Pattering down the stairs, Rosabel found him in the kitchen, wearing jeans and his Eureka Springs T-shirt. With a laugh, she pointed to her pink one. “We’re twins,” she said.
“I certainly hope not, though the shirt does wonders for you. That shade of pink brings it out in your cheeks. Or maybe that’s just me.”
She dipped her chin. “I should never have told you about liking compliments.”
He moved closer and handed her a mug. Taking a sip, she relished the coffee’s warm greeting. The liquid was a welcome balm to her empty stomach.
“I think this is the first time you’ve ever made coffee for me,” she said.
“Won’t be the last.”
She hugged the warm cup and stared at its dark, delicious contents, not failing to notice the conversation’s screaming lull. He wasn’t speaking. She wasn’t speaking. In fact, Rosabel didn’t have any clue what else to say—how she’d relived their kiss every time she’d closed her eyes?
Duncan busied himself scrambling eggs and broached the subject of the weather, keeping their talk small. They ate together, and then, side by side, they teamed up against the dishes. When the final plate had been set in the dishwasher, the silence became painful.
Rosabel scraped to fill it. “You going fishing anytime soon?” she asked. “You have all that lake out there. It’d be a shame to waste it.” She peered out the window above the sink and banged her knee into the counter as something besides the lake stole her view. “Is that—is that what I think it is?”
“Rose garden,” Duncan said with a shrug, as though a full-on rose garden was as ordinary as the grass.
“And you’re just telling me about this now? Oh my goodness. I’m there.” She tossed the kitchen towel on the counter, weaved through to the back door near the enormous living room windows, and barged outside.
Arkansas sunshine warmed her skin, and she scampered down a pavestone path toward the gazebo serving as an entryway for the most magnificent spread of rosebushes she’d ever seen. Pavestones created a path between bushes as tall as she was, dripping with white, pink, red, and even yellow blossoms. Staggered along the path, the occasional cupid-esque statue threatened to stab an unsuspecting passerby with his stone quiver. One statue looked shyly on as if caught peeking.
Rosabel plunged through an archway spilling roses along its every curve, toward a trickling pond collecting pink petals. Multicolored petals littered the way, making her feel as though she strolled along a path of colored diamonds.
Her thoughts whirled. From the beauty, to the magic surrounding her, to the sweet, overriding smell of roses wafting in the lakeside air, the whole garden was dizzying. In the distance, she spotted Hazel out in her yard. Rosabel waved but restrained herself from calling out due to the sound of footsteps along the path behind her.
“My father would love this,” Rosabel said.
Duncan plunged a hand into his pocket. “Tell me about him.”
Affected, she went on, stroking the lavender petals of a nearby rose as she did so. “His name is David Smith, and he was a schoolteacher.” Her chest began to lighten. Aside from the texts checking in on his well-being with Sarah, she hadn’t spoken of Dad to anyone in days. “He always said he wasn’t a manly man.”
“Manly man?”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “Most men don’t care about flowers, you know? But he did. He was a student of life. He loved learning and used to read up on everything, including flowers and horticulture. Roses were always his favorite. And he said he was never the pocketknife-carrying, fix-it-all kind of guy,” she added with a laugh. “He was more of a Shakespeare-reading, music-playing kind of man who’d rather read a book than play a sport. He appreciated beauty in all of its forms.”
“You miss him, don’t you?”
Rosabel sensed the lens of Duncan’s attention zoom, blocking out anything else but her. His penetrating focus made her skin tingle. “I hate that I’m referring to him in the past tense,” she said, “as though he’s already gone.”
“He’s still there,” Duncan assured her.
She sniffed the thick scent of roses in the air. “I know, but his mind—” Her voice caught. She wished she wasn’t so emotional. “The doctors say hopeful things, but the research is so limited.”
Duncan put his arms around her waist from behind, and she leaned against his chest, welcoming the stability he provided. She hadn’t felt safe like this in so long. She turned, resting her head against his chest so his heartbeat drummed into her ear.
“It’s hard for you to be here, isn’t it?” His voice rumbled in his chest. She wanted to bury herself in it, to hear nothing but that sound for the rest of her life. Hearing him be so tender now added a stake in the corner of her tent.
This can last, she told herself. We can make us work. “Actually, I think this is the safest I’ve felt in a long time. I do miss him, but it’s hard to be around him too. I know that makes me selfish to say it. I don’t know how to act around him sometimes. I mean, I forget he’s not who he used to be.”
She hadn’t been this verbal about the difficulties of suddenly switching from child to parent, of basically caring for a full-grown infant and no longer having Dad’s friendship, his counsel and advice, to anyone. Who did she have to talk to? She had no siblings. Even Uncle Henry wasn’t around.
Rosabel hadn’t realized how lonely she was, how much she’d bottled everything up, until she let it all go. First to Hazel earlier, and now to Duncan. The expansion in her chest reminded her of the steam release knob on her Instant Pot. Steam gushed from her, releasing ounces of pressure along with it.
“That’s rough,” Duncan said.
