Chapter 11 Boone #2
I wonder if my family will react to this sudden marriage with shock and confusion or, like Rosie said, if they’ll meet her someday and say, this all makes perfect sense.
Because, for reasons I can’t quite articulate, Rosie is my type.
Strong yet timid. Beautiful but doesn’t realize the extent of her beauty. She just… feels like she’s made for me.
And that’s a hell of a weird thought to have right now for a woman I don't even know.
“Thank you,” Rosie says, flashing a polite smile at the server as they set down our plates. She stabs her salad with her fork and pops a bite into her mouth.
“So,” I say, leaning forward, “You’re not the type to fall in love at first sight?”
She chews thoughtfully before shaking her head. “No. I'm not. I dated a little during law school, but since graduating, I just haven’t had the time. Being a lawyer is demanding, and any man who’s shown interest… well, that interest usually only lasts for a night. If you catch my drift.”
Interesting.
“They sound like idiots.”
She smiles. “If you haven’t noticed, small talk isn’t my strength. Once they got what they wanted there was no real connection to fall back on.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found someone who can ask you good questions that keep you engaged in the conversation.”
She takes another bite of her salad. “Maybe.”
“Okay, here’s another one for you. When you’re not in courtrooms, working pro-bono cases, or fake marrying men, what do you do in your free time?”
Her eyes light up, a genuine smile spreading across her face as she forks another bite of salad. “A few months ago, I bought a lake house a couple of hours away by train. It’s in Connecticut.”
“What part?”
“It’s in a small town called Brookhaven. Think Hallmark movie vibes—you know, the girl moves to the big city but ends up returning home and falling in love with the town she left behind. Oh, and with the ruggedly handsome plumber who lives there.”
I smirk, raising a brow. Okay, so Rosie likes Hallmark movies but isn’t the type to fall in love at first sight. That’s a nugget of information I wasn’t expecting.
“I can picture it. Sounds like my hometown in Canada.”
Her face brightens as she nods excitedly.
“It’s adorable. The whole town is built around this big lake in the center as the focal point and everyone fishes and boats on it during the summer.
The house I bought has a deck that backs right up to the water, and my bedroom's balcony has a door that opens onto the lake. I can’t wait for warmer weather so that I can wake up to the sound of the water on the weekends. ”
“That sounds nice. I take it that’s where you’ll be spending your weekends?”
She nods. “That’s the plan. It’s been tough finding the time to get out there with work, but I’ve made it happen as much as I can. My brother just had his first baby a few months ago, and he and his wife live on the opposite side of the lake. It’s nice to have family close by.”
“He commutes from the city every evening?”
She smiles and nods. “He does. It’s a hike, but it’s been great for him.
It’s added some balance to his schedule.
He leaves the office earlier most days to make it home for bedtime with his daughter.
He’s also been working from home more often, building up a clientele among the wealthy who live on the outskirts of NYC and Hartford. That way, he’s closer to his family.”
“Interesting… wouldn’t have guessed that from my experience with him this week.”
She laughs softly. “You got the easy version of Cain. He used to be much more of a pain in the ass, but then he fell in love with my sister-in-law, Rhiannon, and honestly, they’re perfect for each other.” She sighs and smiles, her expression warm. “I’m happy for them.”
I clear my throat, thinking this is a good segway into a conversation that I know she's not going to like.
"So, about our living arrangements."
Her brows raise slightly. "I think my father was pretty clear that we would not be living together."
"Yeah, about that. I live with one of my teammates right now and don't intend on trying to find a new apartment on such late notice for just three months just so he thinks I moved in with you."
She sets down her fork and levels me with a glare. "Yes. I learned about Penn today. You know, that's something you should have told my father and brother last week."
I shrug. "Maybe."
She sighs. “Aren’t you a millionaire? Can’t you afford an apartment or a hotel for a few months?”
I wince. Not because she’s wrong. I am. A few times over if you count the savings and the investments. But it’s never something I think about, and I hate having it said out loud.
That money isn’t for spending. It’s for security. For preparation. For the day that hockey is over and my body can’t do this anymore. For retirement. For a future that isn’t guaranteed. For a family I might have someday, and the kind of life I want to be able to give them.
“I’d rather not spend my money on temporary housing.”
She nods, like she’s reading between the lines. I’d like to leave it there, but something in her expression tells me I owe her more than half an answer.
“Look, you asked why I don’t have private drivers or security,” I say quietly.
“It’s the same reason I don’t want to pay for a hotel for three months.
I hate wasting money. Maybe that’s a flaw, but after my dad passed and we were growing up on the logging farm without him, we didn’t have much.
So, my brothers and I learned early to save and to invest wisely for our future. ”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “One day, I want to take care of my mom. And beyond that… I want to retire before I’m too much older. I want to be present. To support my family, to be there for my kids instead of always being away at work.”
She doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, her green eyes searching my face like she’s really seeing me. I hold her gaze, steady and unguarded.
Maybe she’s surprised by how open I’m being, but this is something I want her to understand about me from the very beginning.
“Okay. I have a guest bedroom in my apartment a few blocks away that you can stay in. The door has a passcode that I'll give you. I'm rarely ever home between work and court anyway and I assume it's about the same for you since we’re in the middle of your season."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," I say and then finish off my plate.
In three months, I’ll be moving back in with Penn. Not because I miss him or enjoy living with the guy. I don’t. It’s actually hell.
But I am curious about Rosie. About how she lives. How she fills her quiet moments. What her routines look like when no one’s watching. And even if she’s right, even if our schedules mean we barely cross paths, I’m still looking forward to living with her.
“Whoa, you eat fast.” She nods toward my cleared dish.
“I’m starving after games.”
She nods. “I’m finished too.”
“You still have half your salad left.”
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t hungry. I only ordered it because you insisted.”
And here I was thinking we were having a nice dinner bonding as fake husband and wife.
“Are you planning on going to Brookhaven tonight?”
“I was hoping to, but I might not make the train in time.”
I stand abruptly, waving to the server in a way that’s definitely obnoxious for a restaurant this fancy. The server startles when she spots me and hurries over.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Just need to settle up quickly. She has a train to catch.”
“Boone, it’s okay,” Rosie says softly.
I shake my head and hand over my card as the server hurries off.
“You didn’t have to rush her. Or pay for dinner.”
I turn my full gaze on her. “Yes, I did.”
The server returns quickly, and I leave a generous tip before holding out my hand to Rosie. She takes it tentatively. “Let’s grab a cab and get you to the station.”
“Okay…”
As soon as we step outside, cameras are waiting for us again. But this time they aren’t from her firm but from the media that's now going crazy over my new marriage.
I open the first cab door that I see, and she slides in quickly, me following right behind.
We ride in silence. Me wanting to hold her hand. Her hands folded together, palms squeezed tightly on her lap like she’d rather not be touched.
I can’t stop thinking about how nice this evening was even though everything we’ve done doesn’t make sense. On a real first date, I’d hold her hand or tell her I had a great time. I’d get her phone number so that I can immediately plan the next one. But this is all backward.
I’m married to Rosie yet not even dating her. I’m married to Rosie, but I can’t give her a kiss and hug good night. I’m married to Rosie, but she won’t be in my bed later.
I’m married to Rosie, but I don’t know all the little details that no one else knows about her that I crave knowing.
I don’t know what to do with that.
When the cab pulls up to the station, I jump out to open her door, and this time, she lets me.
“Thank you.”
She turns toward the gate, but before she gets too far, I act on impulse and grab her arm gently. She stops in her tracks, looking at me confused like she doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Did she have fun tonight? Does she find me attractive? Does she like spending time with me too?
Or am I just desperate for human connection and building this all up in my head?
Her eyes meet mine, and my gaze drops to her lips. Those full, pink lips that I haven’t stopped thinking about since that first night in the club.
“I had a nice time tonight,” I say, my voice low. “Thanks for coming to my game. It meant a lot to me.”
She nods. “Yeah, it’s, you know… part of the job.”
I study her eyes, wondering if that’s all this really is to her.
Then I say screw it, because one thing I believe in is being a gentleman.
And because, whatever it’s worth, I like spending time with Rosie.
It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the simple comfort of a woman’s presence out in public.
I tug her arm gently, pulling her closer until her small frame is pressed against my chest in a hug. The top of her head barely reaches my chin, and for a moment, I just hold her there.
She smells like roses and flowers—a scent that feels familiar. It’s the same scent I caught that night in the club when she was dancing on me.
When we finally pull apart, something has shifted in her gaze. I can’t tell what it is, but it makes my chest tighten. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, catching in the strands of her dark blonde hair, which looks even softer under the dim station lights.
Then I get a crazy thought.
I want to kiss her. Damn do I want to. But I don’t. I can’t.
If I mess this up, it’s not just my heart that’s at stake, it’s my career. And that’s what I tell myself as I let her go and take a gigantic step backward.
“Have a safe trip.”
She nods. "Sure. I'll... um... text you the passcode to my apartment so that you can move your things in this weekend."
Then she turns, giving me a small wave before heading toward the tunnel to the train.
And dammit if I don’t want to follow her. To see this place that she loves so much—a place where I suspect her careful guard slips away. A place where she’s not the polished lawyer working a case and a PR marriage stunt, but just Rosie. The real Rosie.
The Rosie that I know I met that night in a dark club in Hoboken.