. Then Drake sighs again, and says more kindly, “I’m glad to hear that. And I apologize for coming at you like that, Ian. But you have to understand, Ro is like a sister to me. To hear that she’s been hurt, and I wasn’t there to help…”
“I understand,” Ian replies, and he hugs me closer. “But I promise you, keeping Rose safe is more important than anything.”
“I’m sorry, Drake,” I add softly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. And I thought it was a random thing. Until a few days ago, at least.”
Drake gentles. “I’m sorry, Ro. When I heard… But I think you should come here. To New Mexico. We can keep you safe here until all this is figured out.”
“No.” I don’t even think about it. “I’m staying in Sleepy Hollow.”
Ian looks down at me, frowning. After a tiny hesitation, he says, “If you think it’s safer there… maybe…”
“I don’t want to leave.” Holding his gaze, I continue, “I want to stay here. With you. And my friends. Unless”—fear slams into me, stealing my breath—“you want me to leave?”
“Of course not. No, Rose, I don’t want you to leave.” Ian’s adamant. “Of course I want you with me. But I don’t want to be selfish?—”
“I want to be here,” I repeat firmly. “Drake, I feel safe with Ian. And I… I want to be here with him. Okay?”
“Okay,” Drake says. “But we’re coming to visit you soon. And you need to keep me updated. I need to know you’re alright.” A beat, and then, “And Ian?”
“Yes?”
“Take care of Rose.”
Ian looks down at me; his gaze soft, but his features like stone. “With my life.”