"Yeah, about that. I live with one of my teammates right now and don't intend on trying to find a new apartment on such late notice for just three months just so he thinks I moved in with you."
She sets down her fork and levels me with a glare. "Yes. I learned about Penn today. You know, that's something you should have told my father and brother last week."
I shrug. "Maybe."
She sighs. “Aren’t you a millionaire? Can’t you afford an apartment or a hotel for a few months?”
I wince. Not because she’s wrong. I am. A few times over if you count the savings and the investments. But it’s never something I think about, and I hate having it said out loud.
That money isn’t for spending. It’s for security. For preparation. For the day that hockey is over and my body can’t do this anymore. For retirement. For a future that isn’t guaranteed. For a family I might have someday, and the kind of life I want to be able to give them.
“I’d rather not spend my money on temporary housing.”
She nods, like she’s reading between the lines. I’d like to leave it there, but something in her expression tells me I owe her more than half an answer.
“Look, you asked why I don’t have private drivers or security,” I say quietly. “It’s the same reason I don’t want to pay for a hotel for three months. I hate wasting money. Maybe that’s a flaw, but after my dad passed and we were growing up on the logging farm without him, we didn’t have much. So, my brothers and I learned early to save and to invest wisely for our future.”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “One day, I want to take care of my mom. And beyond that… I want to retire before I’m too much older. I want to be present. To support my family, to be there for my kids instead of always being away at work.”
She doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, her green eyes searching my face like she’s really seeing me. I hold her gaze, steady and unguarded.
Maybe she’s surprised by how open I’m being, but this is something I want her to understand about me from the very beginning.
“Okay. I have a guest bedroom in my apartment a few blocks away that you can stay in. The door has a passcode that I'll giveyou. I'm rarely ever home between work and court anyway and I assume it's about the same for you since we’re in the middle of your season."
"Thank you. I appreciate that," I say and then finish off my plate.
In three months, I’ll be moving back in with Penn. Not because I miss him or enjoy living with the guy. I don’t. It’s actually hell.
But I am curious about Rosie. About how she lives. How she fills her quiet moments. What her routines look like when no one’s watching. And even if she’s right, even if our schedules mean we barely cross paths, I’m still looking forward to living with her.
“Whoa, you eat fast.” She nods toward my cleared dish.
“I’m starving after games.”
She nods. “I’m finished too.”
“You still have half your salad left.”
She shakes her head. “I wasn’t hungry. I only ordered it because you insisted.”
And here I was thinking we were having a nice dinner bonding as fake husband and wife.
“Are you planning on going to Brookhaven tonight?”
“I was hoping to, but I might not make the train in time.”
I stand abruptly, waving to the server in a way that’s definitely obnoxious for a restaurant this fancy. The server startles when she spots me and hurries over.
“Is everything all right, sir?”
“Just need to settle up quickly. She has a train to catch.”
“Boone, it’s okay,” Rosie says softly.
I shake my head and hand over my card as the server hurries off.
“You didn’t have to rush her. Or pay for dinner.”
