7. Spilling Secrets And Wine
CHAPTER
SPILLING SECRETS AND WINE
ROSIE
“She went
with the tinted balm. Nice choice.”
“I didn’t give her a choice.”
“And the sundress? Was that you too?”
Archie hums, watching me in the mirror. “That one was Rosie, actually.”
Marco slings his arms around Archie’s neck from behind, chin on his shoulder. He kisses the tips of his fingers. “Chef’s kiss, Ro. Easy access too.”
Heat seeps into my cheeks as I check out my reflection. My hair isn’t behaving today, and the flower barrettes I’ve used to pin my hair back aren’t doing much to hide it. I run my hands down my dress. “Do I look okay? Should I change? I nicked my knee shaving. My hair’s not right. What if—”
Archie shrugs off his boyfriend and pulls me into a hug. “You look beautiful, Ro.”
“Very fuckable,” Marco adds.
“What if he doesn’t like me?” I whisper against Archie’s chest.
His expression twists with disgust. “What’s not to like?”
I shrug, fiddling with my fingers. “People seem to find enough reasons.”
“We’re never good enough for the wrong people. But you’re just right for us, and we love everything about you. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself.” He cradles my face, smiling. “Now what do we say?”
I take a deep breath before reciting the words these two work so hard at ingraining. “I am kind. I am strong. I am beautiful. The people who are meant to be in my life will find me.”
“Damn right.” Marco ushers me down the hall, swatting my butt. “Now get outta here!” When I start stepping into my sneakers, he screeches. “ No
! Not the Nikes, Rosie, please
, for the love of God. You’re ruining a perfectly good outfit!”
I look down at my shoes, the white flowers decorating the light blue swoosh. They’re cute, and they match my dress. “I don’t have a car,” I remind him. “These are practical for walking.”
His stare begs me to reconsider, so I keep going before he can argue.
“You can force the tinted lip balm on me, but it’s sneakers or bare feet.
” I point at Archie. Besides the years we’ve spent as classmates and coworkers, we’ve also been roommates for three years.
Our routine is second nature, but I have a bit of a controlling streak a mile wide about certain things. “Connor is getting dropped off at—”
“Five.”
“And bath—”
“Is at six-fifteen.”
“And—”
“ Yes
, Rosie, I know. I’m not new.” He stuffs my wide-brim hat on my head. “Get outta here, or I’ll hold you down so Marco can change your shoes.” He throws a pointed look at the hallway closet, where a pair of four-inch heels wait to ruin my feet.
Any hint of humor dissipates, and I dash out the door before they can make good on their threats.
It’s a beautiful, sunny evening, and I’m running early, so I get off the bus two stops early so I can entertain the thoughts that are about to send me spiraling about how horribly this date is bound to go, just like the rest of them.
I waffle between being content in knowing we don’t need someone in our lives who doesn’t want to be here, and worrying that Adam won’t want me, not all of me.
It’s a disappointment that already feels so heavy, one I don’t want to carry with me.
I hate that I’m getting ahead of myself, living in the future instead of soaking in the now. So as the secluded park comes into view, I smooth my hands down my dress one last time and commit to giving this a fighting chance.
Adam’s last message told me to call when I arrived so he could come meet me, but it’s impossible to miss the huge spread laid out beneath an overgrown oak tree.
My heart patters a quick, steady beat that races down to the tips of my fingers, curling anxiously into my palms. A plaid blanket lays beneath the shade of the branches, a basket in one corner, an array of meats, cheeses, crackers, bread, and fruits spread over a wooden board in the center.
A stack of pillows in the corner completes the aesthetic, because Adam Lockwood is totally freaking Pinterest-worthy.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me when you got here?”
My heart leaps to my throat, and when I spin around, it skids to a stop altogether.
Adam is the picture of effortless perfection, someone blessed beyond belief with impeccable looks, finished with style in his crisp white short-sleeve button-up, untucked from his fitted gray shorts, dark curls swept to the side, vibrant blue eyes as playful as his immaculate, crooked grin.
But the sexiest thing he wears is the confidence of a man who’s certain he’s going to nail this date.
“Funny thing is,” he murmurs, stepping toward me, brows quirking when I take one step back.
“I knew you wouldn’t listen.” Another step toward me, and another step back, his smile growing, like he enjoys this game of cat and mouse we’re playing.
“You’re my favorite brand of trouble. Want to know why? ”
“Why?”
