Rose never minded being the only person in her family unattached. Well, of course, that depended on what you meant by unattached. She may not have had a husband like her mother or her younger sister, Harper, and she may not have had a boyfriend like her youngest sister, May, or her friend, Annie, but she did have a steady relationship with the flower shop she owned and a second one with the historical romance novels she compulsively borrowed from the library.
And, she supposed, it also depended on your definition of “minded”. Did she resent her entire family and her only friend for pairing off and finding the loves of their lives? No, obviously not. She couldn’t ever begrudge someone finding their happiness. But did she get lonely? Yeah. Did she sometimes look out at the long, dirt road leading away from her hometown of Hillsboro, California, and wonder if some strong, sturdy, stalwart, strapping, handsome guy would wander into town and fall madly, desperately, truly, overwhelmingly, riotously in love with her?
Yes, obviously.
Did she also wonder if her habit of mainlining romance novels was infecting, if not her heart, then definitely her vocabulary? Yep. No doubt.
But the thing was, whenever she was lucky enough to have her entire family around, she didn’t think about her ever-purpling vocabulary or the way she sometimes felt sick when she caught one of her sisters getting a forehead kiss from the man she loved. No, she was just happy to have them around again. Especially on nights like tonight.
The fall evening hung cool and crisp all around the Anderson Flower Farm, where the Anderson sisters—Rose, Harper, and May—and their best friend, Annie, were currently stationed out on the great porch overlooking the fields of flowers below. With the weather snapping into more and more frequent chill spells the stronger flowers nearby were only just now beginning to bloom and in the light of the stars and the warm glow of the porch, Rose could spot a large patch of callas in the distance, their long, white petals stretching out to dance in the moon-soaked breeze.
With the men of the family inside, caught up in the extra innings of a World Series baseball game, and her mother finishing tidying the kitchen, Rose felt free to finally relax with some of the people she loved most in this world. The men were alright, of course, especially her father, but still…Her family had always been a family of women. Of sisters. Here, with them again, she felt most comfortable.
“So, birthday girl,” Annie asked, her blonde curls bouncing as she took another dainty bite of the birthday pie they’d gotten Rose for the occasion, “what did you wish for?”
At least, she felt most comfortable with them when they weren’t asking questions like that. Suddenly, the attention of the three women settled upon her shoulders. The slice of “Birthday Blueberry Pie” from Millie’s Pie Joint stuck in her throat. She tried her best to swallow it before answering.
“You know if I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”
“Right. Of course. Always the superstitious type.”
Rose guessed she was a little superstitious, though she knew it wasn’t the label the folks from town usually called her. The “Andersons Plus Annie” foursome was slightly infamous, which meant everyone in Hillsboro had put them directly into boxes. Harper, tall and solid, and operator of the family flower farm, was the badass tomboy. May, who’d recently run off with her ex-boyfriend to travel the world, was the wild child. Annie was the perfect social media starlet. As for Rose, she was the “sweet” one.
No, no one had ever called her superstitious before, but she supposed she was. She believed in birthday wishes. She had always pinned her hopes on falling stars and dandelions. She was never comfortable with walking under a ladder.
Unable to help herself, Rose smiled triumphantly. “I wished for a pony on my seventh birthday pie, told Harper about it immediately, and guess who still doesn’t have a pony? It’s not superstition; it’s just facts. If you tell your wish, it doesn’t come true.”
“Mom and Dad weren’t ever going to get you a pony,” Harper snarked, waving her blueberry-stained fork in Rose’s direction.
“Not after I blew it with my birthday wish they weren’t.”
Annie shifted in her seat, clearly wanting to get back to the point. “This isn’t about the pony. This is just about you.”
“Yes, of course,” Rose said, obligingly. “And me not wanting to waste my wish on you three.”
This was how it was when they got together. May, Annie, and Harper were excitable and snappy, the kind of women who always had a quip waiting at the tip of their tongue. Rose was used to her role as peacekeeper, as the calm, untouchable eye in the center of their constant storms.
