Dear Rosie,: Love Letters Book Two, page 3
“You’re the best, Rosalyn!” She grins and rushes out of the kitchen.
“She’s really nice,” Presley comments after Hannah disappears.
“Has been so far.”
Presley snorts. “You’re such a pessimist.”
I shrug. She’s not wrong. I’ve dealt with too many shitty people not to be.
My employee moves closer to my side and lowers her voice. “I heard her husband is a pro-football player.”
“Yeah, I heard that too. But I haven’t met him yet.”
This job was a last-minute booking. Apparently, their previous caterer fell through a few days ago, so their event planner from Meghan’s Moments, who I’ve worked with before, called and asked if I could fill in. And since I could, I said yes before asking who the clients were.
As soon as Meghan said the husband was a retired football player, my insides started to twist.
Which was stupid because Nathan doesn’t play for Minnesota, so there’s literally no reason for me to have thought he might be the client.
But twenty-five years or not, there’s no way I could cater Nathan’s wedding reception.
That would be… crushing.
Which is ridiculous because we don’t have that sort of history. We were just kids. And we were just friends. And since then… Well, it’s not like I know him anymore.
I don’t even remember the last time I thought about Nathan Waller.
Okay, that’s not true. I thought about him two nights ago.
I was lonely.
And horny.
And I’d seen his stupidly handsome face on a magazine in the checkout lane at the grocery store.
And sue me. He’s fucking hot. So… I thought about him.
“And…” Presley leans closer. “Do you know who it is?”
Her question reminds me that we’re talking about a different athlete.
“Maddox Lovelace,” I tell her—the name that doesn’t mean anything to me.
Her mouth drops. “This is Mad Dog Maddox’s house?”
“Mad Dog?” I scrunch up my nose at the silly nickname.
I didn’t look him up. All I needed to know was that his last name wasn’t Waller.
“I thought he got married like last year or something.” Presley tilts her head. “I forgot you said this was some sort of belated wedding reception.”
“How do you know this stuff?” I hate to stereotype, but Presley, with her French-braided hair and full-sleeve tattoos, doesn’t strike me as a football fan.
She rolls her eyes. “Because he’s a hot-as-fuck professional athlete, and I’m not dead.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“I take it you don’t watch?” she asks.
“Never had time.” I tell her the truth.
There were times I was tempted.
Times I wanted to look up my old friend, find out when his games were… But I always stopped myself. I had to stay focused.
Had to work two jobs to support my third one.
Had to spend every spare moment cooking and baking once I quit those other two jobs.
Had to put my all into this company. Because I had to make it work.
Because I didn’t want to spend my life working for someone else. And I couldn’t spend another second working for another man. They’d controlled my life long enough.
Presley sighs. “You gotta get a life, Boss. And trust me.” She fans herself with her hand. “After you see this man, you’ll understand my obsession.” Her eyes widen. “Do you think he’ll have his teammates here? Oh, or his brother?”
Presley sounds so excited, but I have no idea who she’s talking about.
The doorbell rings, saving me from a reply.
I step back from the island. “I’ll go let the hair person in if you want to get started on the meatballs.”
“Hair person.” Presley snorts, then moves to the sink to wash her hands.
As I walk through the large home, I glance down at myself, hoping I’m not covered in bacon splatter.
We’ll change into all black for the event, but for prep, I wore my usual comfy jeans and a forest-green T-shirt under my canvas apron, which seems to be free of major stains.
The doorbell rings again.
Rude.
I hurry the last few yards, not wanting Hannah to hear this person’s constant ringing.
I close my fingers around the door handle and pull it open before the person can press the bell again.
And then everything stops.
Because standing before me, taller than I realized he’d become and close enough to touch, is the only best friend I’ve ever had.
It’s my Nathan.
He’s here.
Really here.
Standing before me.
Oxygen dances just out of reach, and spots start to dot my vision as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Nathan is here.
At the same house I’m at.
This should be a beautiful moment.
One where we embrace and cry.
When we say how much we missed each other.
But I can’t do that.
Not with him.
Not after… everything.
Panic wells up inside me.
I can’t pretend everything’s been okay since he left.
And I can’t tell him the truth. Can’t put my burden on his shoulders.
And… God dammit, I can’t breathe.
Even if I could, I don’t know what to say.
“Hey there.” Nathan grins. “I’m Nate, best friend of the groom.”
His grin is perfect. Happy.
Nathan holds his hand out.
He’s holding his hand out because he just introduced himself. To me.
Like we’re strangers.
Because we are.
My fingers feel like ice as I reach out and place my hand in his.
His palm is warm and so much larger than mine. And I want to melt into the feeling.
I want to ask him to hug me.
I want to tell him how much I missed him.
But I won’t.
Because he doesn’t remember me.
And he’s not my Nathan anymore.
