Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 7

I slept in the old bunkhouse, where we used to hide out during a thunderstorm or have group sleepovers as kids. It smells like damp wood. The bottom bunk is only slightly more spacious than the top. The sheets are cheap flannel. And even though a bullfrog croaked away outside as I drifted off, I can’t remember the last time I slept so well.

Being back in Rose Hill feels like stepping out of the city-girl meatsuit I’ve forced myself to wear day in and day out, hoping I’d get used to the new me. But now I’ve shed the costume and I feel like I can breathe again.

It’s as though I had this idea in my head of what success looks like. I could see my life so damn clearly—the most vibrant scene right before my eyes. So real I could almost reach out and touch it.

But every day I spent inserting myself into that scene, I grew more and more uncomfortable. More and more dissatisfied.

I questioned why winning didn’t bring me greater satisfaction. I kept trying to convince myself I needed time to adjust to the way winning felt. After all, I’d finally gotten what I thought I wanted.

As I stand just a few steps out the door of the bunkhouse, soaking in the wild beauty that surrounds me, it hits me full force—I don’t miss the city at all.

The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and the lake sparkles like a sheet of infinite diamonds. Even the crushing burden of my student loans and debilitating lack of income feel more tolerable in this peaceful setting.

This. This is what I missed. This is what I needed.

From my left, I can hear Emmy up and tearing around the farmhouse. Farther up the mountain, smoke curls from the chimney of my parents’ new build. I know I need to make the trip up there and fill them in—shit, even just say hi—but I’m dreading it down to the tips of my toes.

I don’t want to admit to them how thoroughly everything has fallen apart. West is the one who always had to come clean about making mistakes. Getting arrested. Crashing his car while drag racing. Knocking someone up. Getting injured. It’s only since he had kids and started his horse-training business that he’s taken a break from turning their hair gray.

But me? I’m the good one. The one who flies under the radar and handles her shit by herself so that no one needs to worry.

But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m tapped out on handling my own shit. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that I am monumentally tired of having it all together. Which is why after two weeks of moping around and sending out résumés that get no response—or that require a reference—I told Ryan I was going home to see my family. I couldn’t meet his eyes when I told him I didn’t know how long I’d be gone.

That was nearly twenty-four hours ago, and I have one lone text from him asking if everything is okay with me. It almost made me laugh when I saw it on my phone. He’s so agreeable. He didn’t even ask me to stay.

You do whatever you need to do was all he said.

We’ve probably been done for a long time, but we like each other too much to actually pull the plug. I don’t hate Ryan. Quite the opposite, in fact.

But I don’t miss him. And I don’t burn for him. And I’m acutely aware that like is not love.

Those thoughts stick with me as I make the short drive into town. While I navigate through the winding cliffs that lead to the hill descending into the main drag, I mull over why I should go back to the city at all. Without a job and without a partner, what’s there for me?

My friends are his friends.

My condo is, in fact, his condo.

It’s depressing if I let myself think about it for too long. The things that are truly mine are this car and a couple of postsecondary degrees, which go hand in hand with a mindboggling student loan balance.

Rosie Posie is really winning.

Pulling up in front of my favorite spot in town is a balm though. What I need is tea from the Bighorn Bistro. Café by day and farm-to-table restaurant by night. And the best tea ever brewed. No one can compete with Tabitha’s handpicked blends.

The door to the bistro jingles when I tug it open. It smells like warm croissants and rose petals when I walk inside. The interior is an oasis, with leafy green plants, twinkling lights wrapped around wide wood beams, and massive skylights that let in all the light you could want. Long rawedge lumber tables fill the dining area—everything here is family style. Something locals grumbled about when Tabitha first opened, and something they flock to now. It’s quite possibly the only “nice” restaurant in town, but the quality and attention to detail is better than anything I’ve seen in the city.

I doubt Tabitha’s here this morning, but I make a mental note to reach out while I’m in town. She’s a couple of years younger than me, but we played on the volleyball team together in high school and she roamed around with me and my friends in the summer. And like I summoned her with my thoughts, she rounds the corner, wiping her hands on a white apron, dark hair in a messy braid falling out around her face. She even has a smudge of flour on her cheek.