“Fine. You don’t have to tell us your wish. Just tell us what you want out of this year. You have three hundred and sixty-four days left to be twenty-eight. What are you going to do with them?”
Rose shrugged. She could tell where Annie was going with this, and it wasn’t anywhere she wanted to tag along. Evading the persistent blonde’s questions wouldn’t last forever, but she figured she could delay the inevitable as long as possible. “Oh, you know. Run a flower shop. Make some perfume. Hopefully eat a lot more pie than I did last year.”
“I don’t think it’s humanly possible for someone to eat any more pie than you do already,” Harper intoned.
Rose tossed her head, sending her fiery red braid over her shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”
Annie, of course, wasn’t satisfied by that answer.
“So, you want to do the same things you’ve always done, with the exception of possibly becoming a pie-eating champion.”
“I like my life,” Rose replied, her mouth still half-full of her last bite of pie. “Sorry if that bothers you.”
That could have been the end of it. Maybe Annie would have, uncharacteristically, given up and not followed her usual one-track mind. Rose would have taken that over any birthday gift in the world. Instead, May, her youngest sister—traitor—just had to speak up. Her voice was low, barely audible over the scraping of forks against their plates, but still…they all heard her.
“Well, you like most of your life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rose asked, shifting in her chair to get a better look at May, who sat in the chair farthest from hers.
“That came out wrong.”
“I hope so!”
But any hope that Rose might have had disappeared when Annie, May, and Harper all shared meaningful, uncertain looks with each other. Oh, no. She recognized that look. She recognized that look because it was the same one she put on before she gave advice to one of the other three. It was a look that said, We’ve talked this over; no going back now. Rose hated that look.
Annie spoke first, setting her pie aside on the wide arm of her deck chair. “We’re just—”
“We don’t want you to be alone, you know.”
Harper hadn’t ever been one to pull her punches and Rose couldn’t help but reel back as if she’d actually been punched. She expected this kind of talk from Annie, who thought herself Northern California’s premier matchmaker. She expected it from her boy-crazy mother, who hadn’t stopped trying to force her into finding true love since the day she turned fourteen. But she hadn’t expected it from Harper and May, who’d practically been dragged kicking and screaming into their own happily ever afters. Blinking blindly, she tried to wrap her head around this new information.
“Oh my God. It’s true what they say. All women turn into their mothers.”
“We aren’t trying to be like Mom. We’re just saying—”
“We know you want to fall in love,” Harper said. “You’ve always wanted it.”
“And maybe,” Annie agreed, nudging Rose’s arm conspiratorially, “this is your year.”
“I can’t believe this is how I’m spending my birthday. What happened to cards and flowers and presents and pie?”
Yes. Fine. It was true. Anyone who knew Rose knew that she had always wanted to find love. She was the romantic type, a hardcore believer in love and fairy tales and the magic of first kisses. Just because it hadn’t happened to her yet didn’t mean it wouldn’t. She wasn’t going to rush it and she definitely wasn’t going to chase it.
At least, that’s what she told herself. And so far it had been a pretty convincing fiction.
May’s eyes glinted in the evening light, brimming with so much love that Rose’s heart almost cracked in two. “We just think that you were such a big part of our love stories. Maybe it’s time you go out and find one of your own.”
Nope. This wasn’t a conversation that they were going to have. She didn’t want her sisters and her best friend worrying over her. “Well. Thanks, guys. But as exciting as my love life is, are there any other topics of conversation we can mine? Maybe the weather, or how my latest dental surgery went?”
Harper protested, but the end of that protest died off before she could finish it. “Rose—”
For a moment, Rose let herself survey the three women before her. She loved them all so deeply, had been there at their sides and rooted for them as they’d fought for their dreams and their love stories. She knew what it was like to want someone to have the happiness that they so clearly deserved.
