Chapter 31 Rosalie
ROSALIE
Avery Jacobs-Maxwell is a PR genius.
Not that I had any doubt, but man, what a difference a day can make. Logan’s statement has gone viral. It’s everywhere, from gossip sites to social media feeds.
Even Good Morning LA, the city’s top morning show, is currently discussing it on-air.
“Ladies all over LA are in mourning today because Logan Edwards, one of Celeb Insider’s sexiest billionaire bachelors, has confirmed he is officially off the market.
In case you’ve been living under a rock, the Flingr founder was recently caught locking lips in the Arts District with Social Media Manager, Rosalie Morales.
But this brunette beauty is not a new fixture in his life.
We’ve heard directly from the source, and they’ve known each other half their lives.
She’s his best friend’s sister, and get this!
The woman of his dreams! How sweet is that? ”
“It’s like a fairytale come to life, Krista,” her co-host adds.
“Indeed,” Krista replies. “I’m certainly rooting for their happily ever after.”
I turn off the TV before they start speculating where we’ll spend our honeymoon and how many kids we’ll have.
How is this my life?
I work with celebrities every day. I’ve become so desensitized, I don’t even get starstruck around the biggest A-listers anymore. But hearing a couple of morning talk show hosts discuss me like I’m one of them? That’s just weird.
And as if the Google alerts flooding my inbox weren’t enough, my family has been blowing up our group chat all morning. I scroll through our messages from earlier, shaking my head harder with every line.
Mom: Kudos to Logan on the statement, Rosa! It was SO romantic!
Sylvie: And
Dad: How are you doing, pumpkin?
Me: I’m fine, everyone. Logan’s statement seems to be getting the job done. The vultures are backing off.
Mom: I hope you plan to reward him later…
Sylvie: I’m sure Rosa planned on doing that regardless.
Dad: Are we talking about what I think we’re talking about?
*Ryan has left the group
*Sylvie has added Ryan to the group
Sylvie: If you think we’re talking about Rosa getting to the center of Logan’s tootsie pop, then the answer to your question is yes.
*Ryan has left the group
*Sylvie has added Ryan to the group
Sylvie: You know I’m going to keep adding you, Ry, so don’t bother leaving. Let’s call it payback for being a dick the other day.
Dad: Ope. She got you there, son.
Ryan: I hate you all.
Mom: Ryan, you’re 28 years old. You should be able to handle a conversation about oral sex.
Ryan: NOT WITH MY PARENTS!
Me: I’m with him on this one. We just went over this. BOUNDARIES, MOTHER!
Sylvie: What is up with these two prudes? I don’t have an explanation for Ry but maybe Rosa and I were switched at birth.
Me: You’re two months older than me, Sylvie. The math ain’t mathing on that theory.
Sylvie: Semantics. I’d much rather talk about blow jobs anyway.
*Ryan has left the group
*Sylvie has added Ryan to the group
Dad: You kids crack me up.
Mom: Hector…this conversation has reminded me that I could use your help with something. Meet me in the bedroom, hot stuff.
Dad: Be right there, my foxy lady!
Ryan:
Me: What he said
Sylvie: Aw, Ryan and Rosa are bonding over their disgust for Mommy and Daddy’s sex life.
Ryan:
Me:
Sylvie: There’s hope for you two yet.
Jesus, my family is ridiculous. But if I’ve learned anything this week, it’s that real love, whether romantic or otherwise, isn’t always picture-perfect.
It’s uninhibited and messy, occasionally taking the form of a raunchy group chat or my cousin’s enthusiastic offers to maim my ex.
Other times, it arrives via a special gift box.
I suppose I should be grateful Dr. Tate didn’t bring that up this morning. Though to be fair, it is still early.
I flop back onto the cushions with an exhale, staring at the ceiling as I let it all wash over me. The ground beneath my feet is a series of aftershocks, yet ironically, I’ve never felt more stable.
More certain of my future.
Look at me, winning at adulting before nine in the morn!
Unfortunately, emotional clarity doesn’t excuse me from my very grownup responsibilities, so I need to finish getting ready for work.
I groan as I drag myself toward the bedroom in search of my go-to bad bitch energy outfit.
First stop—lingerie drawer. Because seriously, if I’m going to face the inevitable whispers and side-eyes from random people on the street, I’ll be doing it with sexy reinforcements.
