Snapping her mouth shut, she scrunches her nose to hide her amusement and swats my shoulder. “Dirty boy. I hope for your sake, and the sake of all the girls who spend those nights with you, you’ve got that extra inch.”
I bark a laugh. “There are no girls.”
Her brows hike. “None?”
“Not a single one.”
“Hmmm.” She leans closer, beckoning me like she has a secret, and I dip my head, a cocktail of excitement and nerves racing down my spine as her warm breath touches my ear. “Is it because you don’t have that extra inch?”
I whip away with a sharp gasp and a hand pressed to my chest. When she breaks out into a fit of giggles, I give the bun on her head a gentle tug. “You really are trouble with a capital T , aren’t you?”
Her laughter slowly ceases, and she drops her attention to her toes.
“Not a fan of the nickname?”
“Trouble?”
“Mmm.”
She stares at the bright blue sky, a far-off smile curving her lips. “Love it, actually. My dad coined it when I was two.”
“Ah, so we both saw right through those wide green eyes and innocent smile.”
“Hey.” She narrows her eyes and pokes my stomach. “I’ll have you know the most trouble I ever got in as a kid was bringing home a baby bunny I found at the park. It was all alone, so I thought it lost its mom and I was doing the right thing. Dad explained that mother rabbits leave them during the day to protect them from predators, that she would be looking for her baby when the sun went down and she came back to feed it. I was distraught with myself for taking it from its mom.”
“Come on. The worst thing you ever did was save a baby bunny from what you thought might be starvation? No way, I don’t buy it.”
“It’s true! I was a good kid. My parents and I were always so busy in our spare time, hiking, camping, exploring…” She shrugs. “I guess I never really had a chance to stray off course.”
“And as a teenager?”
Something in her expression changes, the light in her eyes dimming, stealing all her excitement. “I was an even better teenager. So quiet, no one even noticed me.” She turns away, wading back to shore. “I’ve gotta start heading back.” Her reserved smile quickly spirals into laughter as the dogs claim her feet, cleaning the water off as she tries to pull her socks on. “Stop ,” she squeals, flipping over, crawling away on her hands and knees. “My feet are ticklish!”
Seeing her on her hands and knees with her full, round ass in the air does something to me. It unlocks something dark and feral, so hungry I have to turn away, run a shaky palm over my mouth.
God, I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this turned on, this attracted to someone. It’s not just the wild fucking curves , the flare of her wide hips, the dip in her waist where I’m desperate to watch my fingertips dig in and disappear.
It’s the way her entire body comes alive when she laughs, her nose crinkling right along with it. It’s the way her eyes light with excitement and dim with disappointment, unable to hide a single emotion coursing through her, leaving her wide open, begging to be read like your favorite book. How her teeth descend on that lower lip, nibbling when she’s playing shy. How she’s unable to hold that smile back when it wants to break free, and the way it drags mine out like a magnet, because when she smiles, everything feels right.
It's the way she loves the dogs so wholly, shows Piglet neverending patience. It’s bringing extra sandwiches on her hike, just in case, because she thought of me .
It’s not that I feel less fractured with Rosie, but that the light streams in anyway, between all the shattered pieces left behind. I find beauty there, a sense of peace that tells me good things are waiting.
Maybe it’s dense of me to be so hopeful after everything, the betrayals, the lies, the countless dates with anything but the right intentions. Maybe I’ve lost my mind, thinking I can find any type of solace in someone I barely know.
But I’d rather be hopeful than accept the more gutting option: that I won’t find what my friends have, the type of love my parents taught me to wait for.
Rosie and I walk in silence as the dogs trot ahead of us, and after a few minutes she nudges my side. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Were you a sweet kid or a terror?”
I chuckle, skimming my jaw as I admit, “I was a little shit. My parents always taught me to be kind and helpful; that was never an issue. I just found myself in a lot of places I shouldn’t be. Like in a four-feet-deep hole in my Grandma’s back garden when I tested whether you really could dig your way to China.” I point a finger in Rosie’s amused face. “You can’t, by the way, so don’t waste your energy. Then there was that time at the cottage when I collected a bucket of frogs and brought them to my mom while she was napping on the couch. She was scared of frogs, but I wanted to show her there was nothing to be scared of because they’re just hoppy, gentle little guys, and a little slime won’t hurt you. It, uh, really didn’t go to plan.” I palm the back of my neck as I remember how she cracked one lid when I whispered I had a surprise for her, how she shot up, accidentally knocking the bucket from my hand, tripped over the blanket, and face-planted on the floor as all twelve frogs leapt around the living room. “Remind me to call my mom and apologize for the hundredth time when I get home.”
“Aw, come on. You were just a little kid! Your heart was in the right place. You must have been, what? Five? Six?”
I run a hand over my mouth to hide my guilty smile. “Thirteen.”
“Thirteen ? Adam! Call your mama right now and apologize!”
“I know, I know. I told you: I was a little shit. But hey, I turned out all right.” I grin, extra charming, and waggle my brows. “I’ve even been called angelic as an adult.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Cocky too. And what about nicknames? Do you have any?”
“Woody, I guess, would be the only one.”
“Woody? Why?”
I tell her the half truth, because I’m not telling her about the hotel incident. “Because my last name is Lockwood.”
“Lockwood,” she murmurs, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to put my first and last name together, for recognition to hit. Waiting for this happy, safe bubble I’ve found myself in to finally burst.
But it doesn’t.
She smiles, holding her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Adam Lockwood. I’m Rosie Wells.”
I chuckle, tugging her into my side, swinging my arm around her shoulders. “You’re cute as fuck, Rosie Wells.” Bear tosses me a stare over his shoulder, and I roll my eyes. “You, too, Bear.” Piglet swings around, hammering Bear in the face with her butt, and bounds over to us, tongue hanging out of her mouth. “And you, too, pretty Pig.”
She loops through Rosie’s legs with a whimper, big brown eyes peeking at the top of the stairs as they come into view. I hand Bear’s leash to Rosie and pat my chest.
“C’mon, girl.”
“You’re gonna throw your back out one of these days,” Rosie scolds as I lift Piglet into my arms.
“Nah.” I shift Piglet to one arm and flex the bicep on my other. “I’m big and strong.”