Chapter 20
Twenty
THREE MONTHS AFTER THE ACCIDENT
It’s been months.
I haven’t played soccer. I haven’t practiced.
And I haven’t seen my girl.
For three months. So, yeah, I’m more than semi depressed and I’m spiraling.
Rosalie moved to Tesoro six weeks ago. At least that’s what Fran said. I haven’t seen her. I’ve been wandering around town, trying to bump into her for weeks.
I keep asking Fran if she’s ready yet. Can I see my girl again?
But Rosalie’s stubborn, and she’s decided she doesn’t want to know about the relationships she forgot. It’s painful. It sends her into a panic. And she just wants to move forward. Which is exactly why she moved away from Reno. Because she has no idea that so much of her life was here. With me.
I pull up her name on my phone and write out a message that won’t reach her. She has a new number.
Me: I miss you.
Me: Come back, Rose.
And then the drop-down box on my phone shares something I never thought I’d see again. Something I’d given up hope for.
@rosaliecon7 sharing location
Rosalie’s email from her college days. Fran said she got a new email, too. But she must have just signed into her phone with her old one for some reason. We were sharing locations before. It was previously enabled in her iCloud settings, and now it’s automatically connected us again.
My hand tremors as I open my GPS-sharing app. A dot with Rosalie’s name pops up on my screen, along with her location. “Sugar Pine Café.” I took her there once. She doesn’t remember it, but clearly she’s found it again.
And then I’m moving. My body is more in charge than my head at the moment. I can’t quite decide what’s happening, what I’ll do when I see her. I just know that I have to see her.
And everything is about to change.
Her pale blonde hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing that cardigan I bought her. Of course, she doesn’t know I bought it for her. Because she doesn’t know me.
Still, heart pounding, I sit four tables away from her.
Her nose is in a book. She doesn’t even look up to sip on her drink.
She doesn’t look away from that book at all until the waiter comes by.
She glances up, and there’s a smile on her pretty face.
She says something I can’t hear. Gah, I should have sat closer.
My heart stings at the sight of her. It pounds, it aches, it longs.
Rosalie.
My girl.
Rosalie and the waiter share a few more words that I can’t make out, and then she’s back in her book.
I drink five lemonades and eat a chicken salad sandwich slower than a sloth.
I won’t be the first one leaving. I stay as long as she does—which is a while.
In fact, I should have brought a book. I look strange just sitting here, picking at my sandwich for two hours.
A book would have been smart—an excellent cover.
Next time.
When Rose finally stands to leave, she says goodbye to the waiter, and she even leans in, giving the older man a short side hug.
I’ve never been the jealous type, but I’d do just about anything to switch shoes with that man. And then, she’s gone. Out the door, in her car, driving away.
It takes everything inside of me to keep from following after her. But I pull up my app and watch as my Rosalie dot drives home.
My breaths are short and my heart still knocks in my chest like a hammer to a nail.
“She’s a pretty girl,” the waiter from Rosalie’s table says. He’s standing right next to me, my check in his hand.
“Uh—” I repress a cough. “Who?”
He smiles and points toward her empty table. “Miss Rosie.”
“Ah.” I nod.
“I saw that you noticed her… and noticed her… and noticed her.” The man chuckles.
I clear my throat. “Like you said, she’s pretty.”
“What did you do?” he says, pointing to my leg in its boot.
I swallow. “Car accident.”
“That’s bad luck. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” says the man who’s never met me before. He slaps a hand to my back, then hands me my check. “I assume you’re ready to go now.”
I peek back at Rosalie’s table before looking at her observant waiter again. “Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m ready.”
The man—Carlos, his tag reads—winks before taking my credit card. “And,” he says with a grin, “I assume you’ll be back.”