But this time they were looking at her with the sad, wanting eyes. And she realized just how uncomfortable that spotlight could be, even if it did come from a good and sincere place.
“I know you’re all concerned about me. Believe me, I get that. But, please. Love is going to find me in its own time. I don’t need to rush it.”
She did her best to indicate an unspoken period, end of discussion at the end of that sentence. Thankfully, it seemed like everyone heard it loud and clear.
“Did you hear they’re going to film a movie in Hillsboro?” Rose moved the conversation on.
“I may have heard a thing about it,” Annie preened. “And I may have been the one to suggest it. The location scout’s a friend of mine.”
Harper scowled. “Annie, you’re going to make this town an L.A. outpost before you’re done with us, aren’t you?”
“I think our beautiful town deserves to be highlighted in a beautiful movie, don’t you?”
“The rents are going to go up,” Harper countered. “No doubt about it.”
“Not with the rent-control measure that George is championing in his column,” Annie returned.
May took a long, deep sip of her sparkling wine before tipping it to the yammering duo in a mockery of a toast. “See, this is why Tom and I travel. We never have to worry about small-town politics.”
“Ah, you’ll come back home one day.”
“Not if I can help it. You can’t even get decent Pad Thai in this town—”
And that’s how it went from there. Thankful that they’d taken the heat off her, Rose allowed herself to sink into the soft corners of the conversation, where she watched as they all bickered back and forth. Here, she was comfortable. She loved sitting back as they teased each other, loved the way that their rapid-fire conversation bounced off of their smiles, loved feeling a part of this fantastic, strange family of friends.
But as their conversation wandered, Rose felt herself drift back to the talk they’d left behind. They all thought she needed romance. And romance would be nice; she wasn’t going to deny that. But for Rose, this was enough for right now. To know she loved these people so dearly, and to know that they loved her just as much. Tugging her sweater closer around her, she settled back into her chair, feeling as comfortable wrapped up in the soft, knitted fabric as she did in their chatting.
There was something else, though, too. She was safer in the shadows. Safer as the shy, kind, nice Anderson sister. Safer when no one was looking at her, when they all just let her slip through the cracks.
Of course, it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, the baseball game inside the house ended, and everyone on the porch was beckoned inside. Rose volunteered to collect the dishes so that her sisters could be reunited with their significant others. She may have loved that they had all found their Person, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be stuck in there while they all kissed as if they’d been parted for years instead of just an hour or so.
“…Rose?”
When Annie hung back on the porch for a moment, Rose didn’t even have the strength to sigh in exasperation. Annie had always been the most voracious of matchmakers, always trying to set her up with someone or another. After she’d found her own romance with George Barnett, the town’s ace newspaper hound, she’d let up a little bit. Still, Rose had been expecting this.
“Mm-hm?” Rose said, not looking up from the pile of plates she was currently assembling.
“Look, I’m not going to make a big thing out of this, but just know…” Annie paused. Rose braced herself for the inevitable. “My offer is still on the table. If you ever want me to help you find someone, someone not from this admittedly shallow dating pool…you just have to let me know, okay?”
“Thanks, Annie,” Rose said, putting on her bravest face. “But I’m going to be fine.”
“I know you are. You’re always fine. I just think it would be nice if there was someone to share fine with you. Or maybe to even make things great.”
Without her permission Rose’s eyes darted to the porch window, where she spotted her parents cuddled up on the couch, alongside Tom and May, and Harper and Luke. George hung back, waiting for Annie’s return. A pang of jealousy, sharp and clear, stabbed through Rose’s chest. She clamped down on the feeling, hard, and smiled her best, most convincing smile for Annie’s benefit.
“I’ll think about it.”
Hours later, the family had dispersed, leaving Rose alone in the kitchen of the big farmhouse where she still lived with her parents—the same farmhouse where, until earlier this year, both of her sisters had lived, too—to wash dishes. Dishes were one of her favorite chores. She loved the ritual of it, the way the world could melt into the soap bubbles and the repetition of washing and drying.
