Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 5

“Here, let me show you. I have a plan,” Cora says from where she’s sitting on the couch beside Oliver. She’s showing him how to build a Nether portal or some shit in Minecraft. The terminology is lost on me. He says nothing, as usual, but I can tell by the look on his face that he’s enthralled. Emmy has squeezed herself in on Cora’s other side, crunching on what has to be her third freezie of the day.

Me? I feel like I’m living in a madhouse.

After weeks of getting everything in order, I’m on day one of being Cora’s official kinship placement. My lawyer hates my guts for making her do this, and my financial advisor thinks I’ve lost it. Maybe I have.

I’ve done nothing to get the recording studio up and running, which is making me squirrelly. The never-ending list of things I need to do keeps me up at night. I need flooring, walls, paint, heating, air conditioning, upgraded electrical, some semblance of curb appeal from the outside. The entire place needs a facelift, and that’s not including the booth itself.

And now Rosie fucking Belmont has waltzed into the scene with her smart mouth and suspiciously watery eyes. And all I want to do is demand to know who hurt her so I can fix it.

Carrying a secret torch for this woman is nothing new, but it’s been a decade. I never expected every teenage feeling to come barreling back in full force the minute I laid eyes on her again. But god, she’s grown up. Her eyes are still the brightest, most impossible shade of blue. Almost crystalline against the golden hue of her skin—and still just as expressive as they used to be. They darken with anger, they twinkle with mirth, and today they swam with emotion. Her hair was always long, but now it’s longer. Layered and wavy, framing her heart-shaped face in a wild tumble. The same dark blond I remember now artfully painted through with strokes of bright gold and the odd pearlescent streak. It’s messy, yet intentional. It suits her.

That’s what I’d thought as I stood there at the front door staring at her.

All it took was one look—one heartbeat—and I was eighteen all over again.

“All right!” West claps his hands behind me, and I start. “What’s for dinner?”

“Freezies!” Emmy shouts back with a fist in the air. She appears borderline feral, and if I’m being honest, she scares me a little bit. She’s a miniature West and raising her is cosmic payback for the shit he put his parents through.

“Absolutely not, you little nut bar. You get vegetables and more vegetables. Everyone else gets…” He trails off as he rifles through the fridge.

Much like my main house, West’s home is a craftsman-style farmhouse. Big baseboards, narrow windows, sort of a cottage feel with all the bedrooms upstairs and a glass-paneled veranda out front. His is yellow, while I had mine stripped down to the original boards and layered with exterior glaze to give it a more rustic feel. Mine is mostly modernized inside; his is a little more out-of-date.

“Well,” West sighs. “We might be ordering a vegetable pizza because Emmy has snacked me straight out of food.”

This is so West, always flying by the seat of his pants. I close my eyes and smile. On the back of my lids I see Rosie and replay the way words failed me as I soaked her in earlier.

And when I open my eyes, I see Rosie too. She’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, gawking over at the couch. She must have just returned from setting herself up in the bunkhouse, and when I follow her gaze, I realize she’s staring at Cora. And Cora is staring right back.

I’m a dick for not having introduced them yet, but the entire exchange on the front porch threw me off.

“Hey.” Rosie tips her chin at Cora. “I’m Rosie. West’s sister.”

“Hey.” Cora mimics the motion. “I’m Cora, Ford’s daughter.”

I wince. Not because I hate the sound of it. We just haven’t talked about… I don’t know. Titles?

Rosie reels backward as she takes that in, then she turns her baby blues on me and not-so-subtly whispers, “Wow. Congratulations on finally losing your virginity.”

All I can do is stare at her. We really are right back to where we were as teenagers in a matter of minutes. As in, she’s still funny and beautiful and completely off-limits, and I still feel transported back to the dumbstruck boy who is awkward as hell around her.

It’s only a matter of time before I say something mean to keep her at arm’s length. And she’ll retaliate by saying she hates me before coming back with something equally snarky.

That’s our customary vicious circle.

