by Tessa Bailey
When she finally managed to drag her attention to his face, the breath caught in her throat at the way he looked at her, like he was savoring every inch his eyes climbed, starting at the tip of her shoes and steadily ascending, definitely not in a rush.
“Goddamn.”
“You look great, too.” Based on his lack of reaction, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her compliment.
“I haven’t seen you in that dress before. It’s new.”
Rosie tried to pull sufficient oxygen into her lungs, but it was almost impossible when his voice was nothing more than a rough scrape. “Um . . .” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Do you want to come in?”
Finally, he met her eyes, and the heat there backed Rosie up a pace. “Sure.” He stepped over the threshold and kept coming, reminding her of a panther stalking its prey—and she liked it way too much. “Back in the day when you invited me in, your mom would put out a plate of alfajores. She’d make me eat at least nine before she was satisfied.”
“I remember,” Rosie managed, emotion clinging to the sides of her throat. “She loved you.”
“Maybe.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Or she was trying to clog my arteries and kill me so I wouldn’t take her baby girl away.”
Rosie huffed a laugh. “She did have an evil streak.”
“Is that where you got it from?” He licked his bottom lip and perused her neckline. “Because that dress is damn sure trying to kill me.”
“Don’t look now, but your game is improving,” Rosie whispered.
When had they reached the kitchen? She wasn’t even aware they’d moved until her back met the kitchen counter, and Dominic planted his hands on the edges, leaning in to take a deep inhale of the air near her neck. “Our bed doesn’t smell like you anymore.”
“If you’re planning on taking me there tonight to fix the problem, think again.”
“Give me some credit.” His lips trailed across her cheek and locked their mouths together in a kiss that drew moans from them both. “I was just going to ask to borrow your perfume so I could spray a little on the pillow.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “That can be arranged.”
Bethany and Georgie chose that moment to burst into the kitchen, talking animatedly. They obviously thought Rosie and Dominic had already left because they both performed a double take upon discovering them in the kitchen. Georgie tried to go back up the stairs, but she ran into Bethany instead, and they both jolted, stumbling.
“Sorry!” Georgie called. “I didn’t . . . We thought you guys were gone.”
Bethany was staring at them like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Look at you two. You read about raw, primal urges in books, but you never see it—”
“Bethany.” Georgie elbowed her sister. “Are you drunk?”
Rosie hid her face in Dominic’s shoulder. The man had made zero move to free her from the trap he’d made with his body.
“When is her curfew?” he said, winking at the sisters. “I’ll try to have her back on time.”
Before they could answer, there was a knock on the door. Several, actually. Footsteps sounded on the porch and voices reached the interior of the house. With a wince, Georgie crossed to the entrance and opened the door—allowing at least half a dozen Just Us League members to pile in, a good number of them holding covered plates of food and casserole dishes.
“Where is the child?”
“Where is this poor man?”
Variations of the same question were asked while Georgie, Bethany, Rosie, and Dominic gaped at the intrusion. It wasn’t over, either. At least five more women walked in bearing aromatic offerings before Bethany spoke up.
“Seriously, everyone?” Bethany sputtered. “Georgie texted you less than ten minutes ago. How did you get here so fast?”
“We were all at a church potluck down the street.”
The women—young and old—traded nods.
“We received your text at the same time, collected our dishes, and piled into our cars.”
“Swiped this green-bean casserole right out from under the pastor’s nose,” one of them said, setting off a chain of laughter. “The poor man was mid-scoop.”
“This is more important,” said Candy, the woman who ran an artisanal-cheese-and-wine shop in town, making her a local favorite among, well, everyone. “We want to help.”
“Rosie,” called an older woman with a green wool cap—Melinda, if Rosie wasn’t mistaken. “Are you going to kiss that man or not?”
“We already—” Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh God.”
“What’s going on?” Dominic asked, his breath tickling her ear. “Fill me in.”
