Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 44

If someone had told me six months ago I’d be standing in the living room of my parents’ summer house with Rosalie Belmont’s head tipped against my shoulder while my daughter and ten of her friends watch WWE wrestling, eat pizza, and drink root beer floats, I’d have told them they were out to lunch.

“Look at our little storm cloud,” Rosie murmurs, her hand at my back, thumb hooked beneath my belt. “Hanging out in the same living room we used to. Isn’t this where you and West played that mean Ouija trick on me?”

I cover my mouth with a fist. I shouldn’t laugh over the memory of Rosie and a bunch of other girls screaming. But it really was funny. West snuck away and hit the breaker when things were tense. Frightened teenage girls ensued.

Rosie went from screaming in terror to hugging me. I held her tight and was glad West wasn’t there to see.

“I don’t remember that trick,” I lie. It was definitely us.

“You’re full of shit, Junior. I have it documented in my journal. I know it was you guys. West hit the power breaker; that’s the only thing that makes sense.”

My lips twitch. “Or you and your friends summoned an angry ghost. Who’s to say?”

“Ford,” she warns, eyes narrowing.

Dousing a smile, I shrug, because I don’t want to incite her wrath when we’ve only just made up. I go back to focusing on Cora. Something we can agree on. “It’s like a whole storm in here. Were these kids running around Rose Hill a few months ago? Or did Cora indoctrinate them all? It’s a sea of black and gray. And why are girls this age watching professional wrestling?”

Rosie’s body hiccups with a laugh. “Probably for the storyline.”

My forehead scrunches. “What?”

“Kinda like how boys read Playboy for the articles.”

I stiffen, head rearing back slightly. “No chance.”

“Ford. There are tanned, manly men with big muscles throwing each other around. Yes chance.”

“But she’s⁠—”

“Almost a teenager?” Rosie hits me with an expression that says, Are you stupid?

I swallow and look back at Cora, who has tomato sauce on the corner of her mouth and is pointing at the TV. “Oh my god. Wild Side.” She practically moans the man’s name. “He’s my favorite. Never says a word and no one ever sees his face.”

The guy is massive, with dark, wet hair and a terrifying black leather mask that covers his entire face.

Rosie chuckles and covers her mouth with her palm. “Why does nothing about her liking that surprise me?”

I just grunt, not ready to wrap my head around the idea that this sweet little girl who just came into my life is lusting over giant men in leather.

The doorbell rings, and Rosie swats my ass before walking away to answer it. “You stay here and glower, papa bear.”

I roll my eyes as she departs, but I can’t peel them away from her as she weaves through the living room, past the kitchen island, and down the hallway. There’s a tug at the center of my chest when she moves out of sight. I want to follow her, to be close to her, even though I know she’ll only be gone for a moment.

It’s Marilyn who draws my attention back as she finishes chatting with my parents and sidles up beside me.

It’s nice to have her here. A good surprise. Cora cried when she walked in yesterday, and that’s when I left to swim—to give them some space.

“My husband used to look at me like that, you know.”

I glance down at her. She seems better. Brighter. A lot healthier. I’m happy to see it, even though it makes my stomach drop. Because I also know what it means in the long run.

“Like the world might stop turning if I was out of sight.”

I blush lightly. I know my ability to hide my feelings for Rosie has all but crumbled over the past few months. I’m not sure I was ever great at it, but I’ve definitely gotten substantially worse.

“I wish Cora could have seen him then. He was so vibrant.” She blinks, and I look away, feeling thickness in my throat as I watch her recall her husband. “So healthy.”

She’s nodding when I glance back at her. “Have you enjoyed having her around?” she asks.

A soft keening sound gets caught in my throat. “Marilyn. You’re killing me here.”

She pats my shoulder in a motherlike way. “You’re a sweet man, Ford. I like you a lot. It’s a simple question. Has this been a burden to you? If I think about trying to repay you for all you’ve done, the weight of it is crippling. And I also know this isn’t what you signed up for.”

I swallow, hearing Rosie and West and his kids at the front door. “I’d sign up for this over and over again.”

She smiles, and her lightly wrinkled skin bunches as she does. “I want her to have a vibrant, healthy, happy male role model in her life. I want her to have friends. And family. I want her to have this. This place—it’s been so good for her in the wake of everything she’s lived through. I see how different she is here, the way she’s re-created herself. Grown into herself.”