She went on, grateful for his listening ear. “He’s constantly asking about his brother, Henry. My uncle Henry died six years ago, and my dad can’t remember that anymore. My only worry being here, so far away, is that he won’t remember me when I get back home.”
Duncan laid his cheek against her hair. “He couldn’t forget you.”
She turned in his arms, allowing him to hold her closely while she gazed into his molten eyes. “That’s sweet of you, but so not true. He can forget me. He already is. I came here with you because he needed me to.” She sniffed, battling emotion in her throat. “I know I need to leave, to go back to him, but I don’t want to be away from you, either.”
Duncan’s eyes registered the words. He reacted as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard her properly. “You—you mean that, don’t you?”
She ran her hands along his arms, staring straight ahead at his chest bearing the name of the town that had brought them together. Eureka Springs. She’d never forget this trip. Never. “I—I do. I had no idea how much until yesterday, but it’s been building for so long now, hiding inside of me. Then last night, when you kissed me …”
She glanced away. She hadn’t meant to bring that up. He hadn’t said a thing about yet, so she wasn’t going to either.
Duncan drew her gaze back to his. “Yes?”
Her hands slid to the back of his neck. “I knew then, as sure as I know anything. I’ve been fighting my feelings for you too.”
Duncan’s dimple made an appearance, accompanied by the most devilish of his grins yet. Rosabel couldn’t help herself. She tiptoed up, pressing her lips to his.
“You have no idea how happy this makes me,” Duncan said.
“I guess you’d better tell me.”
“I’d rather show you.”
He kissed her again, guiding her among the roses back toward the house. Rosabel opened her eyes enough to catch glimpses of the direction the two of them were taking in this unending kiss. Her back struck the sliding glass door. Keeping a hand at his waist, she reached behind, searching for the knob. Duncan found it first, kicking the door closed behind him. He didn’t stop until they reached the couch, until Rosabel sank onto the cushions.
She craved for him to know how he was filling every space inside her. Seated together, their kisses continued, ste
ady and sweet and completely exhilarating. It was almost as though they both needed this, this ultimate way of expressing the feelings they’d both suppressed for so long. She relished the stubble on his jaw, his hand at her waist, the way his lips coaxed hers to tell every single one of their hidden secrets.
“I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed of doing exactly this,” he said between kisses.
She’d pushed away those same dreams, but the anticipation of living them now made the wait worth it. How long, she wondered, had he dreamed of kissing her?
“Duncan?” she said, pulling away.
“Hmm?”
“I would like to go home. After your grandma’s party, I need to get home.” More than that, she needed to reel herself in. Duncan was so different, so much more natural, like he’d been holding back from showing her who he really was, and she loved this new version of him.
Notwithstanding the Duncan situation, she missed her father. It wasn’t only the physical distance; she missed the man he was slowly forgetting. She needed to be there with him.
Duncan stroked her spine. “Okay,” he said. “Grandmother’s party is tomorrow afternoon. Want me to schedule your flight?”
Rosabel laughed. “That’s a first.”
“What? I scheduled our flight here. I am capable.”
She kissed him again, overwhelmed at his thoughtfulness, at his acceptance. Days ago, he would have argued for her to meet his demands. Now he heard and respected her. “Thank you,” she said.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “No. Thank you. For seeing me as I could be.”
She reared back, just enough. “Did you just say ‘thank you’?” she teased. He’d said the phrase last night as well.
“Don’t hold your breath.” He smirked.
* * *
Rosabel was glad she’d followed Duncan’s advice to pack a nice dress. This was one of her favorites, a retro-chic fitted dress with a turnover collar, set off by a pair of round black buttons at the neck. She styled her hair and situated the cloche hat in her best attempt to recreate what the storeowner at Le Chapeau had achieved. The gray wool hat’s brim accentuated the shape of her face in such a flattering way. She was a new woman in this hat—or rather, the woman she envisioned herself to be. Stylish and slanted, the hat somehow gave her more confidence than she usually harbored.
Rosabel turned, eager for a final glimpse of the bow folding itself to the hat’s bucket shape, before smoothing a hand down her black skirt and strolling out toward the stairs.
Duncan lingered at the stairs’ base, gaping at the sight of her. Clearly, she wasn’t alone in thinking she looked like a million bucks.
“I lied,” he said.
She paused before him at the end of the stairs. “About what?”
“There’s no party. We’re not going anywhere. Not with you looking this good.”
Rosabel giggled, allowing him to swallow her in his arms. He lifted her from the floor and spun in a slow circle. Completion slipped through every crack in her bones. She had the sense he wanted to soak her in. Warmth at being so wanted, so admired, made her chest expand. She tucked her face into his neck, breathing his cologne and never wanting this unusual moment to end. Was this the same man she’d known for so long?
For several seconds, music only they could hear played through the silence between them. Duncan cradled her in his arms, holding her to his chest, and they led their own dance of closeness.
“I want to tell my family the truth while we’re there,” he said into her hair as he continued holding her.
“The truth about what?”
He lowered her until her heels found the floor once more. Hands braced at her waist, Duncan continued gazing at her as though she was the night sky leading him home. “About how I really see you.”
