Chapter 11
eleven
Rosalie
As Paige and I pull up to the house after another successful week of camp and work, my eyes catch on the numerous, very large boxes taking up a majority of my small front porch.
I briefly wonder if my parents shipped some of my stuff from home to our new house, but then I remember the furniture we purchased from Haven Home Goods was scheduled to arrive this week.
I run my hand down my face and let out a long sigh.
“Are you okay, Mommy?”
“Yeah, Paigey, I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to get all those boxes inside.”
“I have big muscles, Mommy. I can do it,” Paige exclaims with confidence.
“Oh, I have no doubt you can, but I think I may give Ms. Elodie a call and see if she can help me.”
When I left the Equine Center, Elodie mentioned she was staying a bit longer, so hopefully I can catch her before she heads home. I don’t want her to feel pressured to drive all the way back into town from her house to help me if she’s already left for the day.
After shutting off the truck, I touch her contact on my phone and move to unlock the front door so Paige and I can get into the house.
With all the boxes, it’s a tight fit, but somehow we manage.
When Elodie answers the phone, the first thing I hear is the noise in the background.
She’s definitely not at the clinic anymore, and my heart sinks.
I can pull these boxes inside by myself, but I don’t want to break anything or drag them across the floor of our rental.
“Dr. McNeil.” Elodie’s brusque tone comes through the speaker, giving me pause about even asking her for this favor.
“Hey, Elodie, it’s Rosalie,” I say hesitantly. We’ve gotten closer over the past few weeks, but I’m still a bit intimidated by this woman.
“Oh shit, Rosalie,” her voice already loads warmer, “I was so focused on getting out to Brightwood Farms I didn’t check to see who was calling before I answered. Is everything okay?”
“I should be asking you that, what’s going on at Brightwood Farms. I thought you would be close to heading home by now.”
“I’m the emergency vet on call this weekend and Mr. Brightwood called as I was leaving. His horse, Jack, is cast in his stall, and Mr. Brightwood is too old to help move him out of that position alone, so I’m heading over to help him out and check on Jack.”
“Gotcha, well, good luck. I hope it’s a quick visit and everything is okay.”
“Me too, but Rosalie?”
“Yeah.”
“You called me.”
You know, she’s right.
I laugh quietly. “I sure did. I was going to see if you could come over and help me move the boxes of unassembled furniture into the house, but I’ll figure out how to do it myself.”
“Shoot, sorry. I totally would have had this not come up. Why don’t you call Cameron? He lives fairly close, and I know he’d be willing to help.”
At the mere mention of his name my cheeks heat.
“Wouldn’t that be weird? I barely know him.” Elodie doesn’t know about the additional run-in I had with Cameron last weekend.
“It’s a small town, Rosalie. This is what people do for each other. I can give him a quick call and let him know I can’t help and to expect your call, if you want?”
I mull it over, still unsure of what to say, but knowing I need to take her up on this offer. At least I won’t be calling him out of blue.
“Okay, sure. Can you let me know what he says so I know he’s expecting me?”
“Absolutely. And again, sorry I’m not able to help.”
“No worries at all, and you did help. You found me an extra set of hands.” Big, manly hands attached to insanely muscled arms, a broad chest, and an incredibly handsome face. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?
“I did. Plus, Cameron does some woodworking on the side, so you should hit him up to help you assemble all that stuff. I know you can do it yourself but if he helps, it’ll get done faster.”
She makes a good point.
“Okay, thanks, Elodie, and good luck at Brightwood’s.”
We hang up, and I stare at the phone until the short text “done” comes through, confirming Cameron is on board to help me. Then I dig the receipt with his phone number out of my purse and dial.
A deep, warm voice answers the phone. “Hello.” The uptick at the end of the word gives a hint of something…excitement or incredulity, I can’t quite tell.
“Hey, Cameron, it’s Rosalie.” My delivery is formal and stilted, and I cover my eyes, embarrassed.
I hear a quiet chuckle, and then he speaks. “Yes, ma’am. Elodie said you’d be calling. You need some help bringing in some boxes?”
The “ma’am” joke immediately eases the tension in my chest, and I allow myself a laugh of my own.
“Okay, you make it sound like these are shoe boxes I can’t lift by myself, but these are large boxes of unassembled furniture,” I say with mock offense.
His deep laughter comes through the phone again, and it does something funny to my insides.
“I know, Elodie explained when she called. I was giving you a hard time. Send me your address and I can be over in the next fifteen to twenty minutes or so. Does that work?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Yes, thank you.”
“Great, see you then.”
His response is nonchalant and puts me at ease. Maybe I can get through this without making a fool out of myself after all.
I shoot him my address before taking in the state of my house—horse toys strewn around, dirty dishes in the side of the sink, and shoes everywhere.
I can’t let Cameron see my house like this.
I begin to panic, so much so I immediately enlist my seven-year-old’s help.
It’s a gamble, she gets easily distracted, and it could be more trouble than it’s worth, but apparently, this is the day for taking chances.
“Paigey, can you please come help Mommy clean up the living room?”