by Anita Hughes
Josh walked around the table and pulled Rosie out of her chair. He kissed her and she tasted butter and wine. She flattened herself against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“Let’s go to the cottage,” she whispered.
“What about dessert? Peg made a chocolate flambé,” he replied. “Morris was going to light it at the table.”
“He’ll forgive us.” Rosie took Josh’s hand and walked to the door.
* * *
Josh picked her up and ran to the cottage over the wet lawn. Her bruises throbbed and the scrapes on her knees burned and there was still a slight ringing in her ears. He opened the cottage door and set her down gently on the floor.
“Hold on, let me find the Advil.” She grimaced, holding her sides. “I still ache all over.”
“I shouldn’t have carried you, I might have made it worse,” Josh said, suddenly serious. “What about if I give you a massage.”
“All I need is a glass of water and some aspirin.” Rosie shook her head. “I don’t want to put you to work.”
“I am partially responsible,” Josh reminded her. “I don’t mind at all.”
Rosie lay on her stomach on the bed and Josh sat beside her. He started at her shoulders and kneaded her back. His hands were warm and her whole body relaxed.
“You are good at this,” she mumbled into the pillow. “You must have had a lot of experience.”
“You can’t surf and not know how to give a massage,” Josh replied. “All surfers have come out of the ocean with gnarly cuts and bruises.”
She turned on her back and looked up at Josh. His cheeks were smooth and his blond hair curled behind his ears. “I hope you didn’t massage surfers in quite the same way.”
He leaned down and kissed her. “Maybe not quite the same way.”
“How was it different?” she asked.
His mouth traveled to her neck. “I never did this.” He gently removed the strap of her dress and kissed the top of her breasts. “Or this.”
“Then I’m the lucky one,” she said, when he paused. “You get a five star review.”
Rosie sat up and unbuckled his belt. He shrugged off his shirt and looked at her.
“Maybe we should wait,” he said. “I don’t want you to have a relapse.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she murmured. “Let me show you.”
She kissed him and pulled him on top of her. Josh pushed her arms over her head and looked in her eyes.
“You’re all I think about, Rosie Keller,” he whispered.
“You’re all I think about too,” Rosie said and shivered.
Josh pushed inside her and she moaned. His eyes held hers and they rocked faster, clinging to each other. Her body arched and the warmth exploded inside her. Josh gasped and dropped, spent and exhausted on the bed.
There was a knock at the cottage door. Rosie got up and pulled on her robe. She glanced at Josh sprawled naked on the bed, the sheet pulled over his chest.
She tiptoed to the door and found a tray with a peach rose in a crystal vase. There was a plate covered with a silver dome, and a note in Morris’ handwriting.
Rosie carried the tray to the bed and uncovered a German chocolate cake. She unfolded the note and read aloud: “Didn’t want to send the chocolate flambé, as burning down the cottage would not be advisable. XOX Morris.”
“I smell chocolate.” Josh turned onto his stomach, his eyes still closed.
“It’s the chocolate cake Morris sent,” Rosie giggled. “Help me, before I eat the whole thing.”
Josh sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked so handsome bare-chested, his blond hair curling behind his ears. A nervous lump rose in her throat. She cut two slices of cake and handed Josh a silver fork.
“I could get used to this.” Josh ate a small bite. “Fancy sheets, gourmet dessert, fine china and silverware.”
“You forgot the important part,” Rosie teased. “Fantastic sex.”
“I didn’t forget.” Josh kissed her. “But you may have to refresh my memory.”
“First I want to finish the cake.” Rosie grinned. “It was nice of Morris to leave it for us.”
“He really cares about you,” Josh said earnestly.
“What do you mean?” She looked up.
“He came to see me last night.” He hesitated. “He said you weren’t eating or sleeping.”
“That’s why you’re here?” She stopped mid-bite. “Because Morris told you to come?”
“Estelle told him where I lived,” Josh continued. “I was in my garage working on the MG. He laid into me: said either I should have the guts to tell you I didn’t want to be with you, or be a man and show you I wanted you.”
