Chapter 41 Rosie
ROSIE
Book club was canceled, and I was feeling a little out of sorts about it.
Not to mention, I still didn’t have my car, which I wasn’t due to get back until the next weekend.
Evelyn had told us the week before that she had to squeeze in a pottery class to help with low enrollment numbers.
I could tell she was worried about it. Maggie had her granddaughters in town.
Orla was still struggling to find reliable help, but shut down my offer to cover the day’s shift—not that I blamed her.
And now, it was sleeting, so Lionel was also in a foul mood.
We were quite the pair. Two sour peas in a pod.
I was about to sulk to a streaming show I didn’t care much about when I heard a car pull into my drive, and I was making my way to the door before I could hear someone pounding on it.
Maybe book club is happening, after all.
I opened my front door to Wesley, whose fist was paused mid-knock.
“I was wondering if you’d like to spend the afternoon doing something with me.”
A refusal was on my tongue, but he persisted. “It’s something you’ll really enjoy.” Okay, consider my interest piqued. A grouchy Lionel or a surprise? I was going with the surprise.
“Let me grab my jacket.”
“Mind if I say hi to Lionel? I brought him some grapes, but everywhere online says that you should monitor them when eating them because of their size…”
My nose twitched, and I covered my mouth to try to hide my amusement as I nodded and pushed back from the door to allow him access.
“He was in the living room last I saw him, moping about the weather.”
Wesley made a beeline, and I heard mumblings and a hushed voice.
Not wanting to intrude on their time, trusting them both to be on their best behavior, I quickly went to my room to grab my jean jacket that would pair well with the loose-fitting boyfriend jeans I was wearing—easy and comfortable, not too much effort.
“Come on, Lionel. These are supposed to be the best ones for you.” Wesley was wincing and looking away as he talked to the tortoise, the grapes cut up and in his hand.
“Probably not the best idea to close your eyes around him.” Wesley opened his eyes, and there was a mischievous glint to them.
“I’m trying to show him that I trust him, so he trusts me.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
He chuckled. “Not well, obviously. Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.”
“What if he never gives in?”
“Ready to go?” he asked,. ignoring my question completely. I let it go, but confirmed with a head tilt that I was ready.
“You’ll have to drive. I’m still carless.” I pulled my keys from my jacket pocket.
“There is no way you’d be driving anyway, Rosie. It’s raining, and you’re not a great driver.”
“That’s not true.” It is true.
“Hah. I seem to remember you almost taking us off roading on multiple occasions.”
“You’re exaggerating. We were fine.” Worry wart.
He plucked my keys from my hand. “I’m not willing to risk it. Please, let me drive.”
I exaggerated my sigh because I had to play it up like I was doing him a favor, even though I hated driving. He knew that.
“Fine, but I have a curfew,” I joked with him.
“Yes, ma’am. I will abide by all the rules.” He moved over to the passenger’s side and opened the door for me. “Please keep all hands to yourself for the duration of your ride.”
“No promises.” I didn’t miss the way his bottom lip dropped open a fraction. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed slowly. I slid onto the seat and closed my own door, since Wesley was still just standing there.
He seemed to snap himself out of it at the sound of my door closing and finally got in.
“Mind telling me where we are going?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” And he was right; we pulled into our destination barely fifteen minutes later.
“The rec center?” I still couldn’t exactly figure out what we were doing there. And then I remembered the one time Wesley had forced me to take a pickleball class with him, and I almost dislocated my kneecap. “I swear, if it’s another sport, Wesley, I’m walking home.”
“It’s not! Well, I mean, I don’t think it is.”
“No chance in hell.”
“Wait, give it a shot. I think you’ll change your mind. Trust me?” he asked. And as frustrating as it was, I did trust him. He might have been an idiot, but he’d never intentionally hurt me, and always apologized when he was wrong, even when he wasn’t.
“Fine. Five minutes.”
“I’ll take it.”
We exited the car at the same time. I saw the way he reached for my hand but pulled back at the last second, and I considered grabbing his, but something stopped me. Lake told me, whispered through me, and I couldn’t hold back the violent shiver at the memory.