“Rosie!” Her eyes go from tired to lit up when she sees me, and I can’t help but do the same. Tabitha’s the kind of person with whom I can waltz in and pick up exactly where I left off.

We’ve always been kindred spirits, in a way. Both of our families expected us to be the “easy” children, though where West was a little rough-and-tumble, her sister was truly down-and-out. She was that small-town story.

“Hi, Tabby. Surprise?” I offer a shrug and a small wave. “How’ve you been?”

She huffs out her breath and the loose hairs around her face fly away. “Tired.”

I chuckle. It feels like a normal part of adulthood that we all universally complain about how tired we are. So, I go with it. “I hear that,” I reply, eyes roaming the selection of beautiful pastries behind the glass.

“No. Like I am next-level tired. Remind me to never have a baby.”

My eyes snap up to her face. “A baby?”

“Erika.” She says her sister’s name with a hard look in her eyes, like that alone answers the question. And it does.

“She doing okay?” I feel awkward asking, but not asking seems worse.

“If okay means living in the city, getting knocked up, and constantly leaving a toddler with me while she takes off to do god knows what, then, yeah. She’s fucking fabulous.”

“A toddler?” I know little about small children, but I do know you don’t just up and leave them all the time. But Erika has been struggling for years. Last time I talked to Tabby, she’d paid for her sister’s treatment program herself and had set her up with a safe place to live in the city. My heart hurts to think it may not have worked out.

Tabitha wobbles her head back and forth. “Okay, well, he’s two. That saying about terrible twos is no joke. Luckily three is on the horizon. Do you know they call them threenagers then? Trying to convince myself that sounds better.”

A dry laugh sticks in my throat because I don’t know what else to do. “What about your parents? They don’t help?”

She grimaces, and I recall her mentioning that her parents were thinking of cutting all ties with Erika. My heart hurts even worse now.

“Rosie, you don’t need this drama in your life. You need tea, am I right?”

I can tell Tabitha is trying to change the direction of the conversation, so I go with it. “Yeah. Tea and a croissant. But why don’t we grab a drink sometime when you’re not working or on toddler duty? My treat. You can tell me all your drama and I’ll tell you mine.”

Her entire body sags in relief. “Yeah? I would love that. So much.”

“It’s a date,” I say brightly.

“How long are you in town?”

My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip. I’ve been avoiding looking at this reality too closely. Telling myself that after a brief break I’ll be able to head back to the city refreshed. Keeping my blinders on has been a decent strategy so far.

But this morning I answer her before I even think about it—before I can lie to myself or overthink the consequences.

With the stunning view from the bunkhouse in my mind, I say, “Indefinitely.”

Then I glance down at my receipt, realizing I just put a dent in my bank account by simply buying tea and a croissant.

I need to get a job.

The thought hits me—I could get one here, in Rose Hill. That’s what a girl with only double digits left in her bank account would do. She’d woman up and go find herself a job.

I decide on the spot that I’ll take a walk down the main drag after this and see if any workplaces in town jump out at me. Any type of job would do really. I’m proud of my education, but I’ve never felt above any sort of employment. I’m a hard worker, and now, more than ever, the draw of a paycheck is my biggest motivator.

Someone behind me clears their throat impatiently startling me into action, so I smile apologetically at my girlhood friend as I back away from the till. “Thanks, Tabby. Catch you later,” I say with a friendly wave before turning away.

Then I step out into the crisp spring morning, feeling alarmingly at peace with the prospect of getting a job here.

When Ford steps out of his SUV, I swallow hard.

Faded black jeans.

Faded black shirt.

Gold aviators perched on his strong nose.

It’s like the shiny new version of him, without the mullet and wire-rimmed glasses he sported as a kid. Back then, he was tall and skinny. His arms swung at his sides and made him look like Gumby when he walked.

He doesn’t just walk now though—he strides. All it took was a decade to go from dorky, endearing Ford to Big Dick Billionaire Energy Ford.

I take him in from where I’m loitering near the front door of what I assume will be his office, based on West’s description of the property last night.

