“They do. The house isn’t finished. On its way though, I think.” She hums longingly. “You should see it, Will, it’s stunning what he built. Twice the size of this place, spiral staircase, enormous kitchen. And the backyard—big enough for a small farm.”
I try and picture it—the image she’s painting as I stare at its surroundings, what it must look like in the daylight. “Must be a killer view.”
She sips her tea. “It’s not downtown Manhattan, that’s for sure.”
I cock my head at her, catching the wistfulness in her voice. “You like it here?”
“I love it here,” she confirms, her tone serene, settled.Belonging.
My gaze drifts back to the distant light. “Well, that sounds promising—the house, I mean. Sounds like he wants to give her the world.”
I don’t know the man aside from a one-time encounter when he stopped by the Lock Bar while in New York visiting Ellie’s grandparents. He never took his black cowboy hat off, was a little rough around the edges—like all of them. And was easily the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. I was also two margaritas in, so I’m hoping I imagined the part where I leaned in and sniffed him.
But this new detail about him—that there’s a house he built with his bare hands for a little girl he never knew he had—tugs at heartstrings I didn’t know I had left.
My father never took the time to do anything like this for me or my mother. He lived off her money and kept trying to find ways to get into my trust fund. The idea of my deadbeat father building anything other than bad credit is laughable.
“Yeah. If it were initially for her.”
“It wasn’t?”
Rose shakes her head, a sadness crossing her features. “The plans were designed for Millie.”
She says the name like I’m supposed to know who that is. I think back, remembering where I heard it—in one of Rose’s chatty catch-ups about all things Blue River Ranch and the Thorne men. “Oh. Right. His .?.?. fiancée, who .?.?. died, right?”
She nods, but it’s ever so slight, like her mind is somewhere else already. “To be honest, I love having Ellie here. She’s such a delight, but I’m in school a lot and Wilder and I never spend any timealonetogether. I feel terrible for saying it because it’s so obvious that Dallas needs us, but I didn’t exactly sign up to be a part-time babysitter.”
I wince. And I’m not sure if it’s from the idea of my best friend—who’s barely twenty-three—caring for a child she didn’t ask for, or for the little girl who undoubtedly deserves more than she’s getting. “Is the kid that bad?”
“No, she’s amazing. But I have homework, and when I don’t, I don’t exactly want to make friendship bracelets—at least not all the time. And it’s getting boring having to be careful not to get caught in the kitchen with my skirt around my hips, Wilder’s tongue down my throat, if she comes down for a snack.”
I laugh. “Oh, you poor thing, you. How do you live like this?”
“It’s not funny. I’m twenty-three and I feel like I became a mom overnight.”
I scrunch my nose. “It does sound like a strange living situation you got here. Should’ve gotten the apartment with me.” At that thought, my smile fades.
And Rose is quick to notice.
She sinks back into the cushions, watching me.
I wait a beat before starting. “Eric came to the apartment this morning.”
She sighs. “What did that self-centered jealous asshole want?”
“The ring back. He took it. And then told me I need to vacate the apartment by Friday.”
She curses under her breath. “He didn’t try anything, did he?”
“I wasn’t there. I was .?.?. in my self-defense class,” I blurt out.
“You’re taking self-defense? Did someone get handsy at the bar with you?”
“Sort of.” I pause. “It was Eric.”
“What?”
“Few weeks ago, I was playing at the bar and a guy was getting a little too close after I finished my set—drunk, obviously. Eric comes in out of nowhere, knocks the guy off his feet, and Billy sends us both into his office to work it out.”