She thought back to their first meeting with the Hawthorne clan. Fulfilling Rosabel’s request, Duncan had introduced her as his assistant instead of pronouncing some kind of fake relationship between them. Did he mean he wanted to announce they’d started dating? Were they dating now?
Though she’d basically said as much to Hazel, she was almost afraid to ask Duncan. Rosabel hadn’t wanted to think about what might happen once they returned to Vermont, to his office and the giraffe-necks and whispers that always followed the two of them there. Would dating Duncan openly once they returned really be so bad? Sure, their relationship would cause some gossip, but that was already happening. Duncan himself had said as much when he’d asked her to date him before they’d left.
But that was the office. This was his family. If he was willing to present her as a date rather than an assistant to his family, what did that mean for the coworkers they’d have to face once they went back?
“Is that okay?” he asked. “I told you before that I want to date you. That request wasn’t a ploy to get you to come; I meant it. I think that’s why I was so bothered when you said no.” He scraped a hand behind his neck. “I guess I didn’t realize how much I really wanted to be with you.”
“That’s been happening to me a lot lately too,” she admitted.
“So you’ll give this a try? Us?”
“Us.” She was bamboozled by the word.
He nuzzled in, and she couldn’t help kissing him. Since their first kiss in the hot tub, it was all she wanted to do with him.
“Yes,” she said. “I like this version of you, Duncan. You’re genuine, more so than the wealth-obsessed man so quick to anger and conclusion-jumping. But if we’re dating, I want this side of you. All the time.”
He pressed his nose against her cheek. “I can do that.”
She ached to believe him. This was a fantasy, one she didn’t to end. But she wasn’t sure she could trust his word. This is a risk worth taking, she told herself, hearing her conversation with Hazel replay in her mind. She had to try, to allow him to prove he wouldn’t revert to who he’d always been.
Duncan pressed his forehead to hers and threaded his fingers behind her. She rested her hands on his shoulders, face tipped toward him, standing with him. Not arguing. Not being bossed or belittled. Standing, level to level.
His breath mingled with hers, stroking her cheek. Her lids fluttered closed. Time stilled. In that moment, only the two of them existed: two hearts beating in sync, both racing to keep up with the realization that the warmth, the belonging, the wanting she experienced concurrently swirled inside of him as well. In that moment, dreams were realized—dreams neither of them had known how badly they wanted until then.
“I love you,” Duncan whispered.
Rosabel’s stomach cinched. She could hardly speak. “What did you say?”
He placed the softest kiss to the corner of her lips, not quite in the center. “You heard me. I love you. I have for a long time; I just never knew how much. I never wanted to admit it.”
Slowly, like feathers caught in a gentle gust, her lids opened. With her eyes trapped by his, she found nothing but truth in them. “Duncan.” Her voice was as weak as her joints. She was unexpectedly glad to have his arms around her, keeping her from tipping over.
“You don’t have to say it. Not if you don’t feel it. But I—I had to. I want you to know I’m tired of holding back. I never want you out of my life again. The day you quit, when I had to be apart from you, was the worst day of my life.”
Rosabel’s thoughts spun too fast for her to catch the reins and slow them down again. Disbelief rode right along with them, warring with the heat bulging in her heart. Duncan loved her. How was that possible?
As far as falling went, this trip had been a full-speed nosedive into romance. She had allowed feelings to float to the surface rather than forcing them back down again as she’d done for months. But love? Did she love him?
Unable to form a valid answer to that question, she rose onto her tiptoes and gave him the next best thing. The kiss had such a strange, affirmative resonance. It was a chorale in her chest, reverberating through her entire frame as
though music played inside of her.
“We’d better go before we’re late,” she said in response to the vulnerability in his gaze. She allowed her hand to slide down his arm and land in his. Together, they strolled out to where Clive awaited in his typical black suit and sunglasses, ready to meet Duncan’s family as a couple.
15
Duncan did his best to hide the discomfort from Rosabel when he’d met her at the stairs, but his conversation with his mother tormented him through the entire drive to the Crystal Bridges Museum in Bentonville. Mother had called to remind him of the party—an hour before it started. As though he’d forget.
Her offending lack of faith in him wasn’t the worst part of the conversation, though. Mother had all but insulted Rosabel. “You might want to bring an actual date. This isn’t an office party—this is your grandmother’s birthday, and you need to make the right impression with her before it’s too late.”
He’d dated in high school and even in college, but not once had he ever brought a woman to meet his family. They had notoriously high standards with everything, from the type of shoes he wore to ensuring his bed was made before he left for school. He’d been grounded for neglecting that necessity once.
Their standards had been the reason Grandfather’s heart attack had been blamed on him. He should have known stepping out of line caused heart attacks. He should have known any woman he brought home would have to be either a celebrity or a CEO. He’d hoped they would see past that and approve of her, but he wasn’t so sure now.
Kissing Rosabel, expressing his love that morning, he’d been caught in the moment. Like an idiot, he’d thought his love would be enough to eliminate any barriers between them. But now, flashbacks of the last time his family had turned on him blasted with full force.
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