Chapter 27
27
Tom hadn’t been able to coax Rosie into getting a little sleep until after midnight. And she was up again before six, making huge quantities of breakfast about her feelings. Nobody found out that anything was amiss until Boyd got up to feed the turkeys and do his morning exercise routine and Puff and Snowy, who were the only two of his fans still there, got up to watch him for the last time.
“Is she okay? She looks really upset,” Puff muttered to Tom, both of them watching Rosie dice potatoes from a cautious distance.
He shook his head. Rosie’s eyes were red-rimmed from fatigue and crying—though he thought the real problem was that she couldn’t do much before taking the first ferry out.
“A broken hip’s real dangerous for the elderly, isn’t it?” Boyd whispered as the crowd gathered at the entryway to the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Tom muttered, and he must have looked like he was having some feelings about this, because the other man made his sorrowful Doberman face in response. “Rosie couldn’t get much information out of the hospital over the phone. But Max is having surgery this morning.”
“If Rosie’s aunt dies, what happens to this place?” Snowy asked, and Puff elbowed her in the ribs. “I’m just asking!”
“She’s not going to die,” Rosie said from over the stove, voice tight and frustrated. Snowy clapped a hand over her mouth.
Boyd sheepishly went into the kitchen and put a big paw on top of her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rosie,” he rumbled. “What can I do?”
Crap. Tom should have said that. He was suddenly afraid that he hadn’t gotten any better at this. What would Tom, good supportive partner, say in this situation? Line, please.
Rosie paused as though choking back emotion, then patted Boyd’s hand.
“I’ll take a taxi to the ferry, so would you mind returning the rental car when you leave?” she asked him.
“Of course,” said Boyd.
“What about us?” Snowy called, face reflecting some guilt that her first thought had been whether BoyCon would still be able to go forward this summer.
“My cousin will be over this afternoon with the property management company. Could you strip all the beds that have been slept in so they know which laundry to do? And just make sure everyone’s stuff is out by then? I’m so sorry to ask you, I was planning to do it myself, but—”
“Of course we can do it,” Puff said, running over to wrap both arms around Rosie. It might have been an excuse to lay hands on Boyd at the same time, but Snowy rushed in and the two girls enfolded both Boyd and Rosie in a slightly soggy group hug.
The sad little noise Rosie made was enough to jar Tom out of his frozen worry that he’d fuck this up.
He went upstairs and started carrying her suitcases out of the suite and down to the front drive as Rosie finished a breakfast he was sure she had no intention of eating. Salmon croquettes for Boyd. Spinach omelets for the girls. The corned beef hash that Tom loved but was not going to have time to eat before Rosie’s taxi arrived.
“Is there anything else that needs to be done here, or should I go with you?” he asked Rosie when he was done and she was plating food for other people to eat.
The expression she shot him in response was confused. “I’m sure Boyd can get you on the plane with him,” she said, confirming this with a glance at the other man.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Don’t you have rehearsal tomorrow?”
He hadn’t exactly forgotten that, but it had plummeted down his list of concerns. It didn’t feel very important right now. The last time Rosie had been in a crisis—well, the last one before a hurricane hit this inn—he’d totally flubbed it.
“I can miss rehearsal if you want me to go with you,” he said.
Rosie looked doubtful at this confident statement, and Boyd’s face reflected the same thought when she checked with him.
“I could talk to the director for you?” Boyd offered.
Rosie hesitated, looking between the two of them. Her lips thinned as she visibly struggled to think on little sleep. Then she shook her head, closing her eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, fists curling. “But I’ll be okay. You can still make it back to New York today.”
Tom wished very much that nobody else was watching this conversation. He’d thought he was going to have a few more hours in which to find an opportunity to have this talk.
He cleared his throat. “To New York—do you want me to go to your apartment, or—”
Tom didn’t know whether she had plants or pets or anything that needed attention there, but mostly he wanted to know if he was going to live there.
She blinked her red-rimmed eyes in response, and it was obvious to Tom that this question hadn’t been answered in her head yet. She hadn’t thought they were going home together. She hadn’t decided.
Tensing up, she reached for her purse, fumbling for her key chain. “Is your lease up? Of course you can stay with me—”
“Remember I have three spare bedrooms in the townhouse I’m renting,” Boyd chose that unfortunate moment to chime in, no doubt thinking he was being helpful. Rosie paused before handing her keys to Tom, hesitating as though checking whether Tom wanted to take Boyd up on his offer instead.
He didn’t want to stay with Rosie any more than he wanted to stay with Boyd, if the word implied a temporary state.
Well, shit. He really hadn’t pulled it off. Rosie was headed out, and he still wasn’t even sure they were together again. It didn’t appear that they lived together. He didn’t even know when he’d see her again.
The anger that rose up in his throat was directed entirely at himself, but he still resolutely forced it down. Rosie was so tired she was nearly swaying on her feet, and her day had just begun. She looked overwhelmed and scared.
The last thing she needed was for Tom to make this about him.
“No, my lease isn’t up for a while. Just text me if you need anything in the city,” he said. “And call me when you know something at the hospital, okay?”
The crunch of gravel outside heralded the arrival of Rosie’s taxi. Her eyes flashed with panic.
“I still have to finish breakfast for everyone,” she said, turning to survey the stovetop and ovens. “And thank everyone for all their help. And I was going to talk to you—”
“Babe,” he interrupted her. “I’ll get breakfast out. And everyone knows. Don’t worry. You can go. I’ve got it.”
She grabbed his hand, hesitating. She looked out the door, then back at him. She squeezed his hand harder, jolting when the taxi outside honked but not letting go. Her little fingers curled in under the edge of his sleeve as though trying to hang on.
“I love you,” Tom said, leaning in to kiss her temple, giving her his blessing to go. That was his cue, right?
“Love you too,” Rosie said, releasing him at last.