TWO
NATE
Fucking hell, this woman is a damn knockout.
Her hand trembles in mine, and I have to stop myself from reaching out and placing my other hand on the back of hers.
I’ve seen it before, the starstruck behavior. And I’ve learned to ignore it, because by not addressing it, no one ends up embarrassed.
So when her wide blue eyes blink up at me, I pretend not to see the sheen of tears.
She must be a superfan.
I give her hand another shake before I let go.
Her hair is a deep shade of red, pulled back into a high ponytail, and I want to wrap my hand around it.
I clear my throat.
I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man. Not a creeper.
I will not pop a boner standing in my friend’s doorway.
Maddox’s doorway.
If this woman in front of me is one of Hannah’s friends, Maddox will kill me if I try to fuck her.
The woman steps back, pulling the door open wider.
She doesn’t say anything, but I take the silent invitation and follow her inside.
When she moves behind me to shut the door, I glance over my shoulder, wanting to get a look at her body without her noticing.
My glance turns into a stare.
I have to resist lifting my fist to my mouth, wanting to bite my knuckle to stifle a groan, because good lord below, I’m going to hell for the things I’m willing to do to get my hands on that fucking ass.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Is she the type of woman who’s into butt stuff?
With a body like that, she fucking should be.
Her ass is thick. And grabbable. And I bet it would jiggle if I smacked it.
The woman turns around, and before I can notice anything else, I notice the apron.
My grin grows.
“You catering?” I ask, hardly hiding my excitement.
If she’s with the caterer, then she’s not Hannah’s friend.
And she’s fair game.
The woman nods, also looking down at herself, like she forgot what she was wearing.
Her apron is tied tightly around her waist, causing it to pull snugly across her tits. And her tits match her ass. I want to take a fucking nap on them.
Maybe she’d be willing to take off everything… but the apron.
Her cheeks are pink when she looks back up at me, and I work to school my features.
“So…” I lift my brows. “Need help in the kitchen, or should I go find Maddox?”
She swallows, and I find myself leaning toward her, anxious to hear her speak.
“He’s not home yet.” Her voice is quiet, a little soft, and I need to find a way to make her say my name. “You can—”
The doorbell rings, and my little redhead startles so badly that she lets out a squeak of surprise.
I bite down on a laugh as I reach out and lightly grip her upper arm. “My apologies for ringing the doorbell twice. That’s loud as hell.”
She looks up at me, and I wish I could read her expression.
It’s alarm and something that looks like… sadness—but probably isn’t.
Poor girl is overwhelmed.
“I need to get that,” she whispers, keeping her gaze averted from mine.
My hold on her arm is loose, so when she steps away, my hand falls back to my side.
She moves to open the door for the newcomer.
She’s not exactly short, maybe five foot five, but she’s short compared to me.
I’m not the tallest dude I know, but at six foot three, I’m taller than most wide receivers. And even though my playing days are over, and I can’t run like I used to, and I don’t work out as much as I used to, I still stand up straighter and pull my shoulders back before the girl without a name turns back around.
A stranger follows her into the house, and I step to the side to make room for them.
“Hannah asked me to have you wait in the living room, if that’s okay.” The caterer tells the other woman. She starts to walk past me before she pauses. “You can, uh, come with.”
Nate.
Just say my name, Beautiful. Let me hear it on your lips.
I dip my chin and hold my arm out, gesturing for them to go ahead.
The stranger gives me a smile, a nod, and a once-over before she follows the caterer down the hall.
Following, I run a hand through my hair. I could probably use a haircut, but I’ve kind of enjoyed the shaggy look. And, based on the perusal I just got, the style is working for me.
I slow my steps, and when the women turn toward the living room, I veer off toward the kitchen.
“Smells good,” I state as I stop in front of the island currently covered in food.
The girl on the other side of the counter snaps her head up at the sound of my voice.
“Thanks…” Her eyes narrow, then widen. “Holy fucking shit. You’re Nate Waller.”
Two fans in a row.
I smile. “Last I checked.”
She slaps her hand down on the counter.
We both look down at the wet slapping sound, and she lifts her hand, revealing a squashed meatball.
She shakes her head—at me or the meatball, I’m not sure. “Craziest day ever.”
“And the party hasn’t even started.”
The girl wiggles her brows. “Are there more of you coming?”
I spread my arms out. “I’m a one and only.”
She snorts. “Football players, I mean.”
I give her a slow nod. “A handful.”
She bounces on her toes. “Like who?”
I tilt my head. “I feel like it’ll be more fun if you just wait and see.”
She purses her lips, then nods once. “That’s fair. But blink once if Max Lovelace will be here.”
I hold my eyes open for a long moment, then blink.
The girl fist pumps the air, but my eyes are locked on the light blue ones of the woman who just stepped up beside her.
The redhead still looks leery, so I try to break the tension. “Would you ladies like a signature?”
