Chapter 31 Rosie
ROSIE
The rest of Saturday passed with me feeling like a dehydrated starfish.
Carol offered to stay and help clean up, but I refused.
I just wanted to be alone with my pounding headache and a good streaming binge.
Maybe a greasy burger or seven. It really depended on if I partook in the half a joint Meredith left on my porch.
Wesley was right; I was a sap of a stoner.
I couldn’t help but worry on and off all day about the fact that Lionel bit him.
Sure, my tortoise was a menace to most, but he usually kept his men-ass-ery to attempted nibbles.
This time, he practically took the tip off.
Okay, it wasn’t that bad, but after Wesley left, I started to wonder if he needed a shot.
Like, maybe a tetanus. Did we even wash it under the sink?
Is glue actually applied? This is why I don’t smoke!
Everything became fuzzy, and I was suddenly debating texting him because Lionel was my tortoise, who did, in fact, take a good chunk of Wesley’s finger.
However, that meant opening his text thread, and that was something I was avoiding like the plague.
I thought that half joint was exactly where it should have been—outside—so I could think rationally. Rationally meant not texting Wesley. What the hell was he thinking? He was in love with me because Lake told him? It would be humorous if it weren’t devastating.
Wesley was confused because his relationship with Caitlin ended, and his confession that it was over had butterflies erupting in my chest until I tamped them out.
He just wanted comfort, stability, and that’s what I was to him—comfort and stability wrapped in a nice package with a Rosie-shaped bow on top.
The room started to spin, and I didn’t know if it was because of him or dehydration—probably both.
I refused to let myself be swayed by the typical Wesley charm, even if I kept replaying his words over and over again in my head.
I scoffed out loud. Sure, yes. Tell me you’re in love with me because someone else pointed it out to you.
Unbelievable.
I must have dozed off because I woke up to the ringing of a cell phone and an annoyed tortoise at my feet, who clearly had missed a few snacks from me during the day since the sun had apparently already set.
“Sorry, Lionel. I’m too old for wine hangovers and illicit substances.”
He gave me a pointed look that was full of his usual judgment.
“Oh, stop. You bit someone, and you sleep most of the day away.”
In typical Lionel fashion, he glared at me and started to scoot toward the fridge slowly, pink hat and all, and I smirked at him while he went.
I had a few business days before he made it to his destination, and I must have dozed off again because my phone dinged in the distance with a missed call.
I jolted fully awake to the sound and a very peeved Lionel waiting for his snacks.
“One second,” I told him. I went to grab my phone off the counter and make my way to where his goodies were kept. Joy crept in at seeing that it was Megan. I hadn’t really talked to her since her opening—my conversation that happened at her place with Wesley didn’t count.
I swiped to open my screen, pressed the call button, and put my cell between my ear and shoulder so I could shred some lettuce for Lionel and also arrange some fruit for him.
“If it isn’t my favorite business owner,” I said as she answered.
“If it isn’t my traitor of a friend, working at Orla’s, hosting book clubs without me…”
How does she know about the book club?
“How did you know about that?” I wondered.
Not inviting her hadn’t been intentional.
I just never thought it was something she would be into since she didn’t, you know, read.
Not that we did much reading, but there was always a book a week, and I read them.
I actually loved them. Romantasy or Alien smut was becoming my favorite.
“I like to read my porn like most women,” she stated matter-of-factly. But there was teasing in her tone.
“The next one is at my place on Saturday,” I informed her.
“Count me in, but would you want to come by tomorrow for some treats and coffee?”
“Don’t you usually take Sundays off?” I heard shuffling on the other end of the line.
“I have some inventory to do. And I miss you. I’d like to catch up.”
I briefly considered telling her I was busy because I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to wake up feeling better the following morning.
I was too old for that kind of nonsense.
Megan had made a point to call, to reach out, to invite me.
I missed her as well. Seeing her at her open hadn’t been enough.
She’d been busy, and I left rather early.
She was being a good friend, and I needed to be one too.
“Just text me the time. It’ll have to be after my shift at Orla’s.” Her enthusiastic squeal had me clutching my head as I placed Lionel’s plate of goodies down before him. If looks could kill, I would be his next snack.
“Knock it off,” I told him as he started to chow down on my offering.
“Is someone there with you?”
“Just Lionel.” I didn’t have to see her to know she was scowling at my answer.
“Tomorrow, right after your shift,” Megan all but demanded, and I heard the bleep of her hanging up.
“Well, goodbye to you too,” I muttered, placing my phone back down on the counter and looking over toward where Lionel was happy as a clam, my own stomach growling.
All I could think about was burgers. They were the only thing I wanted when I was hungover.
It didn’t matter the time. Breakfast, lunch, dinner.
If it were morning, you made it with an egg.