I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him, but I’d be lying if I said watching him round the front of his SUV with a scowl on his face doesn’t send a thrill through me. The kind that makes my legs a little weak, makes my cheeks a little hot.

Then he has to ruin it all by talking.

“What do you want? Cora is finally in school, and I have a pile of work to get done. I’m too busy to take a torturous stroll down memory lane with you right now.”

Yep, that’ll do it. Hot Ford transforms into Dickhead Ford so damn easily. I’m about to toss my lukewarm tea in his face just to surprise him, but I remind myself I’m here with an idea.

A great idea.

An idea that I really need to work because as it turns out job openings in Rose Hill are few and far between.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He lifts his sunglasses onto the top of his dark, mussed hair and furrows his brow in my direction as he breezes past.

“That sounds terrifying,” he mumbles as he slides a key into the worn wooden door’s deadbolt.

“No, it’s perfect.” I follow him into the dusty, dank building. “Trust me. It’s a business proposition. And you can’t say no.”

That has him turning to face me, his notable height causing me to come to a screeching halt in the entryway. He pulls his sunglasses off his head and gently chews on the plastic bit at the end of the metal arm.

It should be gross.

But I find it appealing.

“You hungry or something?” I cross my arms and cock a hip out. I feel like a bratty teenager around him. It’s annoying that he brings out this side of me.

Except the way his eyes rake over my body feels nothing like when we were teenagers.

His face stays impassive while mine heats to an inferno.

“I can’t say no?” He ignores my dig and bites down on the plastic again. “That doesn’t sound like a very smart business decision.”

I swallow again, but this time my throat is entirely dry, and it makes my mouth feel like it’s full of cotton. “Oh, no, trust me. This will be a very smart business decision.”

“Right. You’d never trick me. Would you, Rosalie?”

I roll my eyes and note the cobweb in the corner when I do. “Please, I’m not a kid anymore.”

His eyes drag down and back up my body again before he sighs and looks over his shoulder at the stack of files on the rough-hewn table serving as a makeshift desk. “Don’t I know it.”

Everything he says sounds so snarky. It immediately gets my hackles up, but I can’t go back to ragging on him until I get this locked down.

“I have an MBA. I wouldn’t corner you into making a poor business decision.”

His dark green eyes are back on me now, assessing. “Okay.”

I blink a few times. “Okay?”

“You told me I couldn’t say no.” A charming dimple pops up on his left cheek, but just a flash. There for a moment and gone.

Standing taller, I step toward him and take a deep breath, eyeing his scuffed boots until I draw my gaze up to meet his forest-green stare. His scent wraps around me. Cedar. No, sandalwood. I’m not sure. Trees. Wood. The scent of the incense I burned during my hippie phase. And something fresher, brighter.

With a shake of my head, I blurt out my plan. “You should hire me.”

He blinks and slowly pulls his sunglasses from his mouth as his eyes bounce between my own. I lift my chin high and stare back at him, refusing to back down.

“I can be your assistant. Or whatever. Something? I’ll clean up the cobwebs. I’m a wizard in Excel. Good—no great—with budgets. Who knows, maybe I can make you into a trillionaire? Or I can help with Cora! Busy frowning and staring at your bank account balance? No problem! I’ll pick her up from school.”

He continues to stare, his features giving nothing away. I should have been nicer about my offer. Maybe. No, definitely. Time stretches, and my tongue darts out over my bottom lip as my confidence wanes and nerves set in.

His gaze follows the tip of my tongue almost in slow motion.

His throat bobs, and he repeats the best word in the world. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugs and crosses his arms, biceps bulging against the thin fabric of his worn shirt. “Remember the part where you just told me I couldn’t say no?”

I nod. “Still expected you to be a dick and do it anyway.”

His lips tip up and he shakes his head as he turns and moves away from me. “Rosalie, when have I ever said no to you?”

And I just stand here, stunned.

I need a ride home from this party. I want to be alone.

I need a job.

Because try as I might, no matter how big of a dick he’s been, I can’t come up with a single instance of Ford ever telling me anything other than okay.