11. Rose
rose
As an only child, there were times growing up when I wished I had siblings.
Someone to share the blame when I used my scented markers on my bedroom wall.
Someone to commiserate with when my parents went through their healthy eating phase and I dreamed of smuggling home forbidden salty snack foods.
Someone to play dress up and make-believe with who would indulge my fantasy that fairies lived in our back yard.
Right now, I’d endure any amount of sibling rivalry for someone else to share my parents’ focus when it comes to my love life.
“I found this article today,” Mom says. “About how to make the leap from girlfriend to wife. It’s very insightful.”
As if getting married is as simple as jumping the right pieces on a checkerboard. Or even remotely appropriate to discuss right now. As far as she knows, Reed and I have been dating for a handful of weeks.
“Aren’t you going to the Botanic Gardens today?” They send me their itinerary every day so I’ll always know where they are “just in case I need them.”
“It’s still early yet, don’t worry.” Mom is awfully blasé for seven-thirty in the morning Sydney time. “It’s about the simple science of attraction. Get Reed addicted to you so he’ll never look at another woman.”
I sink as low as I can in the driver’s seat of my car.
She called as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, and of course I answered.
Her quick check-in morphed into a series of tips on why the way I load the dishwasher isn’t as efficient as how she does it.
Now she’s advising me to make Reed addicted to me while I overheat with the windows down.
“We haven’t been dating very long. Maybe we should pump the brakes on the wife talk.”
Mom’s tittering laugh echoes through the car. I’ve got her on speaker, my phone stuck to my dash with grippy suction cups. We stopped doing video calls after my dad walked by in the background in only his underpants one too many times.
“I’m trying to help you get this one across the finish line, Rosie,” she says. “We need to turn your bad luck around. I know you’re a sweet little bean, but there must be something you could improve with your dating pursuits.”
Every guy who dumped me in my twenties flashes through my mind in a parade of questionable exes.
Despite my extensive experience with breakups, I still don’t know what caused them.
Timing? Weird vibes? Chronic bad breath I’m painfully unaware of?
Nobody offered constructive criticism or filled out a satisfaction survey.
Ew. No. That’s a gross thought.
The bottom line is, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. If I want a relationship to last, I need to make some kind of change, I just have no clue what. And that’s why, despite my misgivings, I peel my phone off the dash to read the article Mom sends over. Every little bit helps, right?
According to this, I need to make myself smell like Reed’s favorite food so he’ll have a Pavlovian pleasure response whenever he sees me. Apparently, dipping myself in eau de Delish’s double bacon burger will get Reed to want to marry me.
I can kind of see it, honestly.
“I’m at the grocery store. We can talk more about tricking men into commitment with their favorite smells later, okay?”
“It’s not all about smells,” she says. “Smiling makes you more appealing, too. Are you making sure he knows you like him?”
“I don’t think smiling is a problem.” That one’s been ingrained in me since birth.
“It also said physical touch releases a bonding hormone. Do you think you’re touching Reed enough?”
“Mother.” The last thing I want is to start receiving texts reminding me to touch my boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. Just pretend, totally not real boyfriend. Who my mother wants me to touch more. Ugh.
“All right. But before I go, Dad wanted me to tell you not to run the air conditioning so much. Eighty degrees is a perfectly comfortable temperature.”
I suppress a groan. “I thought you were going to delete the thermostat app.”
“He enjoys checking on the house to see what’s going on. It’s almost like we’re still there with you.”
Ha. Almost.
We hang up, and I finally drag myself into the grocery store, where I’m pleasantly cocooned in cool, recycled air. It’s slammed on Sundays, but sometimes I can’t avoid it. The Thai food Reed left in my fridge will tide me over for a few days, but I’m out of basics like eggs and chocolate chips.
I don’t know what I’m making for breakfast tomorrow, but I need cookies tonight.
I snake through the aisles, my cart’s one wobbly wheel singing to me the whole time.
My mom’s voice blends in with the squeaks, telling me all the things I should change about myself to keep a man.
I’m a little out of practice at running this particular gauntlet.
It’s been a few years since I really liked a guy, and over a year since I dated anyone at all.
I thought knowing I’m seeing someone would soothe their need to constantly offer advice, but instead, it’s cranked their obsession with my romantic life up to frantic levels.
