I shake my head, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Jesus, Rose,” Wes whines.
“Sorry, it’s my way of telling people to keep out when I want to be alone.”
“Well, use something else when it’s your brother, OK? A simpleI’m busywould do just fine.”
“I’m busy, Wesley.”
“Right. What are you painting now? A dead cowboy?”
“Yeah, with the chef’s knife next to him as the murder weapon.”
He laughs, and shortly after, they end the call.
It’s amazing how they work. I’ve never heard this side to it. Caring, protective, brotherly. As though no matter what kind of trouble she got herself into, he’s on her side.
Guilt washes over me. And I know Rose sees it. “We should probably .?.?. talk,” I say gruffly.
She smiles sweetly at me and it’s like she’s giving me a way out. “I can help with that. Nothing outside these walls. Or this weekend.”
Damn, that’s more mature than I’d given her credit for.
And yet somehow it slams my chest hard. Because she’s right.
“Just one thing outside these walls, Rose.” I swallow. “I need to tell Wes. Not today, but eventually. I can’t keep something this big from him.”
She nods in understanding. “Soon as my plane lands in New York.”
Another hard crash against my chest.
“I need to go for a walk.” I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.But I need to clear my head.
“I’ll be here.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you had two suitcases of art supplies,” I comment, brushing her hair out of her face as she lays on top of me on the couch. The storm was heavy all afternoon but quieted down sometime after supper.
I can say with certainty that Rose did not get the cooking gene that Wesley has. Since we had the time staying in today, she decided to make us homemade pizza. She bought ingredients this week, insisting she was going to make New York style pizza and put this gourmet kitchen to good use.
The cheese was good, sauce was great, but I don’t think it was until she was halfway through the second slice that she realized it was cinnamon she had tossed into the mix instead of paprika. And I’m not sure how the crust was burnt on one side and doughy on the other. Still, it was edible.
Hell, I’d eat anything she made with the way she moved around the kitchen. Playful and experimental, the way she bit her lip, like she was creating some sort of masterpiece.
Her cheeks are still in that “just fucked” flush as she glances at the corner where her supplies are laid out over a tarp.
“I imagined I’d be pretty bored here when I’m not working.”
“Are you bored?”
She rests her chin on my chest. “Not today.”
I kiss her softly, lingering on the sweetness of those lips I thought I’d never taste.
But it’s dark out and I’m going to have to leave her soon. I’m on the field tomorrow. Lot to clean up after the mess the weather made today.
“You think you got enough of a workout all day to get some sleep?” It’s a cop-out, the way I don’t flat-out tell her I can’t stay another night.
She hums, stroking the hair on my chest. “I think I got enough of a workout to sleep for three days, cowboy. So technically, you screwed yourself.”