“He never said anything to me,” Rosie mused.
“I said I was afraid you had something going with Ryan. He called me a chickenshit and a few other choice names.” Josh paused. “And then he told me I was dead wrong.”
Josh turned to Rosie and traced the shape of her mouth. “He said Ryan was here to see him.”
Rosie blinked and then she began to laugh. She laughed so hard Josh had to hold her so she didn’t tumble off the bed. She laughed until she fell against Josh and they collapsed on the pillows.
“Ryan Addams is gay!” she choked. “Why didn’t he say so?”
“Ryan’s family is very traditional. His father is in politics and his mother is big in her charity circle. It was hard enough that he moved away to Hollywood, and became a manager. If they knew he was gay, they would have made him come home. Besides, Morris didn’t want to advertise it. Album-buying girls swooned over them wherever they went,” Josh explained. “Even after he left the band, he didn’t want to do anything to hurt Neil Friend. Morris is incredibly loyal even though Neil broke his heart.”
“I thought Morris was still mooning over Neil,” Rosie offered. “How long have they kept it a secret?”
“Ryan and Morris have been together two years,” Josh said. “Nobody knows, not even Colby.”
“Morris has a boyfriend! Morris has a boyfriend!” Rosie chanted.
“It was pretty brave of him to tell me,” Josh said seriously. “And he’s right; I was a chickenshit. I’m crazy about you, Rosie.”
Rosie stopped giggling. She turned and looked at Josh’s pale blue eyes and the creases on his forehead. The lump in her throat dissolved and she leaned close and whispered in his ear, “I’m ready to refresh your memory.”
Josh pulled her against him. “Chocolate makes me sleepy,” he murmured. “Can I have a rain check for the morning?”
Twelve
Rosie sat at her desk in the cottage with a pencil between her teeth. Her laptop was open and invoices and order forms were piled next to her. She punched numbers into a calculator, entering the results on a spreadsheet.
She hadn’t realized the amount of paperwork owning a store entailed. Numbers danced before her eyes when she tried to go to sleep. But her sales were growing, and in the evenings she and Josh celebrated with a glass of Cabernet or a stroll around the lake. Rosie kept her fingers crossed that the store would continue to thrive.
Josh was supposed to meet her for a run before dinner, but he had been delayed at the Classic Car Showroom. He had been working around the clock: mornings on the MG, days at the showroom, and nights in Oscar’s garage. They both were living on sex and adrenaline and barely found time to sleep.
When they did climb into bed, they wanted to tell each other stories, rub each other’s back, find new ways to make love. It was late July and Josh was so close to completing the MG, his eyes shone with an inner light. Rosie was amazed that people waited in line for her fish tacos, and that they thanked her when they gave her money.
It felt like the days after Ben and Rosie got their first big production deal. Suddenly they both had assigned parking spaces on the studio lot and name tags that allowed them to eat at the cafeteria. Studio executives waved when they walked by, and the guy in the parking garage made sure her windshield
was clean.
Now it was even better because she was doing it by herself. Rosie’s Fish Tacos might not be a blockbuster movie that was going to play in fifty states or an indie that would be reviewed in Variety, but she made every taco and customers wanted to buy them.
The best part was waking up next to Josh in the morning, finding his running shoes in her closet, seeing his work shirts folded neatly in her drawers. She felt like she could jog twenty times around the lake, prepare one hundred fish tacos, and have energy to spare. Estelle commented on her glow, and Morris laughed she was like a hot-air balloon. She needed lead in her shoes to bring her back to earth.
Rosie’s phone vibrated and she answered, expecting to hear Josh’s voice.
“I’ve been staring at numbers for hours. If I don’t go for a run, my eyes are going to cross,” she said, pressing the phone against her ear.
“I’d love to go for a run but I’m in New York.” A male voice chuckled. “It’s pouring rain, so I’d get pretty wet.”
“Who is this?” Rosie stared at the unfamiliar number displayed on the screen.