Dishes usually gave her time to think, too. To run through the events of the day and put her thoughts in order. Today, the facts were these. She was twenty-eight years old. She had never been in love—no time that had counted anyway. And despite the fact that she was okay with that, no one else seemed to be.
Well. Fine. They didn’t have to be okay with it. Or with her methods of patiently waiting for the right person to come along. They only had to accept it.
Unfortunately, there was one person who wouldn’t ever accept it. Somewhere, in the middle of her dishwashing ritual, she found a pair of hands squeezing her shoulders and a warbling, sickly sweet voice piping up behind her.
Her mother. Her mother, who was here to once again bemoan the fact that Rose—her favorite daughter, the daughter she’d always called the most beautiful, the most agreeable, the most marriageable—was still single, long after everyone else had found their Person.
“Oh, dear. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m just going to miss them, that’s all.”
That seemed like a good enough excuse. May and Tom were off on their next adventure, a quick trip between tonight’s birthday celebration and their engagement party in two weeks. Better to focus on that than what her mother was, no doubt, really worried about.
“Rose Anderson. You don’t have to lie to me. I know what’s really going on here.”
The smile she plastered on her face almost hurt now. “And what is that?”
Her mother moved around the counter, so she could face her, piercing her with the full weight of her pitying gaze. “You’re feeling the same way I would in your position. You want what they have, don’t you? Don’t worry. You’ll find it someday, my girl. I promise. Someday, some fantastic man is going to open his eyes and see what a gem my first daughter is. So, don’t you worry, okay?”
“I’m not worried—”
“Hush. Don’t say another word. Your secret is safe with me.”
With one more gentle touch on her shoulder, her mother floated out of the room, humming Mendelssohn as she went. Rose clenched the plate in her hand so hard she almost broke it. Why did everyone think she was some breakable, sad thing just because she didn’t have a man in her life? Why did they all look at her like she was going to shatter any second, like her life had no meaning and no joy just because she wasn’t dating someone?
A fire ripped through her, scalding any last remnants of her old way of thinking. Yes, of course they cared about her and, yes, of course they wanted her to be happy. But that didn’t give any of them—not her sisters, not her mother, not anyone—the right to treat her this way.
Before she could think better of it, Rose dropped her plate in the soapy water, wiped her hands on her jeans, and hit the most recent contact in her phone’s dial history. After two rings, a warm, honeyed voice chirped on the other end of the line.
“Hello?”
“Annie?”
“Rose, what’s up?”
For a brief second, Rose almost lost her nerve. Just like she lost her nerve about everything. About her dreams of making perfume. About falling in love. About taking most risks in her life. But it only took one thought of her mother’s whining, sickly-sweet tone to make up her mind. Not only was it the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. If she couldn’t buck up the courage to follow her dreams, the least she could do was get her mother off her back about her premature spinsterhood. Instinctively, she gripped the phone tighter.
“Did you mean what you said? About setting me up with one of your friends?”
In her mind’s eye, she could envision her friend perking up, positively gleeful at the thought.
“Are you serious right now? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Of course I meant it.”
Rose drank in a deep breath, centering herself. A small, secret smile tugged at her lips.
“Okay. Because I think I’m ready.”
There was more to Cole McKittrick than his rippling abs. And his square jawline that could cut through glass or a woman’s heart. And his deep, American voice that made everything he said sound like the bold text in a Superman comic. And his winning smile, warm and honest enough to make strangers swoon and would-be enemies crumble.
That’s what he’d come here, to the provincial hamlet of Hillsboro, California, to prove. That there was more to him than met the eye. When he was just twenty-one, he’d been plucked out of obscurity to play the heartthrob, bad-boy coming of age son in a too-long running television show—the kind of guy who they showed shirtless in the opening credits. Now, eight years later, with the contract renewal for Crime Spree: Beach City gathering dust in the depths of the “trash” folder on his agent’s computer, he was finally ready for some. . .
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