Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Rosalie
The truck's steering wheel bit into my palms as I white-knuckled it down Main Street. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped a band around my ribs and pulled.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.
I blinked hard, focusing on the road. The familiar storefronts. The stoplight that never worked quite right.
My throat burned.
He doesn't know anything. He doesn't know you.
Except he'd looked at me like he did. Like he'd seen right through the cheerful smile and the I've got this act to the terrified woman underneath who had no idea what she was doing.
The broken irrigation system. The chickens with missing feathers. The goats who treated every latch like a personal challenge.
You think I'm some city girl playing farmer who can't manage it all.
The words echoed in my head, and my vision blurred. I sucked in a breath, then another, but the tightness in my chest only squeezed harder.
The street blurred. Buildings smeared together.
No. Not here. Not now.
I yanked the wheel right, pulling into an empty parking spot in front of the bakery. The truck lurched to a stop. I shoved the gearshift into park and gripped the steering wheel, staring at my knuckles.
Breathe. Just breathe.
But the air wouldn't come. My lungs hitched, catching on something jagged and sharp.
He'd dismissed me. Like I was a kid asking to help with the grown-up work. Like my offer meant nothing.
Like I mean nothing.
The tightness in my chest twisted into something familiar. Something I'd felt a hundred times before, sitting across from my ex at dinner while he explained—so patiently, so kindly—why my ideas wouldn't work.
“That's sweet, Rosie, but maybe think it through a little more.”
“I'm just trying to help you be realistic.”
“You're being emotional again.”
My breath came in short, shallow gasps. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the burning.
I'd moved here to get away from that. From feeling small. From second-guessing every word before I spoke. From the constant weight of not being enough.
But here I was again. Different town. Different man. Same crushing feeling of being dismissed.
Get it together, Rosie. You're fine. You're—
A sharp tap on the window made me jump so hard I cracked my elbow on the door.
I dropped my hands, blinking rapidly as a woman peered through the glass, concern written across her face.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I wiped at my eyes and leaned across the seat. My fingers fumbled with the window crank, turning it until the glass lowered halfway. I blinked a few more times, willing my vision to clear, and managed what I hoped passed for a smile.
“Hi.” The woman tilted her head, blonde hair catching the afternoon light. Something familiar in the angle of her jaw, the set of her shoulders.
Then recognition clicked into place. Emily Spencer.
One of those older girls from my childhood summers—confident, capable, always knew exactly what to do. She studied me through the open window, her sharp blue eyes taking in everything I didn't want her to see.
Right now, I felt about twelve again.
“Rosie, right?” Emily's expression softened. “Walt's niece?”
“That's me.” I swiped at my face, hoping my eyes weren't as red as they felt.
Emily studied me for another moment. “You okay?”
No. Absolutely not.
“Totally fine.” The words came out too bright, too fast. “Just farm stuff. You know how it is.”
“I really don't.” Emily's mouth curved into a wry smile. “But I know what 'totally fine' looks like, and that's not it.”
Something between a laugh and a sob escaped before I could stop it.
Pull it together. You're not falling apart over some grumpy vet who thinks you're incompetent.
Emily's smile faded. “Come on. Get out of the truck.”
“I should really—”
“Rosie.” Not unkind, but firm. The same voice she'd used to boss around boys twice her size when I was ten. “Out.”
I hesitated, then killed the engine and climbed down. My legs felt shaky, which was ridiculous. I was fine. Totally, completely fine.
Emily's gaze drifted down to my dress—bright yellow cotton with tiny white flowers. One of the pieces I'd packed away during the Aaron years because it was too much. Too bright. Too attention-seeking. Too me.
I'd pulled it out last week with something like defiance. A small victory.
Now it felt wrong. Like I'd shown up to a job interview in a costume. Like I was trying too hard to be someone I'd lost the right to be.
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt.
Emily's expression shifted, something knowing in her eyes that made me want to climb back in the truck and drive away.
“You're coming for a drink with Abby and me.” Emily didn't phrase it as a question. “We're meeting at the brewery.”
“Oh, I couldn't—”
The words died in my throat as my brain kicked into overdrive, cycling through every reason this was a terrible idea.