“Ryan Addams,” he answered. “The guy who healed your concussion.”
“What a pleasant surprise to hear from you.” Rosie smiled and walked to the cottage’s window. “Though it wasn’t a concussion.”
“It was a pretty big bump,” Ryan said. “How are things at the fish taco shop?”
“Great, exhausting, exhilarating,” Rosie replied in a rush. “Having your own store is like having homework for the rest of your life. There’s always something to do.”
“You better get used to it,” Ryan offered. “It’s about to get worse.”
“What do you mean? Why are you in New York?” Rosie asked.
“Colby is promoting his new album. He’s done all the late-night shows: Jimmy Fallon, Stephen Colbert, and Saturday Night Live. He even popped into The Today Show this morning. We needed a police escort to get to the studio.”
“That’s fantastic.” Rosie beamed. “But why are you calling me?”
“Well…” Ryan hesitated. “Colby sort of dedicated a song to you.”
“To me?” Rosie dropped into her chair.
“It’s called ‘Rosie.’ He wrote it after our weekend in Montecito. You know how impetuous he is; he came home and wrote it in one night.”
“Why would he write a song about me?” she inquired.
“It’s about breaking free of the fast track and doing what you love,” Ryan continued. “And it’s on its way to number one on the charts.”
“Wow!” Rosie picked up her pencil and doodled “Rosie and Josh” on her spreadsheets.
“You might want to catch the Today Show segment on YouTube,” Ryan said slowly.
“Why?” Rosie wondered aloud.
“Let’s just say Rosie’s Fish Tacos is about to get a lot more popular.”
“What did Colby say about me?” Rosie turned on her computer and waited for the site to load.
“All good things, I promise. Watch the clip. I have to go, Colby is on Anderson Cooper. God, I hope he’s nice to Colby.” Ryan sighed. “Anderson has a wicked sense of humor.”
“What did Colby say?” Rosie repeated frantically.
“I’m getting the guillotine motion; I’ve got to turn off my cell,” Ryan whispered. “Colby sends his love.”
Rosie found the Today segment and clicked play. Colby wore checkered shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was long and curly and he wore orange sneakers.
“Tell us about ‘Rosie,’” Savannah Guthrie was saying into the camera. “The album was done, ready to go, and suddenly you wrote one more song. It’s busting out on the charts. What was the inspiration?”
“My fans know I’m a foodie.” Colby grinned like a kid admitting a gummy bear addiction. “Earlier this summer I heard about a new fish taco shop in Montecito. It is owned by a young woman named Rosie Keller. She quit her job as an executive at a movie studio and headed up the coast. The fish tacos are amazing; she won’t tell me her secret.” Colby smiled as if he was talking directly to Rosie. “She got off the Hollywood treadmill and did what she loved. Now she’s making herself and a lot of taco lovers happy.”
“Are you saying you want to get off the music treadmill?” Savannah asked earnestly.
“I have the greatest job in the world.” Colby opened his arms as if he was hugging the audience. “But you don’t have to dream big. Small dreams can be just as cool. That’s what the song is about: do what you love and throw the rule book out the window.”
“Great advice.” Savannah nodded and folded her arms. “Anything you want to add?”
Colby’s boyish face filled the screen. “Save me a fish taco, Rosie!”
“How about singing ‘Rosie’ for our studio audience.” Savannah sat back in her chair.
“My pleasure.” Colby grabbed a microphone. The camera panned to pigtailed girls throwing roses at the stage. They screamed so loud, Rosie couldn’t hear the song. The camera zoomed in on four girls holding a banner proclaiming WE LOVE YOU, COLBY and faded to black.
Rosie stared at the blank computer screen. She wanted to call Ryan, but he was on the set of the Anderson Cooper show. She thought about calling Angelica, but she would just jump up and down with glee about the free publicity.
She and Josh were so happy, like puppies maturing together. What would he say when her name was number one on the Billboard charts? She threw on her running shoes and grabbed her iPhone. She found Colby Young on iTunes, and played “Rosie” as she ran laps around the lake.