Forming coherent sentences when Dominic’s powerful body was heating her like a furnace was not exactly easy, but she forced the words out. “There’s a new man in town. His sister ran off, her husband followed . . . and he’s been left to care for their child.”
Dominic’s brows drew together. “You said he’s new in town?” Rosie didn’t have a chance to question the dawning realization in her husband’s expression before he spoke again. “Everyone is heading over there to help out, huh?”
Rosie nodded.
“Including you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “This is supposed to be our night.”
“That’s why I’m coming along.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ll push the reservation a couple of hours and we’ll eat afterward.”
“Really?”
His exhale bathed her mouth. “Not going to lie, I want you alone,” he said. “But I can tell you’re only going to be half with me. I’d rather wait until you’re all here.”
“How dare you show up looking this good. Saying things like that.”
He opened his mouth to respond and closed it, his forehead wrinkling. “Should I stop?”
She lifted up and kissed him softly, heat radiating from her face when a cheer went up from just beyond the kitchen. “Does that answer your question?”
“Rosie,” Candy called, turning Rosie’s head. “My two dishes were already reheated once. Are they safe to freeze and heat up again?”
Rosie surveyed the offerings. “Is there meat in that lasagna?”
“No, ma’am. I wish there was,” Candy replied. “Those damn vegetarians have infiltrated the church and—”
“Yes, you can reheat the lasagna. No on the pork dish, though.”
Rosie started to turn back to Dominic, but Melinda tapped her arm. “How would you portion this? I’d say there’s enough for three nights, if we stretched . . .”
“Um. We can mix and match a little, but we should use the more perishable items first. Here, let me get something to take notes. Everyone, line up your dishes.” Rosie was torn between wanting to leave and feeling really amazing that the women seemed dependent on her advice. Her . . . leadership. For a woman who’d been ignored on the cosmetics floor of the mall for years, being seen as relevant was like a breath of fresh air. One she couldn’t help but suck down, letting it stretch her fingers as she picked up something to write with. “We’ll need kid-friendly meals, ladies. Who makes the meanest macaroni and cheese?”
Several hands went up.
Rosie smiled and clicked her pen.
Chapter Sixteen
Christ, could these women put away booze. Dominic had been allowed entry into a secret society where women swore like sailors and objectified men. It was goddamn enlightening, to say the least. Every once in a while, Rosie threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder at him, but it was completely unnecessary. He could have stood there all night and watched her run the show. Even as he marveled over the woman he’d married, however, he couldn’t help but feel distinctly out of place. Not only because he was the proverbial fox in the hen house and stood out like a red ink blot on a white shirt. But because, for the first time, he was seeing his wife through a different set of eyes and realizing . . . she’d grown. Without him.
He’d had nothing to do with it.
Dominic opened Bethany’s fridge and took out a bottle of water, uncapping it and drinking deeply. He would have much preferred a beer, but he wouldn’t have even one knowing Rosie would be in the passenger seat of his truck. Rosie, who was now writing out a recipe for chicken Parmesan with one hand, tracing out a new spreadsheet with the other—all while having a full conversation. This was the same woman he’d passed in their silent house, day after day. All the while, she’d had these amazing capabilities.
She should have been running that restaurant years ago.
God, maybe . . . she should have left him years ago.
“Hey.” His wife turned to him, her eyes bright with exhilaration. “Hey, um . . . there’s a big Tupperware container of carbonada in the fridge. Oh, and some alfajores on a plate on top of the microwave. Could you help me put them in the truck?”
“On it.”
“Thank you.”
She started to say something else, but several people began talking to her at once, hijacking her attention. On the way out of the house, with his arms full of food, he couldn’t help but pause in the doorframe and take in a wide shot of the scene. Everyone was getting ready to pack up and move out, and Rosie was doing the same, Bethany and Georgie helping her pile supplies like napkins, paper plates, and plastic forks into a bag. He could easily see her doing the same thing in a bustling restaurant, knowing exactly what everyone needed to make their dining experience fluid, better, because it was second nature.
