So far fromtrappedthat he hardly knew what the word meant.
But now, after the usual rounds of dinner and baths and books, he worried that Rosie was maybe not so content.
After all, she’d had to do this on her own. He’d had her here for the beginning of his participation in their children’s lives, guiding him along the way. So when Matilda looked at her phone—bolting up and knocking her bowl of popcorn onto the floor—then announcing she had to go save a cat, Ryder took it as an opportunity.
“Do you feel trapped?” he asked.
Rosie froze. She had been walking back into the living room after dispensing with Matilda’s popcorn, and she stopped as surely as if he’d plunked a wall down in front of her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this. Us.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” Rosie said, carefully.
He leaned back against the couch and regarded her closely. “You came home that summer from college. Everything changed. Do you resent that?”
“I love those boys more than I ever thought it was possible to love anything,” she told him immediately, low and intent.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
She looked away, then back at him as if she wasn’t sure what to make of him, or this. She loosened up enough to come closer and sit down on the couch, curling her legs beneath her.
Still looking at him, she started to say something, then stopped.
But he didn’t jump in.
He let her think it through, and eventually, she let out a small sound, like a sigh. “I know what you’re asking, but I’m not that girl anymore. Do I mourn her sometimes? I guess. But everyone has to grow up sometime. Maybe it doesn’t look the way I imagined it would, but what life does? Any time I try to take a tally, my blessings outweigh my challenges.” She nodded, as if putting some punctuation on that statement. “I have to take that as a win. I do.”
“Are there dreams you wish you could have pursued?”
“Of course there are,” she said with a laugh. “Doesn’t everybody have dreams they’ve outgrown? I love dancing. Watching it, I mean. I like to think that if only this was different or that was different, I could have been a phenomenal dancer, but I doubt it, because I never practiced. And every time I’ve been forced to dance against my will, I’m pretty sure I’m entirely made of left feet. So sure. That’s a dream I’ll never realize in this lifetime.”
“One of your cousins told me today that you were going places. I guess I’m just sorry that it’s my fault you ended up back here.”
“Ryder. I like it here.” Her eyes moved all over him, and it felt like some kind of caress, even though she was sitting on the next sofa cushion over. “I’ve always liked it here. I think that I’ve built the boys and me a pretty good life. It’s sustainable. It’s dependent on me, so if this never happened—” she gestured awkwardly between them, and he found that charming “—they’d be good. I’d be good.”
“So what do you dream about now?”
It wasn’t just a casual question. Maybe he was a little more attached to her answer than he meant to be, because, as it happened, he was in the process of changing up his life, too. Maybe he really wanted to hear that the things she dreamed matched his.
Maybe all of this was a lot more emotional than he wanted to admit.
“Books,” she said at once, grinning as if they were playing a game. “I would love nothing more than to open up a bookstore right here in Cowboy Point. Nothing’s worse than wanting new books and being snowed in up here. And yes, I know we have a library, and I know the librarian personally, but I still do have to give those books back.”
Ryder leaned forward, and took her hands in his.
“Baby,” he said. “Why don’t you do it?”
She looked startled. “What? How would I do it? I have two little boys. I clean short-term rentals.”
He gestured to the bookcases on all the walls. “You could turn your living room into a bookstore. All you need is a cash register.”
She looked around. “First of all, those aremybooks. They’re like friends to me. I will not be selling them, thank you. But also, I can’t just… open a bookstore.”
“Why not?”
Rosie focused on him, and she was frowning. “Because… it’s a pipe dream. That’s what pipe dreams are for. You dream of them while you do other things. Practical things. Things like being a mother and doing your actual job.”
“I’m pretty sure there are people who think running a bookstore is an actual job,” he countered. “Not that I’m an expert on bookstore owners, but that’s always been the impression I got.”