They'd remember the kid version of me. The one who belonged here, who fit. They wouldn't know this version—the one who couldn't keep a relationship together, couldn't manage a farm, couldn't even talk to a vet without getting her feelings hurt.
I didn't want to be the charity case. The girl they invited because they felt sorry for her, sitting there while they exchanged knowing glances about their real lives. The third wheel who smiled too hard and laughed at jokes she didn't quite get because she'd missed all the context.
“I'm not asking.” Emily's voice cut through my thoughts, firm and matter-of-fact. She crossed her arms, blocking my path back to the truck like she could read every excuse cycling through my head.
I opened my mouth to try again anyway. “I really should get back. The goats—”
“Will survive without you for two hours.” Emily's gaze dropped to my dress again, something softening in her expression. “Besides, that dress is too pretty to waste on a farm tonight.”
“Thanks.” The word came out quiet, almost shy, but a real smile tugged at my mouth for the first time since I'd left the clinic.
Emily's expression warmed. “Come on. Abby's already at the brewery.”
She looped her arm through mine before I could protest, steering me down the sidewalk with the kind of confidence that made arguing pointless.
The evening air was warm, that perfect Colorado summer temperature where you didn't need a jacket but could still breathe. String lights were already glowing along Main Street, and the mountains caught the last of the golden light.
“You remember Abby Griffin, right?” Emily glanced at me as we walked.
“Of course.” A specific memory surfaced, sharp and clear. “She tried to help me understand fractions the summer before seventh grade. I was terrible at math.”
Emily laughed. “Still are?”
“Worse, probably.” The admission came easier than expected. “I can design an amazing logo in under an hour, but ask me to calculate percentages and my brain just... stops.”
“Well, Abby's an architect now, so she's still living her best math life.”
“Walt mentioned that.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “He said she came back to town last year? Renovated her parents' old place?”
“With my brother.” Emily's smile turned knowing. “They're disgustingly happy together.”
The words triggered something—a flash of teenage Evan Spencer building fences shirtless in the summer heat while twelve-year-old me pretended to be fascinated by chickens nearby. He'd always been kind, patient when I'd asked a million questions about construction.
“Lucky her.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, accompanied by a smile I couldn't quite suppress.
Emily stopped walking so abruptly I nearly stumbled. “Oh my God. Not you too.”
“What?”
“Did everyone have a crush on my brother?” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “I don't understand it. He used to smell like sweat and had those frosted tips. So tacky.”
A laugh bubbled out of me, unexpected and genuine. “He was really nice to me when I was twelve.”
“He's nice to everyone. It's infuriating.” Emily started walking again, shaking her head. “I swear, if one more person tells me how they had—”
“Okay, okay.” I held up my hands in surrender, fighting back a grin. “I promise I'm over my twelve-year-old crush on your brother. Cross my heart.”
“Thank God.”
“But speaking of disgustingly happy couples...” I bumped her shoulder with mine, trying for lightness even though my chest still felt tender from my encounter at the clinic. “What about you? Anyone making you disgustingly happy?”
Emily's entire face transformed. The exasperation melted into something soft and private, a smile that reached her eyes and made her look younger somehow.
“Actually, yes.” She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, suddenly less composed. “Nate. Never thought I'd fall for someone like him, but here we are.”
Emily's smile widened, but before she could launch into details, the brewery appeared at the end of the block. String lights crisscrossed the back patio, glowing warm against the deepening dusk. Laughter and conversation drifted out through the open doors.
A woman with dark hair waved from one of the picnic tables near a fire pit, her face lighting up when she spotted us.
“That's Abby.” Emily lifted her hand in response, then tugged me forward. “Come on.”
Abby stood as we approached, wiping her hands onto her jeans. She looked older than I remembered—more confident, more settled—but her smile was the same one that had patiently walked me through fraction problems over Walt's kitchen table.
“Rosie?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, look at you! All grown up.”
“Hi.” I managed a genuine smile despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. “It's been a while.”
“More than a while.” Abby pulled me into a quick hug. “Emily said you were back. How's the farm?”
“It's... a learning experience.”
Abby's smile turned sympathetic. “That bad?”
“Catastrophic might be a better word.” I dropped onto the bench across from them, letting out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in my chest for hours. “But I'm still standing, so that's something.”