This. This is what made her happy. Not warming up her car in the morning or breaking his back on a construction site. She wanted to feed people. When she hadn’t gotten enough encouragement at home, she’d gone and found it elsewhere. The worst part was, he’d known she wanted to own her own place. From the time they were in high school, her dream had been front and center in conversations with him. With her mother. Instead of buying her a restaurant, however, he’d been selfish and spent money on a house. A house he thought she’d love as much as him. A house they’d spent their youth designing like spun sugar, over the phone, under the stars. If he’d talked to her more as an adult—or listened, rather—he wouldn’t have buried the importance of Rosie owning her own restaurant beneath his selfish desire to be her provider. He’d needed that role, and a house was something he could give her all on his own. Maybe he’d even done it on purpose, subconsciously, trying to be the proverbial breadwinner.
But a restaurant . . . that would be all her. And none of him. None of them.
Still, if he’d known how happy it would make her, he would have used the money he’d saved to buy her a place. Somewhere she could shine. Except that opportunity was no longer available.
Had he actually planned on showing her that house tonight? Was he insane?
Dominic walked out into the cold with a lump the size of a fist in his throat. Since the day Rosie left him, he’d been asking her to come home. She’d been hesitant, and while he knew they had problems, he’d thought she was being stubborn. Unreasonable. But as he slid the tray of alfajores and pot of stew into the back cab of his truck, he finally admitted to himself that therapy was exactly where they belonged.
Rosie spreading her wings and flying was a beautiful sight to witness, but would it mean she flew away from him? How selfish was he to be worried about that kind of thing?
Dominic closed the rear door of the truck with a curse, turned, and came face-to-face with Rosie. She looked so familiar and beautiful in her red coat, he wanted to get on his knees and ask her forgiveness for being a selfish bastard. I’m sorry, honey girl.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he rasped, avoiding her eyes. “Ready to go?”
She nodded slowly and crossed to the passenger side. Dominic followed, opening the door for Rosie and boosting her onto the seat, his groin tightening at the flash of thigh as she buckled up and crossed her incredible legs. Apparently not even guilt could keep him from lusting after his wife. He wanted nothing more than to wait for the rest of the cars to leave, then drag her back inside and give her a nice, hard quickie up against the door in that tight dress.
And it would solve nothing except his incessant hunger for her. Momentarily.
Ignoring the curious look from Rosie, Dominic closed the passenger door and skirted around to the driver’s side, starting the truck engine a second later. Rosie read him directions off her phone, but apart from that, there was no conversation. Dominic wanted to ask her when she’d cooked the carbonada and if she’d used her mother’s recipe for the hearty soup, but everything sounded disingenuous in his head after he’d finally admitted to himself he’d let her dreams hang in limbo for so long. She’d been pining for something in secret while he’d worked toward an entirely different goal. All of which could have been avoided if he’d talked to his wife. Kept her close instead of at arm’s length where she could never suspect he wasn’t invincible.
“I think this is it,” Rosie murmured, prompting Dominic to set aside his thoughts and pull to a stop at the curb. After putting the truck in park, he leaned toward Rosie and they looked at the modest two-story home. It was lit up like Christmas.
She laid a hand on his arm and a current ran through his body. “We’ll get everyone organized and then we’ll go have dinner. Okay?”
“You’ll get everyone organized.” He cleared his throat hard and dislodged her hand, missing her touch the second it was gone. “You were impressive, honey girl. Back there. You like being a leader, don’t you?”
Dominic hardened his jaw and waited for her answer, even though he already knew what it was. Is this really who I am? A man who’d created an image of his wife that suited him and never noticed she had more inside of her, dying to get out?
“I think . . . maybe I’ve always had the ability to be one.”
He looked over to find her watching him with uncertainty.
“Do you think so?”