The chatty girl nods so fast her braids bounce around her shoulders. But the other woman just stares at me.
Close enough to a yes.
Knowing my way around Maddox’s house, I stride across the kitchen to the cupboard in the far corner and pull out a notepad.
Snagging a pen too, I turn around and lean against the counter, now on the same side of the island as the ladies.
“Can you make it out to Presley?” The girl is drying her hands on a towel, having washed off the meatball remains.
“Sure thing.” I write my usual thanks for the support, then tear off the page and hand it to her.
“Best day ever,” she says as she takes it.
I move my attention back to the redhead. “And your name?”
THREE
ROSALYN
And your name?
A slender dagger slips between my ribs.
There’s something so poetic about this moment.
The humor and the horror.
Nathan—Nate—thinks I’m a fan. And every time he says something nice, it wraps another cord of barbed wire around my throat.
I fight against the scraping pain and hold his gaze as I reply. “My name is Rosalyn.”
I wait for it.
The recognition.
For him to put it together.
His smile softens. “Nice to meet you, Rosalyn.”
That sharp bit twists, moving deeper into my chest.
He really doesn’t remember.
“Hi. Can I join you?”
I look up at the unfamiliar voice and find a lanky boy standing a few feet away.
He’s looking down at my mini stick house.
I nod. “Sure.”
I know strangers are dangerous, but I’ve seen this boy riding his bike down the street before.
He sits down across from me. “I’m Nathan. What’s your name?”
I roll a stick between my fingers. “Rosalyn. But… people call me Rosie.”
It’s only a little bit of a lie. My mom was the only one who called me Rosie, and she’s gone now, but I still like it.
“Nice to meet you, Rosie.”
I blink as the memory turns to ash, drifting away.
Nathan scribbles on his notebook, and I beg my eyes to stay dry.
Beg my body to behave.
I cannot have a mental breakdown.
I cannot.
“Rosalyn’s a pretty name.” Nathan tears the page out of the notebook and holds it out to me. “Make sure I spelled it correctly.”
Hearing him say my name out loud is another twist of that dagger. Because there’s still no recognition.
I take the piece of paper from him and press my lips together, holding my breath.
Rosalyn – Always nice to meet a fan.
A fan.
And below that, underneath his famous signature, is his phone number.
I read it again.
The first letter Nathan has written me since I was eight, and I think he’s flirting with me.
He’s flirting. And I feel like I’m dying.
FOUR
NATE
Rosalyn looks like she’s on the verge of tears again.
I open my mouth to ask if she wants a hug or something, but I’m cut off by Maddox.
“Waller.” His voice is loud, and Rosalyn jumps.
This girl is really going through it tonight.
Maddox’s big frame strides into the kitchen.
Presley’s mouth drops open.
“Quit harassing our chefs.” Maddox stops on the other side of the island from where I am next to Rosalyn.
I hold my hands up, one of them still gripping the notebook and pen. “Just chatting.”
He lifts a brow. “Looked like you were being a diva, forcing your signature on people.”
I roll my eyes. “The only diva here is you, Mr. Sends His Food Back.”
Maddox lowers his eyelids, like he couldn’t be more annoyed with me. “That was once. And it was entirely the wrong order.”
I look at Redhead Rosalyn and shake my head. “He could’ve just eaten it.”
“I’m taking away your best man status.” Maddox sighs.
“Hate to remind you, but the wedding has already happened, brother from another mother. Can’t take it back now.” I grin.
“You’re a pain. And you better not be wearing that for the party.”
I brush my free hand down my chest, smoothing down the California team logo. The California team I was playing for when we beat the Biters for the game of all games.
The T-shirt is a little tighter than it used to be. But that’s from doing less running and more lifting. It certainly has nothing to do with tacos.
I put him out of his misery. “Don’t worry, Dad, I brought my church clothes. I just didn’t want to sit around in a fucking bow tie all afternoon.”
“Which begs the question, why are you here three hours before the party?”
“Because you’re not supposed to see the bride.” I walk around the island and pat him roughly on the back. “Figured you’d want company.”
Maddox heaves out a breath. “Fine, come keep me company and leave these nice women alone.” He turns his attention to Rosalyn and Presley. “And truly, thank you for coming today. I know it was short notice, and we appreciate you saving our asses.” He eyes everything on the counters. “Looks great already.”
I watch as he officially introduces himself to the two women.
Watch as they shake hands.
Watch the way Rosalyn hardly reacts at all over meeting Maddox.
Hell, she almost looks like she relaxes. Which is strange, because if you’re a fan of football, you should automatically be a fan of Maddox. Especially if you live here, since he was a star player for the Minnesota team. A team his brother is the starting quarterback for now.
“Are you from here?” I blurt out the question, causing all three of them to turn toward me. But I’m only looking at Rosalyn.
