Rosalie folded her hands in front of her and tried to keep her head. She needed logic now more than ever. “Sure, about what?”
“Is that what we’re doing?” The uppermost corner of his lips curled. “We’re gonna pretend?”
“Nick, pretend what? I was on table five. Today’s been a good day for business—”
“You know, as blunt as you can be sometimes, I didn’t think you’d go the ignore angle,” he mused aloud, relaxing into his office chair. “I figured you for a confrontational, what-the-hell-happened kinda reaction.”
“If you’re talking about yesterday—”
“I think you know that’s what I’m talking about,” he interrupted.
“It…it was a mistake. A one-time thing.”
His jaw squared. “I was wrong. I crossed a line.”
“We both did. It happened,” she said with a shrug. “It’s in the past. Time to move on.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” she said.
“If that’s what you want. If it doesn’t make you uncomfortable to—”
“I’m fine. Are you?”
Nick seemed taken aback by the reversal. He nodded. “I’m good.”
“Good,” said Rosalie firmly. She quirked a brow, hands on her hips. “Anything else you wanted to talk about?”
“Uh, no. That was it. Sorry to pull you away from your tables.”
Rosalie mock-curtseyed and then spun around to stride out of the office. Her assured footsteps made her feel powerful and confident, but the second she was out of his sight? She crumbled into herself. She paused midway down the hall and leaned against the wall to think on the exchange that just happened.
Nick had pulled her into the office to check how she was feeling. She had stamped down on every emotional response she had had since the kiss in order to appear unaffected and indifferent. Now that emotion came crashing down on her. She felt its brunt force with a sinking dread that made her groan. Confronted about the kitchen kiss, she might have lied and said it was nothing, but in reality, it was the opposite. In reality, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Even replaying the moment in the office in her mind, she considered alternate endings; moments where she abandoned charade and rushed across his desk and into his arms. He caught her with ease and pulled her deeper into his lap. They melted together, joined at the mouth, surrendering to their magnetic connection.
That fantasy felt all too real. It was more than tempting as Rosalie closed her eyes and bit down on her lip.
“Hey, you good?”
Zoe had stopped in the hall on her way to the kitchen. Her fellow waitress raised her drawn-on brows at her, staring as if an explanation was in order. Rosalie denied her, smiling in hopes of pacifying her suspicion.
“I’m good,” she said, standing straight. “Table five still mine?”
Zoe nodded and said nothing.
“Got it,” said Rosalie. “I’ll go check on them.”
She walked off, knowing that Zoe watched her every step of the way.
That evening coming home, Rosalie’s heart sank. She expected to come home and find Ma’s car gone. She had claimed to have a viewing that would last hours into the evening. Yet, as Rosalie pulled up into the front drive, she spotted her Corolla parked outside the garage. Remi noticed nothing, seated in the back fussing with her favorite stuffed animal.
They entered the home to the domestic vibe of Ma in the kitchen and Henry glued to the tube. Remi slid into a chair at the breakfast table and began work on her homework. Ma asked for Rosalie’s help in the kitchen. If it were anyone else, Rosalie would’ve gladly obliged. Since it was Ma, she held her breath, deep down aware of what she was getting herself into.
“That’s not how you chop the onions.” Ma clicked her tongue and shook her head, nudging Rosalie aside to show her how it was done. “This is how you do it. It’s just chopping. It’s simple as can be.”
Rosalie gritted her teeth. “I was doing that.”
“You’re not blind, are you? Stevie Wonder could see you were doing it wrong.”
“Fine. I’ll try again.”
“I don’t know how you cooked for that man all those years,” Ma mused aloud. She freed her hands of onion residue, rubbing them off on her apron. She returned to her post at the stove, wooden spoon in hand. “You were never interested in learning when I tried to show you. It makes sense now that you can’t even chop anything.”
Rosalie closed her eyes, the blade stuck halfway through the onion. She concentrated on breathing. If she controlled her breathing, she controlled her temper. In the background, Remi scribbled in her workbook, clueless to the simmering tension.
“Cooking is one of the biggest duties as a wife,” Ma prattled on.
More tongue clicking.
Tut. Tut. Tut.
Rosalie’s skin heated up hotter than the flame on the stove. Her teeth grinded at a rate that was painful. She didn’t care.
“Damn shame. Never was a fan of him, but no wonder he left you.”
The knife fell from Rosalie’s now limp hand and landed on the kitchen tile with a loud thud. Remi stopped scribbling. Ma looked up from the boiling pot. The silence was abrupt and it was invasive, permeating every corner of the room. Except for Rosalie’s ears. Her heartbeat echoed in them, pounding against her eardrums as her temper broke free. She spun around, eyes wide and nostrils flared.
“And what’s your excuse? I’ve watched men walk in and out of your life like an assembly line my entire life!” she shrieked. “I can’t keep a man, but you sure as hell can’t either!”
Rosalie stormed out of the kitchen. Remi’s soft murmur called after her. Ma might’ve said her name too. But she stopped for no one, hands trembling out of sheer anger. She sped down the hall and wrenched open the door. It swung shut behind her. Thankfully nobody bothered to follow. On the edge of the porch, she tipped her head back, nose in the air, and sucked in clean breaths.
The aftermath rained on her. The lament for her out-of-control behavior. She knew better than to let Ma provoke her. It was why she was so hell-bent on avoidance. Those strategies worked best when dealing with Ma. Even with her new decision to follow her gut instinct, how had she forgotten her ultimate goal?
Provide for Remi.
If she wanted to save up enough money for a place of her own, she needed to be on her best behavior. She needed to appease Ma as much as possible. She needed to stack every penny earned. She probably didn’t need a secret fling with her boss.
And she definitely didn’t need Clyde hanging over her head. His voice mail was a constant reminder of the past and its utter devastation. It had to go.
Rosalie slid her phone out of her jean pocket and scrolled to the voice message notification. She inhaled a sharp breath and did what she needed to do. She pressed delete.
Chapter Fourteen
Maxie’s birthday was less than a week away. The finer details for her birthday party were mapped out. It would be a spook-tastic Halloween affair, complete with fun activities like a toilet paper mummy foot race. Nick had even hired a face painter. The owner at The Party Haven lent him Halloween decorations. He planned to bake Maxie’s favorite cake, a recipe near and dear to Mom’s heart.