Chapter 32 Rosalie
ROSALIE
Me: We need to talk. I can explain.
The text I sent on Saturday sits on my phone, still unanswered and mocking me two days later. As soon as I left the diner, I drove by his cabin, but he wasn’t home. I called him a few hours later. By Saturday evening, I was annoyed. Sunday, I was angry. Today, I’m just sad.
I messed up. I did, and I deeply regret my choices.
I should’ve told Jackson about Clint. It was a mistake to ignore it, and the damn thing nearly blew up in my face.
But is he really so angry that he won’t talk to me?
I get that my actions hurt him, but he could at least hear me out.
It’s not like he can stay mad at me forever.
Hell, we aren’t even technically dating.
Though, that doesn’t feel true. Just because we haven’t defined things doesn’t mean there aren’t expectations. If I found out he was seeing another woman, I’d never want to talk to him again.
My fingers hover over his contact, and I consider calling again, or sending another text. But no. I set the phone down and lock the screen. If he needs time and space, that’s exactly what he’ll get. I won’t beg. We’re adults. If he can’t communicate, then we have no hope of a future anyway.
Anger bubbles to the surface, fueling my indignation all over again. I vow to put him and this stupid situation out of my mind, and focus on my job. But that doesn’t last. I see him in everything I do.
Shelving books, I come across a non-fiction title on fishing. I picture him on the lake, patiently showing Edward how to cast his line.
Cleaning up the children’s section later, I tidy the display filled with books on back to school.
I remember our shopping trip, and how for a moment, we felt like a real family, the three of us.
How that night, he spent time washing and folding my son’s clothes so I could come back from book club with one less chore on my plate.
Everything was so good. Better than I ever imagined.
Better than the books. It can’t be over already, can it? I squeeze my eyes shut so I won’t cry.
Even now, working behind the desk, I have to stop myself from imagining his tall frame strutting toward me, a toothpick resting between his lips the same way it did that night a year ago in a bar.
I blink. Then blink again.
Holy shit.
The library’s glass front doors open and a tall, gorgeous cowboy comes walking inside.
I’m either losing my mind, or Jackson Wilder just entered the town library.
I straighten behind the reference desk, my heart beating inside my chest with alarm. No, it’s excitement—or maybe both.
He strolls up to the desk, his gait casual, and flashes me one of his signature grins. Which is confusing, because he’s supposed to be mad at me.
“Jackson.” I try to keep the longing from my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed.
He dips his chin, holding on to the brim of his cowboy hat.
“Rosalie.”
I wait for him to say more. He’s obviously here with a purpose. He’s never set foot in this building before. But when he doesn’t say anything, I cross my arms on the counter and ask him the question I ask all library patrons.
“What can I help you with today?”
His gaze runs down my body, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a naughty smirk.
“So many things. But I need help finding a book.”
My heart sinks with disappointment. Maybe he isn’t here to speak with me at all.
“Of course. What book?” I ask, remaining professional in spite of the fact my heart is ripped in two.
“A subject matter.” He rests a hand on the resource desk and leans forward. “A topic I want to research.”
“Okay.” I turn my chair and rest my fingers over my keyboard, ready for his request.
“Do you have any books on relationships?”
My eyes dart to his.
“Monogamous relationships, specifically. Do you have anything like that?”
I school my features, feigning disinterest to remain professional.
“Fiction or non-fiction?”
“Definitely non-fiction. I want to learn everything there is to know on the subject.”
My body feels instantly hot. If I had a mirror, I’m sure my cheeks would be tinged with pink.
“You do?” He couldn’t possibly mean . . .
“Oh, and if you also have a book on love, true love, the kind that makes you long for a life you never thought possible, I could use that too.” His voice is hushed as he leans forward. “Non-fiction. Because nothing about the way I feel is make-believe.”
I’m shocked. I’m stunned. I’m scared I might be reading this all wrong.
“Jackson,” I whisper, my entire body still frozen. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“It’s a simple search.” He eyes the computer. “I thought you were a pro.”
I have so many questions, and none of them I want to ask in front of library patrons or my regular volunteers. If we’re finally talking, I can’t do that under prying eyes. I shove to my feet.
“Regina, can you cover the desk?”
“Of course, dear,” my volunteer answers.
I march around the desk, grab Jackson’s hand, and practically drag him to one of the private study rooms. Inside, I release his hand and shut the blinds as soon as the door closes with a soft thud.
I turn to meet his gaze, my heart pounding so loudly it rushes in my ears. I can hardly process that he’s here. But I refuse to let another second pass before clearing up my mistake.
“Jackson, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you—”
“Go on a date with me.” He cuts me off before I can explain.
My brow furrows. When Jackson didn’t answer my calls and text, I assumed he was hurt and angry, maybe even done.
“You want to take me on a date?”
“Actually, I want to take you on all the dates, but why don’t we start with one? Give me a real chance. Give us a chance. Please, Rosalie. Will you go out with me?”
I shake my head. “What about Clint?”
“What about him?” He shrugs.