“Oh, well, he was a sperm donor to my parents,” Cora spouts matter-of-factly. “So, for all I know, he could definitely still be a virgin. Your whisper wasn’t very quiet, you know.”

I shut my eyes and massage my temples. This girl is too smart, too snippy, too take-charge. She’s going to be the death of me, and I’m the one who signed on the dotted line to take her under my wing. I’m in way over my head.

“What’s a sperm donor?” Leave it to Emmy to fixate on that part.

West chuckles and tries to rescue me with, “Emmy! Ollie! Let’s mind our business and go wash up for dinner. I’ll make the order.”

I’m grateful for his intervention as I hear their little feet pattering away.

When I finally open my eyes, Rosie is staring at me. Baby blues wide, glossy pink lips popped open in a perfect O shape.

“What?” I snipe, knowing she has a snarky comment ready to fire at me. She always does.

She smirks, never one to back down at my barking. “The genetics are strong with that one. I like her.”

It’s Cora who groans. “I’m right here. It’s rude to talk about a person like they aren’t present.”

And I sigh.

Because it’s going to be a long-ass night.

“So, this is your room.” I glance down at Cora, who stands woodenly beside me. It’s her first night with me, and I’m floundering rather spectacularly in an attempt to make it less awkward.

“I know. You showed me already.”

I’m pretty sure I’m failing.

I give myself a silent pep talk to pull it together. I’m a grown-ass man. I shouldn’t be this nervous around her. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I should at least be equipped to fake feeling prepared for this.

“Right, well, I was just about to say that there is also a guest room on the main floor if you’d rather not stay on the same floor as me. But it doesn’t have an en suite bathroom, and I wake up early, so it might just be disruptive.”

“Why would I care about staying on the same floor as you?”

I grimace. “Just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” She doesn’t move. Her arms are crossed, but her eyes slice over in my direction. She’s full-on side-eyeing me. “You know, my mom may be out of it, but she ran every criminal check she could on you.”

“Fair. I don’t blame her.”

“I wish I hadn’t told you I have no family left. The threat of a long-lost uncle in the mafia might have been good safety insurance.”

I snort. She’s funny. “We can pretend if you want.”

Now she snorts too, and I feel a flicker of success at having almost made her laugh.

Quiet footfalls lead her into the center of the room. I watch her turn in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. It’s pretty much her color palette—pale gray walls, and a bedframe made of black wrought iron.

“Is the room okay? I went ahead and got you the basics. But we can… decorate or something? If you want? Art? Bedding? Books?”

“I really want black sheets.”

My brows furrow as I take in the simple, dark purple bedding I opted for. I thought dark purple would be dark enough.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

“Okay. I’ll see what I can find.” I run a hand through my hair, internally chiding myself. I don’t know how to talk to a twelve-year-old. Plus, she feels more like twelve going on twenty.

“Are you hungry? Are there specific snacks you like? I didn’t know what to get, so I figured I’d wait and see what your favorites are. But the house is stocked. I want you to… make yourself at home.”

She nods, finally glancing back my way.

“I can get you a boiled egg.”

Now it’s her turn to scrunch her nose up. “A boiled egg?” I never thought I could feel so judged by a child. But here I am. Justifying the nutritional merits of boiled eggs. “It’s a great snack. High in protein. Helps you sleep well.”

Cora looks full-on disgusted.

“There’s also cereal.”

I get a quirked brow for that one. “What kind?”

“Oatmeal?”

Her lips pull back in a teasing expression as she shakes her head.

“Lucky Charms?” I try again. I bought them against my better judgement. The sugar content is terrible, but they seemed like something a child would like based on what I’ve seen with West and his kids.

For that suggestion I get double finger guns, an almost smile, and a “Now we’re talking.”

We head downstairs, and I watch Cora eat her cereal at the kitchen island while I’m hit with the full impact of what I’ve agreed to do. Nerves creep in. Doubt creeps in. And later, when she says goodnight and shuts her door, I decide to go online and find some black sheets so I don’t totally blow this entire thing.