Chapter 37Rose
Chapter 37
Rose
T he deep baritone asked if I was lonesome tonight, jolting me awake. When I tried to grab my phone to slide the alarm off, it fell on the floor. And kept on with the musical stab to my heart.
“Somebody make it stop.” I groaned, flopping on my back. When no help was forthcoming, I guessed that somebody was going to be me.
Despite feeling like I’d buried my head in a bucket of sand—grit scratching my throat, nose and eyes—I managed to lean over and snare my phone. Squinting at the screen, I finally managed to slide off the alarm. Finally, peaceful silence.
That was when something large and heavy plunked down on my bent knees—luckily, on the outside of the covers. I looked over my shoulder, and there was a big ole dog’s head. Pirate had started sleeping on my bed when Mom had died and Finn had left for school. He’d stopped with the advent of Rafe, and now…he was back.
I reached over and rubbed his nearest ear, murmuring “what a good boy you are” for his comfort and mine.
Yesterday came back in a rush.
I made it from the roastery to my house without seeing anybody on the way. Seeing was stretching it — my eyesight was so blurred I didn’t think I’d recognize my own dog. After scrubbing my face—and scrapping the whole makeup thing—I got back to the café in record time.
I fast-walked through the front door to the prep kitchen, nodding to the thankfully few customers along the way. Mateo took one look at me and asked if I wanted to be there.
“I’m hiding out either here or at Fay’s,” I informed him. “And it’s too early to start drinking.”
He frowned but didn’t argue with me. Instead, he hung up his apron, hugged me and said he’d be back at eight to do the closing. No debate. His parting shot: “Call your girls, Rosita—now.”
That was a big nope—I’d cry again, and then where would we be? I turned off my phone and dove into making sandwiches and salads and soups—letting my kids run the front of the house. The only break I took was in the late afternoon when I ran home to feed Pirate and let him out back to do his business. Princess was nowhere to be seen, and Rafe’s pickup was gone.
I made it until six-fifteen when I shut myself in the meeting room, turned on my phone and returned one of Lauren’s umpteenth messages. I saw missed calls from Mica and Jen too.
Mateo had been busy.
My bestie listened while I cried, told her the whole sad story—word for word—and cried again.
She paused to make sure I’d finished and said, “Rose, I love you. I know this is so hard for you, and I’m sorry I can’t be there—yet—to help.”
I sucked in a big breath and settled down. “Oh, girl, it helps to talk it out. I knew better than to expect this could work with Rafe. If I’m disappointed, it’s my own fault.”
Lauren hummed for a moment—in agreement or disagreement, I couldn’t tell.
“Enough conversation for now—time for a little more action. Your relief’s coming in early…”
“Oh, you mean, Mateo, your new BFF?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy. And Jen is picking you up at seven sharp to take you to Fay’s to meet up with Mica. Don’t worry, because I know you will—Mica got a neighbor to stay with her dad. You three are going to close the place down. Jen will see you home and get you settled for the night.”
“But…but…but…”
“No buts about it. That’s what’s going to happen,” she declared. “You are not alone.”
“I do feel surrounded, but — ”
She cut me off. “No buts.”
“But in a good way,” I assured her. “The only thing better would be if you were here. Soon, girl, soon. Kisses for Baby, and keep one for yourself.”
“Hugs for you—and one for your pup.”
After closing — bar closing, that is—and a few Manhattans, a force-fed burger and another sobbing jag (luckily, Fay’s wasn’t crowded on a Monday night)—Jen brought me back to an empty house. Well, empty except for one faithful dog.
This morning—despite a fitful night’s sleep and a sluggish head—I was determined to get on with my life.
Or at least, get up and go open the café.
“One baby step at a time—right, Pi-Pi?”
He yawned, not impressed with my enthusiasm, and jumped off the bed.
I made a quick stop in the bathroom—where I was glad to see Rafe’s stuff was gone—and hustled downstairs. While his nibs was out back doing his business, I scooped kibble into his bowl (no matching Princess bowl…sad to see) and topped off his water.
“Ah…coffee…breakfast of champions. Care for a cup?” I offered as I put the kettle on and readied the French press. It was all I could stomach this morning.
Pirate ignored me to start sniffing and pawing at the base of the island.
“What are you digging up there? I can’t imagine there’re any leftovers from last week.”
He snorted and came up with a crumpled Post-it in his mouth.
“Drop it, Pirate,” I said sternly, pointing to the ground. “Drop it.”
This command had the usual not-dropping-it effect. I moved to Plan B and gently pried open his mouth to retrieve the prize. I put the pink square on the island to smooth it out and saw a bunch of other Post-its floating around the surface.
Doggone things never stuck to butcher block.
A keychain with a U.S. Army emblem weighed down one of the notes.
Ah, yes, I didn’t even think to ask for those back…keys to the apartment, the front and back doors, the garden shed, the roastery, the café, the car…my life.
The kettle whistled, and I poured the water into the press. While waiting on the timer, I arranged the Post-its jotted in Rafe’s bold hand in their likely order:
I’m SORRY I hurt you
I DO trust you to make good choices
Let me go, choose a BETTER man
I’ll text when I get there, I PROMISE
Eat a REAL breakfast
SET your house alarms
Say BYE to Pirate from Princess
“Uh-uh, Pirate. Nope. Too much for even my wooden heart right now.” Snagging a roll from the utility drawer, I duct-taped those puppies to the countertop. “Later. I’ll think about those later.”
Ping. I plunged the plunger and filled my mug. Time to get dressed and get my day started.