“Yes.” He wanted to take her hand back, to kiss her palm, but his own hands felt frozen. “Yes, Rosie. I think you have the ability to do anything.”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Outside the truck, car doors closed, the Just Us League arriving en masse. Rosie gave him one final searching look before climbing out. Dominic carried the heavy stew toward the front door and Rosie held the baked goods. They were flanked by two dozen women with intention in their strides, and Dominic had to admit, they were pretty damn impressive. Next time someone on the construction site wanted to talk shit about the local women’s club, he was going to damn well set them straight.
Bethany reached the door first and knocked briskly, flipping back her blond hair and adjusting the collar of her long white coat. She had the kind of confidence Rosie deserved. The kind his wife might have if he’d taken the time to encourage her, to show he had faith in her.
The door opened to reveal a man Dominic recognized, confirming his earlier theory. Port Jefferson didn’t exactly appeal to tons of single men. It was too coincidental that the single man who had just opened the door was the same one who had recently started working for Brick & Morty.
Wes Daniels took off his cowboy hat and slapped it against his thigh, utter consternation written on his face at seeing the horde of people outside his door.
He swept over them with a suspicious glance and focused in on Bethany. “You.”
“You?” Bethany sucked in a breath. “You’re the one? Taking care of a little girl?”
“That’s right.” He positioned the hat back on his head. “Who are all these women? Is this your coven?”
“Oh, I don’t believe this,” Bethany hissed, turning on a heel to face the crowd. “Someone take over. I can’t be the ambassador of this mission. There’s a conflict of interest.”
“What’s that?” Dominic asked.
“We hate each other,” Bethany responded with a tight smile.
“‘Hate’ is a strong word,” Wes drawled, propping a forearm on the doorjamb. “U
nless you’re referring to the clear fact that you hate being attracted to me.”
“Oh my God,” Bethany sputtered. “My head is going to explode.”
Wes gestured at their enthralled audience. “What’s all this?”
Bethany sighed. “Food. We brought food.”
“I don’t want charity,” Wes said after a beat. “If that’s what this is, I’ll thank you kindly to take it on home.”
Rosie stepped forward and her soft voice was like a balm over the whole situation. The tension ebbed immediately when she joined Wes on the porch, laying a hand on his arm. “Let’s start over. I’m Rosie. This is . . . everyone.” Smiles and murmurs followed. Wes spotted Dominic standing among the women and nodded in recognition. “We’re a tight-knit community here and I think we might have been a little overzealous. We’re not here to deliver charity, we’re just excited for the chance to be good neighbors. Everyone here has been the recipient of the same at some point.”
Transferring his attention from Rosie to Bethany, Wes started to say something when a little girl bounded out the door, stopping in front of Bethany.
“Oh,” Bethany said, sweeping the hem of her coat back. “Hi down there.”
“I’m Laura. You look like Elsa.”
Bethany blinked. “Who’s that?”
“Elsa in the movie Frozen,” the girl replied, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Ah, come on. You must know, Bethy,” Wes said, a grin spreading across his face. “She’s the ice princess.”
A moment passed. “Let’s not call me Bethy.”
Wes chuckled on his way into the house. “Come on in, ladies. And gentleman. Don’t worry about taking your shoes off.”
Dominic and Rosie traded an amused glance when the little girl took hold of Bethany’s hand and dragged her into the house. “Let’s go. I’ll show you Elsa. I have the doll.”
“Oh. Um . . . sure.”
Dominic put his hand on the small of Rosie’s back and guided her into the house. The whole place whipped into chaos within seconds, women piling coats onto the couch, rooting through the fridge to make a spot for their offerings. A doll in a blue dress sang about letting it go loud enough to drown out conversation. In the midst of it all was Rosie. She toed off her gold heels and directed traffic, taping a meal schedule to the fridge. She bit off strips of tape and slapped them on dishes, writing expiration dates in Sharpie.