I turn down the bread aisle and find the core of my current romantic life standing in front of me. Reed’s staring at the condiment selection like he’s trying to intimidate the sauces into submission. I suppose it’s good to know his frown really is permanent and not isolated to the coffee shop.
Or just when he’s around me.
“What did those condiments ever do to you?” I ask when I get closer.
He looks up and focuses on me. For a split second, his expression softens, and I think I’m finally going to see him smile in person. A Christmas miracle, right here in the bread aisle? But his eyebrows tug back down, and his frown reappears.
“Why are there so many barbecue sauce options?” he asks.
I wheel my squeaky cart closer and move around it to stand next to him. We study the brown bottles with colorful labels. He’s right about the choices—there are probably thirty varieties here.
“That’s a problem?”
“They stopped carrying the brand I like.”
“Ah. So you have to try something new.” Not a task Reed Bridger enjoys or excels at.
His frown goes nuclear. “Don’t give me that look. You’re not learning anything about me here today.”
“Nope.” I try to tuck my smile between my teeth, but judging from Reed’s superhuman scowl, it doesn’t work. “I already knew that about you.”
He faces me fully, his arms automatically locking across his chest. A chest that’s making it hard for me to remember what I came to the store for. He’s not wearing his ubiquitous flannel-over-tee combo today. Leaving the way his short shirtsleeves hug his biceps in full view of my greedy eyes.
Seriously, he is the exact right combination of hard and soft. Which I definitely shouldn’t be thinking as a mother carrying her baby scoots past us to pick out bagels.
“What else do you think you know about me?” he asks.
“Lots of things.” I mirror his needlessly aggressive stance.
“Examples?”
“You say you take your coffee black, but you always add two spoons of sugar to it. You have minimal tolerance for customers who want to chat except for Mrs. Jackson, who you let talk your ear off. I think because you know she’s lonely since her husband passed away.”
His eyes widen a fraction, proving my guess right.
“And you have a secret sweet tooth. The coffee, but also…” I lean to the side to see the colorful box in his cart. “Lucky Charms?”
He shifts to block my view. “I concede your point. You know a few things about me.”
“We work together practically every day. Of course I’ve learned things about you. Just like you’ve learned things about me.” I lift a hand, expecting him to start spouting off a bullet-point list of everything he’s observed about me.
But he only stares.
“Or maybe you haven’t.” Maybe I’m the only one paying that much attention. Kind of tracks, honestly. I wasn’t called a try-hard in high school for nothing.
“I’ve learned things about you.” His words are so soft and low, they ripple across my skin. He hasn’t moved, but using that deep voice makes him feel closer.
“Like what?” I’m surprised he can hear me over the eighties pop hits playing through the grocery store’s speakers.
His gaze drifts down my face to my mouth before tracing back up to hook into mine. The hardness he typically wears like a suit of armor has melted away. He’s not open by a long shot, but there’s a glimmer of willingness there. “You have the most…”
He lets that pause drag out so long, I lean forward to make sure I don’t miss whatever he says next. But his gaze slips away, snagging on something behind me. The subtle softness I glimpsed just seconds ago solidifies again.
“Oh, no,” he groans.
“Is it a coffee cart video fan?” Three more girls came into the shop yesterday, ready to watch our romance play out in real life. Reed glared at them until they left.
“Worse. Prepare yourself.”
I turn around to see Sara and Russ Bridger heading our way. Their matching delighted grins don’t seem to warrant Reed’s bleak warning.
I’m not entirely sure what to do here, but since we put on a show for Lucy a couple of days ago, it’s only fair that their parents get the same level of mock romance. I slip my arm across Reed’s back, tucking myself against him. It’s a little worrying how easily I’m settling into our PDA.
Reed doesn’t seem to be settling in quite as well. He froze as soon as I touched him, but after a few seconds, his hand comes up to lightly rest on my hip. I’m not flattered by his delayed reaction time, but the pose is believably boyfriend-like.
“Reed. This is a surprise.” Sara beams at her son, her gaze bouncing between the two of us. She reminds me a lot of Lucy—petite and curvy, with honey brown hair and the kindest eyes. “Rose. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too. How have you been?”
“Even better now that we know that, ah, this is going on.” Russ draws a hand in the air in front of Reed and me.