I drop my robe and dig past my everyday undies, sifting through lacy cheekies and seamless thongs, until I find the duo I’m looking for.
Royal purple satin bra, trimmed in inky black lace with a matching thong that sits snugly on my hips.
This set is soft and seductive and superbly superfluous for the office, but that’s the point.
It doesn’t matter if no one will see it.
I know it’s there, and that makes all the difference.
Confidence mode activated.
Next up— pants. I yank open my closet, pulling out my favorite black high-waisted wide-legged slacks.
They make my vertically-challenged gams look ten miles long, and even better, they give my butt a nice lift without a flight to Brazil.
I pair them with an eggplant satin blouse that drapes just low enough to be flirty but still remains professional.
The jewel tone brings out the warmth in my skin, giving it an extra glow.
Now it’s time for the finishing touches.
I clasp a delicate gold lariat necklace around my neck, its slim drop pendant skimming just above the dip in my blouse.
It’s minimal, but strategic. A little sparkle, if you will, to draw the eye without being obvious.
I step into my favorite strappy black heels, swipe on a touch of lip gloss, toss my beachy waves one last time, and give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
Well, hot damn.
I might feel like a trash panda disguised as a human more often than not, but on the outside, you’d never know it today.
I’m that bitch.
The one who makes you do a double take, wondering what her secret is.
God bless the power of sexy lingerie.
I adjust the drape of my blouse, grab my laptop bag, and head for the door. I blow a kiss to Frida over my shoulder as I do every morning, roll my shoulders back, lift my chin, and call to mind one motivational truth to start my day.
Rosalie Morales, you are one badass bitch. Whatever they say about you doesn’t change who you are.
With a satisfied nod, I repeat the mantra in my head one more time before locking the door and striding toward the elevator. Just before the doors open, I catch my reflection on the mirrored wall and smile.
Because the woman staring back at me isn’t just the sassy sidekick in a romcom anymore.
She’s the damn lead.
After work, I’m dying to pull on my comfiest pair of pjs and zone out on a documentary while I wait for Logan to get here.
But when I reach my apartment, I pause. Something smells amazing, and I can swear it’s drifting out from beneath the door.
It’s savory, and buttery, and so familiar, my chest tightens.
I unlock the door, opening it slowly. When I spy Logan standing in front of the stove, my jaw damn near unhinges.
He’s wearing a black T-shirt and joggers with bare feet, looking so at home in my tiny kitchen it makes me want to weep.
But it’s the hot pink apron he’s wearing over his clothes, bedazzled with Domestic AF across the chest, that sends me over the edge.
I want to cry in gratitude, make out with him, and have his babies, all at once.
Excuse me, sir. Could you be any dreamier?
Me thinks not.
“You gonna stand there looking at my ass all night, or are you actually going to come inside?” Logan teases.
Busted.
“What is happening right now?” I toe off my heels, dropping my bag by the door. “There’s a muscly, tattooed guy in my kitchen cooking over a hot stove. I feel like I just walked into the opening scene of a ‘Popular with Women’ porno.”
He tosses a wink over his shoulder. “Play your cards right, and you just might make that a reality.”
Well, slap my ass and deal me in.
There’s a bottle of red wine breathing on the counter with two glasses beside it. Telling my hormones to cool it, I pour myself a little, humming as I taste subtle notes of cranberry and spice.
Curious, I pad toward the stove and peek over his shoulder. He’s stirring a pan of buttery peas, but my eyes zero in on the glass pie dish on the warmer. Mashed potatoes are piped in thick swirls over some kind of filling.
Wait a damn minute…
“Is that cottage pie?!”
Logan quickly glances at me. “Maybe.”
I gasp. “It is! Like, my nana’s cottage pie! How did you pull this off?”
“The good doctor walked me through it.” He grins. “I told her I wanted to do something special for you.”
Aaaand my heart’s officially a labradoodle with a case of the zoomies.
My nana’s cottage pie is the ultimate comfort food, right up there with my abuelita’s vegetable tamales.
The matriarchs on both sides of my family have always shown their love through food.
When I became a vegetarian at fourteen, I begged my grandmother to create a meatless version of her classic recipe.
True to her traditional, determined Irish nature, she kept experimenting until even the carnivores in our house didn’t miss the original.
God, I miss her.
“I can’t believe my mom shared that recipe with you. It’s one of her most closely guarded secrets.”
Logan cringes.
My eyes narrow. “What was that for?”