With a wave, she gestures around the house, eyes bright.

“I’m thinking…” She trails off, nibbling at her bottom lip as two men in leotards flop around on each other in a big square ring. “I’m thinking a change of scenery might help me re-create myself a little bit too.”

I go still, glancing down at her. I suspect I know what she’s hinting at, but I don’t want to jump to any conclusions or make any assumptions.

“But I don’t want to do something that infringes on your freedom or your plans. I don’t⁠—”

“I would love to have you both here.” God, I can barely get the words out without sounding choked up.

Marilyn nods once, firmly.

“I can buy a house for you⁠—”

Now she rolls her eyes at me, a little spark that reminds me of Cora. “Don’t insult me. I’ll buy my own damn house. You can track me down a Realtor.”

My lips press together as I fight to stifle a smile.

“Hey, can we go out on the boat?” Cora calls out.

“Of course,” is my instant reply.

But then she turns back to her friends and says, “Who wants to go boating? My dad says he’ll take us!”

And she says it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. My dad. We don’t have a conversation or get all mushy about it—it’s not her style. She’s practical, and she’s settling into a new phase of life like Marilyn just said. I don’t think she’s replacing her dad—and I wouldn’t want her to—but it’s nice to feel like she might be open to adding another.

I stare at her for a few beats, soaking the moment in, then clear my throat. Rosie’s watery eyes meet mine from across the room, and I smile back at her as I say, “I’ll get the tubes hooked up. You guys get changed.”

Then I take my daughter and her friends tubing for the very first time.

Once the end-of-the-year party has wrapped up, Rosie leads me back to the office. Her fingers link with mine, our soft footsteps on the grass turning to dull thuds on the wooden deck.

“You know we don’t work on Sundays,” I grumble. Because where I really want to go with Rosie is to bed.

She grins back at me over her shoulder, chin brushing over the thin spaghetti strap of her rose-pink sundress. Her hair falls in loose waves and flies out like a fringe as she spins on the spot. The look on her face is all trouble and whimsy and I’m gonna be a brat now.

It’s a look I know well.

A look I’ve come to love.

And as she basks in the sun’s warm rays, framed by the mountains behind her and a bed of brown-eyed Susans at her side, I’m struck by the overwhelming need to kiss her.

I stop in my tracks and tug her toward me. Her hand lands on my chest and I cover it with my own, wrapping the other around her body and gripping the back of her neck.

“That fucking look, Rosalie,” I grumble, searching her face.

Her eyes are twinkling, and her smile is soft. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It’s with a frustrated groan and zero restraint that I drop my mouth to hers and kiss her. It’s thrilling and consuming and what I’ve always dreamed of.

Kissing Rosalie Belmont whenever and wherever I want.

She whimpers into my mouth as I deepen the kiss, fingers gripping tightly at my shirt before she pulls back.

“Come on.” Her voice is breathless. “I want to show you this. I think you’re going to love it.”

“Is it you naked and bent over my desk?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs lightly. “You may want to spank me for this first, but after that… yes.” With a wink, she turns and swaggers into the office, looking so pleased with herself that I feel concerned. She leads me over the floorboards until we’re standing right over the blue paint disaster.

“So, it turns out the trophy and awards store is open on Sundays. I grabbed it while I was waiting for pizza. Which reminds me, we need to take Scotty a leftover piece.”

I’m about to complain about her attachment to the mouse when she points at the wall, and sure enough, there is an engraved gold plaque mounted right next to the floor.

It reads:

Wild Love

Paint on lumber

By Rosalie Belmont and Ford Grant

I stand staring at it for I don’t know how long. I like things orderly. I like them precise and tidy. I’m exacting, and I’m sure my sister would call me uptight and neurotic.

And yet, I’ve never loved a mess more.

I have no words, so I pull Rosie into a rough hug, breathing in the sugary scent of her hair, savoring the smooth skin of her neck against my lips.

She nuzzles into me, and I don’t know how long we stand like that, only that I eventually pull away, put my favorite Allah-Las album on the record player, and pull her down onto the deep leather couch.

We spend all evening wrapped up in each other, listening to music, just like I’ve wanted to—since the morning after I first kissed her and found her sleeping here.

Just like I dreamed of before I even realized she was the dream.