Page 37 of Second Go-Round
I went to turn away to go take a moment to breathe in the bathroom, but my focus landed on the door once more.
Auntie Sophie had finally arrived—with Rosie holding her hand.
The little angel wore a sparkly pink wig that fell around her shoulders, perfectly matching the bubblegum shade of her dress—the exact color as mine even though I looked putrid in pink. But when Uncle had told me about how his granddaughter had chosen to wear her favorite dress for the party being held in her honor, I hadn’t been able to help myself. I’d even opted for a bow atop my shoulder on the single strap holding my dress up to match the one at Rosie’s back.
I’d also spoken with her a few days after starting the plans for the event, asking for her input, and she’d chosen the finger foods the waitstaff served off silver trays.
Eyes wide, Rosie glanced around the room as though entranced by the pretty dresses, twinkling lights, and sparkling jewelry of some of Boston’s most well-to-do.
I made my way toward her, and the second she caught sight of me, she squealed, ripping her hand from Auntie Sophie’s to clap hers together.
“Chrissy!” She was the only one allowed to call me what my mom had before her death.
Eyes stinging, I caught her up in my arms, hugging her tight. “Hey, Princess Rosie. Welcome to your ball.”
Chapter 16
Jarod
I wasn’t a fan of crowds, but when Mary Rose had insisted me and Doctor Wendy go to her party on Saturday night, I hadn’t been able to say no. Especially once her grandpapa had requested we, along with whoever else wasn’t on the clock that night, attend the charity event.
While I’d donated thousands to cancer research over the years, I planned to take part in the silent auction he had set up.
When Wendy and I walked into the hotel’s ballroom, I’d been staggered by the number of people—and the status of some of those individuals.
A state representative, one senator, a few well-known faces from TV commercials…the list went on after a single sweep of my gaze over the crowd. Luckily, co-workers stood nearby, and we headed toward them, snagging some champagne from a passing waiter on our way.
Within a few minutes, I’d reached my limit of people-ing for the night but stood in place rather than escaping for some much-needed rest and quiet. I’d worked a twelve-hour shift, and even though we’d gotten good news one of our patients going into remission, I was dead on my feet.
Shit would be different if I managed to actually sleep at all the past two weeks.
A childlike squeal sounded behind me, and I turned, grunting as though a truck slammed into my chest.
Christine, the woman who had refused to leave my thoughts bent to scoop Mary Rose up into her arms.
“Jesus,” I hissed, rubbing at my pecs, trying to reach the sudden ache inside me.
“She looks adorable,” Wendy said from beside me, but I barely heard her voice over the ringing in my ears.
My gaze swept over Christine’s curves wrapped up in something…way too pink for her skin tone. Blinking, I realized she wore the same color as my favorite little patient. A bow sat atop Christine’s shoulder, a perfect match to the one tied behind Mary Rose’s back. Tulle even lined beneath both their hems, sweeping away behind them almost like a…mermaid’s tail.
Heart beating heavy in my chest, I gazed at the woman who had hit me twice as hard as the first time I’d set my eyes on her. I could feel the draw to move closer. Breathe her into my lungs, infusing my blood once more with the vitality it had been missing since walking away like she’d told me to do after three rounds of the best sex of my life.
“Earth to Jarod.” A finger poked me in the side, and I tore my focus off Christine who’d tipped her forehead against Mary Rose’s as they spoke quietly to one another.
Wendy smirked at me.
“Hmm?” I asked, my attention firmly focused on my periphery and the girls in pink.
“Either you just got hit by Cupid’s arrow, or that champagne you’ve been sipping is really moonshine like my great grandfather used to still.”
I huffed a forced laugh, brushing off Wendy’s comment.
She arched a dark eyebrow. “Really? That’s how you’re playing this? How do you know the woman—and who is she?”
“Christine Gemberling,” a deep voice I recognized answered before I figured out what the fuck to say to my co-worker.
I turned toward Mary Rose’s grandpapa. “Bradley,” I offered my hand, greeting him with the first name he’d insisted upon.