Lunch? Just a regular burger with mayo and pickles.
Dinner? That’s when you could get fancy.
Dress it up with some bacon, maybe barbecue sauce, maybe get really crazy and do a mushroom and Swiss version.
A strawberry shake was also needed, no debate.
Once again cursing small-town life with no DoorDash, I begrudgingly went to my room to throw on some sweats and a sweatshirt so I could go to a drive-through. That was the best I could do. Going out to eat was not an option, nor was walking inside to pick up takeout.
I hastily got ready to get out the door, grabbing my keys, telling Lionel I wouldn’t be more than twenty minutes.
I turned to lock my door when a silver glint caught my eye.
What’s that? It looked like a shopping bag.
I made my way over to where it sat on the stoop and pulled my phone out to use the flashlight app.
Upon further inspection, it was one of those thermal bags. There was a note scribbled on it.
I thought you might need this.
I opened up the bag to the mouth-watering smell of a burger and strawberry shake from Orla’s—even if it was melted.
Wesley.
I used to nag and nag him after our hangovers in college for greasy food—always a burger for me, tacos for him. I decided not to think too much, so I just picked up the thermal bag and went back inside, thankful that I didn’t have to leave my house for the rest of the evening.
? ? ? ?
Sunday morning wasn’t as rough as Saturday, but it still wasn’t great. I was making my way to Orla’s with my transition lenses and driving with slitted eyes because it was still just far too bright outside, even if the sun hadn’t yet fully risen.
Pulling in behind the restaurant where the staff were supposed to park, I took a deep breath, readying myself for the chaos of a Sunday morning shift, excited yet already exhausted.
I got out, locked my car, and made my way in through the back door, where I heard Daniel crooning to some Louis Armstrong that was playing on his outdated stereo.
The smells of coffee and fried food woke me up.
The symphony of the morning rolled through me as Orla saw me.
“Let’s go, kid. We got people to feed.” That we do.
The day seemed busier than usual. There was even a moment in time where there was a wait, and I think I shocked everyone when I only broke three plates that shift.
However, I saw the way Daniel had Matt not only bussing my tables, but running most of my food.
I should have been mad, but they acted shocked when I tried to call them out on it.
“We would never do that.”
“Just trying to keep the morning moving along…”
Finally, the morning rush started to die down, and I was able to string together two thoughts that weren’t about what I was doing.
Ranch to table four, refills to the back corner booth.
Mrs. Stanton, who came in with her husband every Sunday, said her bacon wasn’t crispy enough.
Orla decided to fume about it instead of saying anything to her, so we all spent the last half hour of the morning craziness walking on eggshells.
“It’s starting to die down here. Why don’t you roll the silverware Matt just finished, fill some ranches, and then you can take off?” Orla called out to me just before noon as I was wiping down the last table of mine that had just cashed out.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying until Jasmine gets here for the afternoon.”
“Nonsense. I could run this place by myself.” She winked at me, and she was correct. She’d owned Orla’s for thirty years. She didn’t need the help; she liked the help.
“Whatever you say, boss,” I teased, but went to grab the silverware from the back and bring it to a booth to roll.
“What can I cook you for lunch?” Daniel asked, but I waved him off. “Nothing today. I’m heading to Megan’s for a full-on sugar high.” His boisterous laugh sounded as Matt scowled at his father from across the place. “Quit hitting on my future wife, Dad. It’s creepy.”
“What’s creepy is you hitting on her,” Orla sniped as she came to sit across from me like usual when I was doing my sidework. “I heard Peter was a dud.”
“He was something I wasn’t looking for.” Her eyes were assessing.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“I thought I did,” I whispered, unsure how the woman always seemed to get me to spill my secrets over silverware. It was actually quite annoying.
“Hmm. Okay, then.” She wasn’t buying whatever I was selling. “Are you ready for this Friday? Jeanie’s pick should be nothing if not extravagant.”
“It’ll be something I’m sure I’m not even remotely prepared for.” Orla looked at me with agreement, and we both started to chuckle.
“Get out of here. Go see Megan. I got the rest of this,” she told me as she scooted out and stood, putting her hands on her hips like there was no room for discussion. I signed, not wanting to argue with her.
“Thanks, Orla,” I told her, and I leaned down to kiss her cheek softly.
“None of that. Get going.” She swatted me with the dishtowel she always carried in her apron.
“Bye, guys!” I called out.
“Goodbye, future wife!” I heard Matt from behind me.
The thought of family filtered through me before I could stop it.
I was caught briefly in awareness that I was building a really special life there—a life I was excited to be an active participant in, doing my best not to dwell on the phantom ache I still felt in my chest if I focused too hard on it.
An ache that echoed the thoughtfulness of my favorite burger and melted strawberry shake.