I turn my full gaze on her. “Yes, I did.”
The server returns quickly, and I leave a generous tip before holding out my hand to Rosie. She takes it tentatively. “Let’s grab a cab and get you to the station.”
“Okay…”
As soon as we step outside, cameras are waiting for us again. But this time they aren’t from her firm but from the media that's now going crazy over my new marriage.
I open the first cab door that I see, and she slides in quickly, me following right behind.
We ride in silence. Me wanting to hold her hand. Her hands folded together, palms squeezed tightly on her lap like she’d rather not be touched.
I can’t stop thinking about how nice this evening was even though everything we’ve done doesn’t make sense. On a real first date, I’d hold her hand or tell her I had a great time. I’d get her phone number so that I can immediately plan the next one. But this is all backward.
I’m married to Rosie yet not even dating her. I’m married to Rosie, but I can’t give her a kiss and hug good night. I’m married to Rosie, but she won’t be in my bed later.
I’m married to Rosie, but I don’t know all the little details that no one else knows about her that I crave knowing.
I don’t know what to do with that.
When the cab pulls up to the station, I jump out to open her door, and this time, she lets me.
“Thank you.”
She turns toward the gate, but before she gets too far, I act on impulse and grab her arm gently. She stops in her tracks, looking at me confused like she doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Did she have fun tonight? Does she find me attractive? Does she like spending time with me too?
Or am I just desperate for human connection and building this all up in my head?
Her eyes meet mine, and my gaze drops to her lips. Those full, pink lips that I haven’t stopped thinking about since that first night in the club.
“I had a nice time tonight,” I say, my voice low. “Thanks for coming to my game. It meant a lot to me.”
She nods. “Yeah, it’s, you know… part of the job.”
I study her eyes, wondering if that’s all this really is to her. Then I say screw it, because one thing I believe in is being a gentleman. And because, whatever it’s worth, I like spending time with Rosie. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed the simple comfort of a woman’s presence out in public.
I tug her arm gently, pulling her closer until her small frame is pressed against my chest in a hug. The top of her head barely reaches my chin, and for a moment, I just hold her there.
She smells like roses and flowers—a scent that feels familiar. It’s the same scent I caught that night in the club when she was dancing on me.
When we finally pull apart, something has shifted in her gaze. I can’t tell what it is, but it makes my chest tighten. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, catching in the strands of her dark blonde hair, which looks even softer under the dim station lights.
Then I get a crazy thought.
I want to kiss her.Damndo I want to. But I don’t. I can’t.
If I mess this up, it’s not just my heart that’s at stake, it’s my career. And that’s what I tell myself as I let her go and take a gigantic step backward.
“Have a safe trip.”
She nods. "Sure. I'll... um... text you the passcode to my apartment so that you can move your things in this weekend."
Then she turns, giving me a small wave before heading toward the tunnel to the train.
And dammit if I don’t want to follow her. To see this place that she loves so much—a place where I suspect her careful guard slips away. A place where she’s not the polished lawyer working a case and a PR marriage stunt, but just Rosie. TherealRosie.
The Rosie that I know I met that night in a dark club in Hoboken.
