My arms are full of dinner when I walk through the door. Rosalie is curled up on the oversized chair in the living room, her legs tucked under her body with her nose in a book—a different book than she was reading last night. She’s so fucking beautiful, and when her sharp eyes lift to meet my stare, a tightness squeezes my chest.
“Hey.” For a reason I can’t explain, my voice catches with nerves.
“Hey.” She smiles—just barely—and I wish I could come home to this every day. The thought almost makes me drop the food. What the hell is this woman doing to me?
“How was your day?” I set our dinner by the door, then tug off my boots before bringing the food into the kitchen.
“It was good.” Her eyes don’t quite meet mine. There’s something she’s not saying.
“I hope you’re hungry.” I unload the contents of the bags. “I wasn’t sure what kind of pie you liked, so I ordered two.”
“Lemon meringue and chocolate cream.” Rosalie’s eyes widen as she reads the flavors marked on the outside of the pastry boxes. “This is all for us?”
“Please tell me you at least like one? I can go back later and get something else.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. These look incredible. I never order pie from the diner but it always smells so good.”
My chest puffs a little with pride that I picked well. “Dessert first?” I tilt my head in question.
She laughs, one of those laughs that seems to catch her by surprise, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite thing.
“No, I think I’ll eat my dinner first.”
We move around the kitchen, filling cups with water and bringing cutlery to the table. She pours a glass of wine while I grab a bottle of beer, and soon we’re digging in. The food is good and we don’t talk. Normally, I’d initiate conversation between bites, but I’m still in my head.
“Is everything okay?” Rosalie sets down her fork and breaks the silence. As I meet her gaze, she expands on her inquiry. “You seem a little off.”
I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or impressed that she noticed. I thought I was hiding it well. I lean back in my seat and take a long pull from my beer.
“I just . . . I ran into Aiden and Sarah when I was picking up food at the diner.”
“Oh?”
“I love my family. I do. But sometimes they assume shit and it pisses me off.” I don’t tamp down my frustration, and my words come out harsher than I intend. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to project my foul mood on you. I’m being a dick, aren’t I?”
“You aren’t. But I noticed the shift and wanted to make sure it wasn’t something I did. You’re probably getting real sick of me by now.”
Quite the opposite.
“Nah, I’m just being a baby. It’s not even that big of a deal. I’ll get over it.”
“It’s okay to be annoyed by your family.”
“I know. But I feel like a whiny, ungrateful shit when I complain about them. They really mean the world to me, and they’re always there when I need them.”
“Family is complicated.” Rosalie nods.
“That’s for damn sure.”
“So, what did they say to piss you off?”
“It’s just, sometimes I think they all see me as some joke. Like, my life is some big party because I have no desire to settle down or start a family. Which isn’t true. And yeah, okay, I haven’t ever had a serious girlfriend. And sure, maybe sometimes I smoke a little too much weed, or bail on family events for a good time at the bar. But it doesn’t mean I don’t care about people or have my own struggles.”
“Not taking any side, but maybe they make those assumptions because that’s the only version of you they know?”
“What do you mean?”
“We all decide how we want the world to see us. How much we choose to let people in.”