I’d be reassured by how happy he is for us except for the sigh that gusts out of Reed. “Dad.”
It’s down a notch from his usual level on the annoyed scale, but he still sounds like the idea of anyone talking about us exhausts him. I suppose it makes sense. He does hate being in the spotlight, and we’re all watching him like we’re waiting for him to start a juggling act.
“Ah, ah.” Russ steps back, rustling the plastic bread bags behind him. “I won’t say more.”
He keeps his word and doesn’t say anything, but if smiling could strain your muscles, Reed’s dad would need to see a physical therapist ASAP. His cheesy grin is irresistible.
At least their happiness for us doesn’t feel as excessive as my parents’ eager interest. Maybe Sara and Russ are lunatics behind closed doors and are giddily pushing Reed to make the shift from boyfriend to husband, but I doubt it. I get the sense they’re happy for him no matter what he does next.
With my parents, happiness always comes with an expectation for more attached.
“We were thinking about going to the concert in the park this week,” Sara says. “Jovie had good things to say about last week’s show.”
Russ chuckles. “Ah, yes. She was thoroughly impressed by the entire show.”
He winks at me, and I have to suppress a chuckle of my own. I can only imagine what Reed’s niece had to say about us. Her euphoric squeals proved she’s already a devoted fan.
“She’s too young to have a phone,” Reed mutters. “She shouldn’t be in the group chat in the first place.”
Sara bats at Reed’s arm, moving close to his small cart to let someone else go by. We’re officially those people who stop to have conversations in the middle of a busy grocery store. I don’t hate it as much when I’m on this end of it.
“You just don’t like all the emojis she uses,” Sara says.
“And would it kill her to use fewer exclamation marks?”
I snort a laugh. “The captain of terse text exchanges doesn’t like emojis and exclamations? Shocking.”
He frowns down at me, of course, but I swear his mouth lifts at the edges. It’s a baby step in the direction of my goal to see his real smile for myself. And, frankly, mesmerizing.
Until he realizes his parents are watching us the same way Jovie did at the concert. Like they’re ready to pull up a chair and dig into some popcorn while they enjoy the show.
His full frown goes back up like he’s slamming a door shut. I squash down my disappointment. I’ve got time to draw it out of him. One day, little smile. One day.
“We really should get going. We’re grilling burgers tonight and realized we’re out of ketchup. Jovie goes through it so fast.” Sara grabs a bottle and puts it into her basket. “Rose, we’d love to have you join us for dinner if you don’t have plans.”
Plans? No such thing when I’m already making grabby hands at the Bridger family dinner invite.
“That sounds—”
“Another night,” Reed says at the same time. “Give her a minute before we throw her to the wolves.”
Oh. I was looking forward to being surrounded by those wolves.
His parents laugh as they start moving farther down the aisle. “We’re not that bad,” Sara tells me. “And we’ll be happy to have you join us anytime.”
They wave and continue down the aisle until they round the corner and disappear from view. It’s not a huge grocery store, so chances are good one or both of us will run into them again before we leave. Unless we stay right here, blocking the condiments indefinitely to avoid them.
With our arms around each other and my side burning up everywhere we touch. I swear this man runs hotter than average.
Now that the “Reed and Rose” show is on hiatus, I slide out from under his arm. I can’t get emotionally invested in that show, despite its compelling hook. Anyway, it’s easier to breathe when he’s not touching me. None of that pesky hitch in my lungs whenever he talks.
Reed’s gaze is stuck on me. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. I think they’re great.”
“You’ve barely had a taste of what they’re like. Give them a little time, and my family will drive you crazy.”
“What you think of as being driven crazy might make me feel right at home.”
His mouth tips down again, and the muscle in his jaw tics. Oh. Right. I’m not supposed to feel at home with his family. Not for real.
“I’d better get going or my ice cream will be sludge by the time I get through check out.
” I maneuver my cart to the side and finally pass him.
Getting rejected from family dinner by my pretend boyfriend shouldn’t sting—I’ve endured way worse from actual boyfriends.
The confusing pang in my chest has no place in this arrangement.
“Good luck with your barbecue sauce dilemma.” I flash one last smile and push my cart away from him.
He exhales a laugh behind me. I keep walking, telling myself to focus on dinner ingredients. I will not turn around to see if I can spot his smile.
I already know it won’t be there.