He sets the wooden spoon down and faces me. “What was what for?”
“The cringe, Logan,” I deadpan. “Don’t even try pretending that didn’t happen. What did Dr. Tate make you promise before she gave up the recipe?”
He gives me a lazy grin. “Relax, Rosie. She didn’t make me promise anything.”
I study him, thinking of how to rephrase my question. “Okay…so what favor did you vaguely agree to, what secret did you spill, or what awkward event do I now have to attend with you?”
Logan chuckles as he closes the distance between us, planting a kiss on my forehead and pulling me into a hug. “It’s times like these where it’s inconvenient we know each other so well.”
I pull back, lifting my chin. “Nuh-uh. Quit trying to distract me. Tell me how my mom made you pay for that recipe because I know she didn’t give up the goods for free.”
Oh shit, is he blushing? That can’t be a good sign.
Logan takes a step back, clearing his throat. “I may or may not have admitted we’ve cracked open the special box.”
My eyes widen. “Logan!”
“And…that we’ve used some of the toys.”
“Oh, hell, now she’s never going to stop playing Fairy Godmother of Sex Toys,” I mutter. “What were you thinking?! You know how she is!”
“At least I didn’t tell her which toys!” he counters.
“Believe me, she tried getting that out of me, but I told her I was drawing a line. And I was thinking you’ve had a shit couple of days, and I wanted to do something that’d make you feel better.
I can handle a little embarrassment with your mother, Rosie, as long as you’re happy. ”
My mouth gapes like a fish, but I’ve got nothing. When he puts it that way, how can I be irritated?
Spoiler alert. I can’t.
I groan. “Why do you have to be so perfect? It’s annoying.”
“Well, you haven’t tried the food yet. For all we know, it tastes like dogshit.” Logan chuckles.
“I highly doubt that.”
He reaches into the overhead cabinet and removes a couple of plates. “Take a seat, Pip. I’ll bring the food over in a sec.”
I nab the bottle of wine and both glasses, making my way over to the couch.
A minute later, he returns with two heaping plates of veggies and legumes topped with buttery mashed potatoes and a side of peas. He sets one in front of me, presses a kiss to the top of my head, then settles in beside me.
I take my first bite, and honest-to-god, my eyes water. “Logan,” I whisper, chewing slowly. “This tastes exactly like hers.”
I close my eyes, and for a second, I can hear my nana humming over the stove and smell the juniper she always kept hanging over the door. It guts me, in the best way.
He nudges his knee against mine. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, all choked up. “Thank you.”
He smiles softly. “That look on your face is all the thanks I need.”
Is it possible to fall even more in love with this man? If so, I think I just did.
We eat dinner while watching Family Feud. The whole thing is so domestic and comfortable and everything I never knew I needed before now. After I take my last bite, I set my plate on the coffee table with a dramatic sigh.
“Oh, man, I think I may be carrying mashed potato twins.” I pat my lower belly for emphasis.
Logan gently pokes the same spot. “Does that mean you didn’t save room for dessert?”
I jolt upright. “I mean…I might have room for a bite or two. Depends what you got.”
His hazel eyes sparkle, knowing damn well I’m going to take a lot more than a bite or two. Without answering, Logan stands and disappears into the kitchen. I hear the fridge open, some rustling, and then he returns with a small white and pink striped pastry box, tied with gold string.
My heart stutters. “Is that…”
He sets it in front of me with a grin. “One triple chocolate cheesecake from Sweet Temptations.”
I open the box slowly. The glossy chocolate ganache glistens under the soft light, and I swear to all that is holy, an angel just got its wings.
“Logan,” I breathe. “It’s the most beautiful cheesecake in all the land.” I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye.
Okay, maybe it’s not so imaginary.
This is the best damn cheesecake in the world, okay?
I accept the fork he offers and dig in, taking a slow, reverent bite. The cheesecake melts on my tongue like a chocolate-drenched dream.
“Holy shit,” I moan. “It’s even better than I remember.”
Logan leans back against the armrest, watching me with a soft smile. “Glad you like it.”
I waggle my eyebrows at him playfully. “I think you just sealed your fate, Edwards.”
His mouth kicks up in the corner. “How so?”
I finish chewing and lick chocolate off the corner of my lip before answering. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”
“I’m good with that.” His voice drops to a low murmur. “Because I was never planning on letting you go, Rosie.”