His hand comes out of his pocket, catching a fistful of my dress, stopping my next backward step, closing the distance between us.
His voice drops to a whisper, all gravel and husk, one that sends a hot shiver rippling down my spine when his lips pause at the shell of my ear.
“Because I’ve never wanted to be so deep in it as I do now that I’ve met you. ”
He presses a soft kiss to my blazing cheekbone before taking my hand, pulling me toward our picnic. “C’mon, pretty girl. You look like you need a glass of wine.”
A glass? I’m gonna need a whole bottle of liquid courage to keep up with that
. What happened to the man who was so nervous to ask me to dinner, he didn’t talk to me for a whole ten minutes, just kept opening his mouth and then snapping it shut?
“I had a girls’ night,” Adam tells me as he guides me down to a heap of pillows.
“Pardon?”
“You’re wondering where the confidence came from.
I had a girls’ night. I was so damn nervous about getting this date right I enlisted my best friends’ wives to give me advice.
” He holds up a bottle of sparkling water, red wine, and grape juice, pouring me a glass of the red when I point to it.
“Horrible idea, by the way. My confidence comes at the expense of my dignity, which has been lost to forced listening of sexy audiobooks.”
I clap a hand over my mouth as I sputter on my wine. “ Pardon
?”
“What, you’ve never been caught by your best friends listening to a smutty audiobook with three women and an eighty-six-year-old man?” The sun dances with the amusement in his eyes as he watches me laugh. “They thought I might need some dating help.”
“I find it hard to believe you’re that out of touch with the dating world.”
“I’m not, I guess. I’ve been on plenty of dates.
But this is the first one that’s felt like it’s meant something.
” He lifts a shoulder, gesturing at the spread before us.
“That’s probably why I was also on a four-way video call fifteen minutes ago with the same girls, freaking out about whether the pillows were too forward, if I should sit on the opposite side of the blanket, and how long into the date I have to wait before I take your hand and don’t let it go for the rest of the night. ”
He shifts my hat back and brushes my bangs aside, fingertips skimming my cheekbone.
“I can tell you’re nervous, Rosie, and I want you to know that, even if I seem confident right now, I’ve been a mess all week over this.
I’m not ashamed to admit it.” When he looks at me next, beneath lashes so dark and with a gaze so heady, butterflies erupt in my stomach.
“Then I saw you standing there in that hat and this sundress, and all the scary stuff melted away. The only thing I’m feeling right now is happy, and if you’re still nervous, I’ve got enough happy for the both of us. ”
“The pillows are comfy, I like having you next to me because you make me feel warm and special, and if you take my hand right now, I might not ever ask for it back.” The words spill out, but if I can’t give him all my truths tonight, I at least want him to have these.
The panic squeezing my throat eases at his kind smile.
“Wow, I only had to drink half a glass of wine to say that.”
“I brought two bottles in case you feel like laying it all out on the line tonight. You can tell me all your secrets.”
“That’s a second date kinda thing, Mr. Lockwood, and it also requires ice cream.”
“Got it. Two bottles of wine, an ice cream cone, and date number two.” He grins then, wide and full of mischief as his gaze drops to my legs.
His hand lands on my knee, sliding along my bare skin, where he nabs the hem of my dress from where it’s ridden up my thigh.
Gently, he shifts it back into place, eyes rising to meet mine, a fire blazing so hot, it singes my skin. “I can’t wait to unravel you.”
My eyes widen at the innuendo, and I toss back the rest of my wine. It does nothing to soothe the burn in my cheeks, or the sudden beat thrumming between my legs, so I reach for the wine and refill my glass. Adam chuckles, handing me a small bottle of sparkling water too.
He reaches inside the picnic basket and produces a bouquet of flowers, holding them out to me, smiling. “For you.”
My hand shoots out, fingers curling back into my palm for a moment before I hesitantly brush over the petals, hues of muted pinks and dusty lilac blues.
My vision wobbles and I trap my trembling lower lip between my teeth, an expected reaction as my mom’s laughter rings in my ears, memories of dirty hands and knees, peony bushes and falling leaves flashing through my mind.
“Rosie?” His voice dips, a slight tremble in his hand as he starts pulling the bouquet back. “I’m sorry. I meant to go with roses, because of your name. But then I saw these, and they were so pretty, they reminded me of you. If you don’t like them—”
“They’re perfect,” I murmur, wrapping my hand around his, bringing the flowers to my nose. “I love them, Adam.”