Of course, Wesley saw it, and he was looking at me with concern. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing. Let’s just go.” I picked up my pace and walked a few steps in front of him until I realized I had no idea where we were going. Wesley walked in and up to the receptionist, who pointed to the right, down the hallway.
“Thank you.” He came over to me. “This way.” He led me down the way he had just been shown until we came to the last door at the end, and he went in. There were wheels set up with a few people sitting in them, and a very familiar face stood in the middle of the room.
“Wesley! Rosie! I had no idea you two were coming,” Evelyn’s voice rang out. “I didn’t know you guys did pottery.”
“We don’t. We are here to learn and support,” he said, almost sheepishly, as he bent over to hug her.
And in a moment of clarity, it all came back to me.
How he was also sitting at book club when Evelyn was worrying out loud about how her numbers had dropped and the rec center was thinking about dropping some of her classes.
She didn’t have to say anything; the worry had been written all over her face when she told us.
In fact, I’d been thinking of ways to help get the word out—flyers, word of mouth.
Why didn’t I think about signing up for the classes myself?
Wesley did, though. He thought of it, and it seemed like he’d been planning to come, with or without me.
“Oh. Hm, well, some unfortunate news. One of the wheels broke, so you two will have to share. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all,” Wesley said, a little too eagerly as she started to get us all set up. I couldn’t see a feasible way it would work for both of us. “Now, Rosie, if you could just sit right there.”
“Where?”
“There.”
“I see no there, Evelyn. Only a lap.”
“Yes, there.”
I started to stammer around my words. “I-I am n-not sitting in his lap in a public class.”
“What about a private class?” Wesley butted in.
“Mind your business,” I told him.
“It’s my lap,” he argued.
“Sit,” Evelyn said as she bounced away from us to check on her other students—or at least, that was the excuse. “Susan! Thrilled…”
“I won’t bite, Rosie. I promise.”
I huffed out, but seeing no way around it, I sat on the very end of the stool.
In fact, I was sure I was doing a squat, and I was nowhere near in shape enough for that.
“Relax,” he whispered in my ear. I had no choice because my legs were two seconds away from giving out.
I scooted a little further back, and once my back hit his chest, the warmth radiated all throughout me.
It was not a pleasant feeling; it was torture.
I was about to start inhaling air because I was sure we were about to run out of it there, in that small room, with all of us.
“Are you paying attention, Rosie?” he asked, his breath light on the skin between my neck and collarbone, and I didn’t trust myself to speak.
I just focused on what Evelyn was trying to say—something about preparing the clay.
All I caught was that it caused Wesley to put his arms on either side of me and start kneading the gray glob in front of us.
He centered the clay like I was semiconscious of how Evelyn was teaching us, but I was more focused on what he was doing instead. It was a heady experience, to be trapped with him.
“Why don’t you try?” He grabbed my hands in his and started to work the now-wet clay by working the sides, moving them in and out to eventually make what somewhat resembled a bowl.
I was enamored. I leaned back into him and felt something firm, unmistakable, and it pressed into the small of my back.
My body went still. Heat crept up against my neck and spread across my cheeks, and I became acutely aware of everything; the way his chest rose in stuttered breaths behind me, the tension in his posture, the subtle way he seemed to be holding himself back.
And I wanted nothing more than to grind myself into him.
“Rosie,” he said gently. And I stayed staring straight ahead. I didn’t turn around. If I did, I might have combusted.
“Relax,” he murmured, voice low and embarrassingly calm for someone who was in his position and doing that to my lower back. “It’ll go away.” He said it like it was a completely normal thing to announce in the middle of people taking a pottery class.
The clay wobbled under my suddenly unsteady hands.
“I’m relaxed,” I blurted, which was a lie so obvious that I winced the second I said it.
The wheel spun.
My fingers twitched again.
The smooth walls of the bowl we had been shaping collapsed inward with a sad, wet squish.
“Oh, no…”
I jerked my hands back like the clay was burning hot.
The wheel kept spinning, the ruined lump wobbling violently in the center.
Panic started to take over, and I shot to my feet so fast that the stool legs screeched against the floor.
Wesley, unfortunately, was not prepared for the redistribution of weight and went flailing backward, landing on his back with a thud.