“You aren’t jealous about seeing us at brunch?”
“Oh, I am. Very much so. But, I’m not worried about that guy.”
“You aren’t?” It’s a relief. I feel the need to explain. “Your sister set us up.”
“I figured as much.”
“He’s not . . . I don’t . . .” His nonchalance flusters my thoughts. I thought he was upset. Why isn’t he upset?
“Rosalie, I’m not worried about that guy.” He steps forward, slow and with a focused intent that causes me to back up. My back hits the wall.
“You aren’t?”
“Nah. I saw the way you looked at him.”
“How did I look at him?”
“With polite kindness.”
My gaze is locked with his. My insides are a mess of lust, joy, and fear.
“And how do I look at you?”
“You look at me like I’m a man who deserves you.” He crowds my personal space but doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. There’s a live wire of energy that courses between us, binding me to him with a power no one else holds. “I don’t get your polite smiles. I get your real ones.”
He’s right. “Clint and I are just friends,” I blurt.
“Good.” Jackson’s lips twist with the hint of a smile.
“But you should know, I don’t want to be just friends with you.
I want to be the kind of man who deserves you, Rosalie.
In fact, I’d prefer we use this time to plan our next date.
Or make out. But something tells me you aren’t going to let me kiss you at work. ”
“I’m not.” He’s probably disappointed by that. “Boring, remember.” I shrug. “I tried to warn you.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Jackson rests his hand on the wall over my shoulder, and leans forward. Our mouths are millimeters away. “I haven’t been bored a single day since you stole my heart.”
I stole his heart? My pulse races again. This time, with a feeling that’s unfamiliar and new. I swallow back my fear. I swallow back my urge to run. Because as terrified as I am of getting hurt by Jackson, I’m more scared of a life where he’s not present.
“I want you, Jackson.”
His lips part in the widest smile. Joy stretches across his entire face.
“You make me so happy, you know that?”
“You make me happy, too.” It’s true.
“I want to kiss you so bad.”
I want that, too. If I didn’t know about the security camera in this room, I’d probably toss all my rules of professionalism out the window.
“Save it for our date.”
He takes a step back, as if he needs the physical distance to respect my boundaries.
“Next Saturday night. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll have to find a sitter first.”
“Already got it covered.” His grin is full of pride, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Oh?” We’ve spent a lot of time together, but this will be our first official date. “What should I wear?”
“One of your uptight little dresses. And the pearls.”
“You’ve always made fun of my pearls.”
“Yeah, well, I was an idiot. I happen to like everything about you, including the way you dress.”
He likes me. Everything about me. He’s not playing it cool or hiding the fact. He’s not lying, either. He must not be, because he’s seen everything. He knows the ugly parts of my life. He knows all the things I hide, and he likes me.
Something inside me must break, because I can’t stop smiling. My face actually hurts from how hard I’m smiling. But I’m not the only one. We’re both staring at each other this way. Two smitten idiots.
“Okay, well, I better let you get back to work.” He nods toward the door.
“Yes,” I agree. “I should do that. I guess I’ll see you on Saturday, then?”
Five whole days from now. That seems so far away. I’ve gotten used to seeing him more often. Edward has, too. On the way to school he asked when Jackson could take him fishing again.
Jackson walks to the door and opens it, holding it for me to go first.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He follows me back to the reference desk, which reminds me . . .
“Oh,” I compose myself, playing the part of professional library director so well, I deserve an award. “Did you still want me to look up those books?”
“Nah, I think I’ll be okay without them.” He waves me off with a smirk. “I’m more of a romance reader anyway.”
“Me too.” I lean forward conspiratorially to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He takes a step back, and dips his hat forward. “Y’all have a good day.”
I stand there, unable to do anything other than watch him walk away. He turns before he reaches the door.
“Oh, and Rosalie?”
“Yeah?”
“You and I?” He motions between us. “We’re officially a thing. I’m all yours. In case I didn’t make that clear.”
With a satisfied smile, he turns and struts out the door, leaving me speechless.
Every single patron in the library heard his proclamation. In minutes, they’ll be sharing this news with their neighbors. By the end of the day, the entire town will know. And, I realize, I don’t give a damn. That’s how gone I am for Jackson Wilder.
“That’s a fine-looking young man,” Regina says as I turn back to the desk. I don’t know how to answer that, though the permanent blush on my cheeks likely says enough. “And he’s awfully sweet on you.”
“So it seems,” I answer.
“If I were you, I’d lock that one down.” Regina Salas is in her early seventies and her use of the vernacular causes me to chuckle.
“Regina!” I tease. “What do you know about locking things down?”
“I might be older than you, honey, but I’m not dead. A man like that doesn’t come around more than once in a lifetime. Don’t you let him get away. Put a ring on it.”
A burst of laughter rattles my chest. “Regina!”
“I’m just saying, with all these books you read”—Regina looks up at me from the rim of her glasses—“You deserve your own happily ever after.”
I can’t argue with that, because for the first time in my life, I’m starting to believe I do.