* * *
“Peg made a roast and Yorkshire pudding,” Morris said, walking into the kitchen with a basket of lemons.
“I feel like peanut butter,” Rosie replied. She was hot and sweaty from her run and suddenly craved a peanut butter sandwich. She kept her back to Morris, intent on spreading peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat bread.
“You love Peg’s Yorkshire pudding, you never eat without Josh, and you haven’t had peanut butter since Ben came to the Fourth of July party.” Morris grabbed the jar. “Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m confiscating the peanut butter.”
Rosie put down the knife and collapsed into the kitchen chair. She told Morris about Ryan’s phone call and Colby’s appearance on The Today Show.
“Is it a love song?” Morris wanted to know.
“No!” Rosie flushed. “It’s about following your dreams.”
“Is it badly written, does Colby sing off-key?”
“No, it’s wonderful.” Rosie shook her head. “Colby has a terrific voice.”
“I don’t see the problem.” Morris rinsed the lemons in the sink.
“Josh hates Hollywood and all that glitz. Things have been going so well, I don’t want to rock the boat.”
“Josh walks around like a kid on Christmas morning. As long as Colby isn’t declaring undying love, he won’t mind. He might even be pleased.”
“What if he’s not pleased?” Rosie grabbed the peanut butter from the counter. “What if he gets scared and runs?”
“Give him a little credit for growing up.” Morris put the lemons in a bowl. “Being with the right person will do that.”
“Colby has eighteen million Facebook fans and thirteen million Twitter fans,” Rosie said nervously. “I know what star power can do. What if Rosie’s Fish Tacos turns into a three-ring circus?”
“Just be prepared and you’ll be fine,” Morris counseled. “Triple your avocado order and get some help baking tortillas.”
“It’s not the supplies I’m worried about,” Rosie said, calculating how many extra tortillas she should buy and where to find the best discounts on Italian soda.
“Then what are you worried about?” Morris asked.
Rosie crossed her arms and said bleakly, “That a camera crew will arrive to see what Colby is singing about, and Josh will see them and run in the other direction.”
“You overthink things.” Morris picked up the basket. “So what if
you’re on television? Just avoid wearing black and white; it dances in front of the camera. And get some of that product that makes your hair flat. You’re gorgeous, but it’s going to frizz if you make tacos under bright lights.”
Rosie took her sandwich onto the porch and sat on the swing.
“Here you are!” Josh appeared outside, carrying a plate heaped with pot roast and Yorkshire pudding.
“I needed to get away from my desk.” Rosie rocked back and forth. “I was beginning to feel like Jack Nicholson in The Shining.”
“All work and no play is not good.” Josh sat beside her. “I talked to my boss, Al, today. He plans on retiring in December.”
“Really?” Rosie breathed in Josh’s scent. He smelled of lemon air freshener and car wax.
“I told him I was confident I could get a good price for the MG,” Josh continued. “We started hammering out terms.”
“That’s fantastic!” Rosie beamed. Josh had talked about buying the Classic Car Showroom for so long sometimes she thought it was like dreaming about a perfect wave.
“I can’t believe the Concours d’Elegance is in less than a month,” Josh finished. “I need one more part and then she’s ready. She’s beautiful, Rosie.”
“I’m almost jealous.” Rosie tried to smile.
She debated whether she should mention Colby’s song. Josh didn’t listen to the radio and he barely glanced at Facebook. They didn’t watch television at night; they were too busy exploring each other. He may never hear “Rosie” and the whole thing would blow over. But she looked at his sparkling eyes, his open, honest expression, and took a deep breath.
“Colby Young was on The Today Show today.”
“Good for him.” Josh chewed his steak. “He’s a cool kid.”
“He has a new album out. The single is at the top of the charts.” Rosie paused. “It’s called ‘Rosie.’”
“‘Rosie’?” Josh put down his fork. “Is it about you?”
“He wrote it after he came to the opening.” Rosie kept talking without looking at Josh. “It’s about leaving the rat race and following your dream.”
