Chapter 11
Eleven
Present Day
Fran insisted she come with me. And I insisted that if she came, Callum did, too. Why Roman and Lucca showed up—I’m not sure. We’re in a bookstore. When was the last time Lucca read a book?
“They’ve missed you,” Fran says, and I wonder if she’s a mind reader.
“I know. I’m healing as quick as I can.”
“No, you don’t know. The team needs you, but more than that, your friends miss you. It’s like that accident happened and they lost you both.”
I swallow. I shouldn’t have told Fran I was buying Rosalie a gift. I never needed her approval on gifts before. But she insisted that at this stage in Rosalie’s life—retrograde amnesia, panic attack stage—that she knows her better than me.
I hate admitting it, but she might be right.
“That isn’t true. You haven’t lost us. We are both alive and well, and at least I remember everyone’s names.”
“Thank goodness,” Fran says. “And we’ll get our Rose back.”
But then, Rosalie remembers Fran. I’m the one lost to her memory. That truck didn’t take our lives, but it stole them.
She means well. And I love her for it.
I pick up the book I’m looking for. And ignore the jabbering adult men behind us, giggling at the covers of the more risqué romance novels. I might have done that at ten when I found my grandmother’s stash of Harlequins, but these are grown men, two of them married. Roman has a kid.
“The Invisible Boy?” Fran says. “Isn’t that a kid’s book?”
I walk it over to a table and chairs in the middle of the room, where Sierra’s with my lemon water now, and slump into a seat.
“Hey,” Callum says. “My little sister read that years ago.”
Lucca and Roman gather round, their giggling finally at an end.
No one will give me any peace until I explain. And really, I’m the lucky one. Unlike Rosalie, I’m the one who still has all these goofs in his life. “This book is one of the reasons she switched to elementary.”
“Really?” Fran says. “I thought it was that one children’s lit class she took.”
“Yeah—that’s why she read this book. But she doesn’t even remember the class, let alone the book. She still doesn’t realize what she really wants to teach. So, I’m going to help her get there. Can any of us imagine our Rose not teaching second grade?”
Fran sighs.
“Not me,” Lucca says. “That woman has one commanding teaching voice.”
I smirk. “Yes, she does.”
“You really think this is what she needs to remember that?” Fran sits on Callum’s lap, her eyes on me.
I lean back in my seat. “Realize, not remember. It worked the first time.”
But Fran doesn’t look convinced.
“This place has food, right?” Roman says. “Stella’s still nursing and chocolate gives Ivy gas. So, she isn’t allowing any in the house.”
“In season,” Callum says. It doesn’t matter that we run eight to nine miles per game—he refuses to eat sweets while we’re in season.
“I saw brownies in that case by the register. Don’t worry, Superman.” Lucca pats Callum on the back. “I’ll run that off in the first ten minutes of the game.”
They can eat whatever they want. I don’t care. I turn my attention back to Fran. “I was thinking I’d bring her flowers, too,” I say, referring to our previous conversation.
She falls right in line. “Rose always said flowers die, but books are forever.”
“But she also said that the smell of daisies makes her feel like she’s in a Little Women novel.” I smirk. “That’s why I’m getting her both.”
“It’s all very sweet, Zev. She’ll appreciate it. That doesn’t mean she’ll be ready to fall back into your arms.”
I huff. “And you’re supposed to be the romantic of this group.”
“I am the romantic. But this is a complicated situation. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”
“Too late for that.”
Roman and Lucca practically run back to our table. They might be giant children. “She said she’d bring them over. We ordered two, and she’s giving us two for free.”
“I think I know who’s working,” I say. “And if I’m right, she believes you’re single and straight.”
“I am straight,” Lucca says.
“But far from single,” Fran whines.
“We never gave her the impression that we weren’t,” Roman says, his grin turned scowl.
Lucca peers around the room, completely unbothered by the conversation. “I’ve never been gaga about bookstores, but hey, if they’ve all got brownies, I am officially a fan.”
“Four brownies—” Sienna stops short when she sees me. “You brought friends.”
I nod. “Very married friends.”
“I’m not married,” Lucca says, and Sienna perks up for only a second. “But I am very much attached.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Figures,” she says, dropping the plate of baked goods onto the table in front of us.