Chapter Eight
“I appreciate you being candid with me,” Principal Meyer told Rosa during the last hour of the school day on Monday.
Sitting in a well-used wooden chair across from Principal Agatha Meyer’s equally scratched and worn desk, Rosa held her hands clasped in her lap.
Inside her, a tiny voice was down on its knees, praying the older woman would be understanding and agree to speak on her behalf with the diocese council.
Outside, Rosa fought to maintain a calm, professional demeanor.
“It’s early still, but with the problems I mentioned, my doctor is fairly adamant about partial bed rest.” The principal winced at the last word and Rosa rushed to reassure her. “Just through the month of December. We’re anticipating all will be well, and I’ll be back full-time after the holiday break.”
Principal Meyer’s mouth twisted, the lines feathering out from the corners of her eyes deepening with her grimace. “You know, of course, that the diocese council will have to be alerted. While teachers and staff didn’t sign a morality clause this year, we did add mention of it in the handbook.”
“But it’s not currently part of our contract,” Rosa stressed.
Principal Meyer’s expression remained noncommittal. “You are correct. Not this year. However, the intent was clear that staff and administrators should adhere to the suggestion. There will be some who are not pleased with your situation and may call for your resignation.”
Part of her had expected this reaction, but hearing the principal say it out loud made the potential fallout more of a reality.
Closing her eyes, Rosa said a quick prayer, asking for the words that would convince her boss to see her perspective and walk this fine line with her.
“I recognize that you’ve been a welcome addition to our staff this year,” Principal Meyer said. She glanced at her computer screen, but from this side of the desk Rosa couldn’t tell what the principal might be reading. “The number of students taking advantage of the tutoring program you started is commendable. And the Poetry Club hasn’t seen this many members in years.”
Esto era lo que ella siempre quiería. The compliment perked her flagging spirit as the thought whispered through her mind. Yes, it was definitely what she’d wanted—to make a difference.
“Working at Queen of Peace has been my goal since Mrs. Patterson shared her retirement plans with me while I was an undergrad. The prospect of earning this position is what drove me to complete my master’s studies after my father’s death. This is my home.” Rosa pressed a hand to her chest, willing the principal to hear the truth behind her words. “It’s where I belong.”
Dios mío, she still remembered her first day of kindergarten here. The excitement of putting on her white button-down blouse with the Peter Pan collar. Zipping up the blue and green plaid romper. Slipping on her white bobby socks and black buckle shoes. Mami walking Yazmine and her to their respective classrooms. Taking a picture with Sister Magdalena. The thrill of her first visit to the library.
Over the years, from elementary to middle and on to high school, the library had become her second home. Mrs. Patterson had become a surrogate mother figure at school. Rosa had spent many of her lunch periods and countless after-school hours volunteering in the library. The smell of books old and new, the thump of the old checkout stamp with the return date in the back of the books, the classical music softly playing over the speakers. They all brought her a sense of comfort and security.
By her last two years of high school, it had even gotten to a point where if Mrs. Patterson was out for some reason, the note left for the substitute typically read, Rosa Fernandez is my right hand. If you have any questions, she’ll know the answer.
When Mami had died and Rosa struggled with filling her role for the family, Mrs. Patterson had been Rosa’s sounding board at school. The Queen of Peace library her safe haven during the day.
That’s what she wanted to create for her students now. A place to learn, grow, trust, flourish. Not just a place to hang out when they wanted to get out of class.
One rash decision couldn’t curtail Rosa’s plan now.
Being at Queen of Peace wasn’t just about having a job. It didn’t just pay her bills. Refusing Jeremy’s offer to take care of her and the baby wasn’t just pride on her part. With Papi gone, Yazmine starting her own family, and Lilí in college, Rosa needed this place, the community and balance it signified in her life.
And yet . . .
Ay Dios mío, the push and pull of fighting for her job or accepting the consequences and forging a new path, however scary that might be, was tearing her in two.
Ultimately though, she knew if she didn’t fight for herself as hard as she fought for others, she’d regret it.
Whether Principal Meyer and the diocese council agreed with her or not, she’d go down swinging. Probably surprising many in the process. Especially herself.
A new determination driving her, Rosa leaned forward, placing her clasped hands on Principal Meyer’s desk.
“I am committed to Queen of Peace. To our students. I recognize that once my news gets out, it will put you in a difficult spot. My hope is that my work here will speak louder than any dissidents. That the good I am doing with our students will be considered.”
Principal Meyer reached across to cover Rosa’s hands with one of her own. Her older, wrinkled skin was cold, but her grip tight. “Oh, how I wish all my teachers shared your same commitment and drive. I regret that I can’t tell you there won’t be any problems. Ultimately it’s not my decision. But you can count on me to speak highly of the work you’ve done here so far and remind the council of your family history at Queen of Peace.”
She sat back in her desk chair, all business once again. “However, they must be careful of any precedent that could be set. Remember, it is the diocesan council, Father Yosef, and potentially the archbishop himself who will ultimately decide your fate.”
Rosa nodded mutely. Any words she might have been able to form were trapped below the knot of fear and dismay clogging in her throat.
“The council doesn’t meet again until late January.” Principal Meyer flipped a page in her planner. “You have nearly two months. Hopefully you will be off bed rest and back full-time by then so that won’t be an issue. For now, let’s deal with the approval for your medical time off.”
The discussion turned to library coverage over the remaining weeks of the fall semester. Both agreed that Brenda, Rosa’s assistant, would be fine managing things in the mornings. Rosa would come in by lunch and stay after school for tutoring and Poetry Club.
“I’ll get the paperwork started for your medical half days and schedule a meeting with Father Yosef to explain the situation. He may feel that a special meeting with the council is warranted rather than waiting until January,” Principal Meyer said. “I suspect he will want you present when I speak to him. You should be prepared to present your case, so to speak.”
The end of the day bell rang, the shrill sound punctuating the principal’s warning.
“Yes, of course,” Rosa murmured.
Long-ingrained Catholic schoolgirl guilt flooded her chest, rising like the Caribbean sun to heat her face.
She pushed back her chair and stood on shaky legs, hoping her lips were curved in a smile. Not the grimace she fought to hide.
Ave Maria purísima, the irony. She was the “good” sister. The one who’d never been sent to the principal’s office before. Or, as one of her tutoring students with a penchant for colorful, if often inappropriate, phrases dubbed his numerous visits to Principal Meyer’s office, “being called up to the big leagues.”
Apparently, when she was finally called up to Father Yosef’s big league, she hit it out of the park.
* * *
By the time Rosa reached the library, the adrenaline that had carried her through the meeting with Principal Meyer had seeped away, leaving her body drained and as limp as a wet noodle.
The anxiety that had built up before their talk, the uncertainty of how Principal Meyer might react, and the guilt of having to face her longtime priest with the news of her pregnancy had pushed her into I’ve-had-enough territory.
Weary, Rosa tugged open the library door. Her relief at finding her home away from home empty was quickly pushed out of the way by a flash of shame. She should want her library filled, every chair taken. With finals a little over two weeks away, students should be taking advantage of study time or the help she offered. Like she normally encouraged them to do.
Her legs shaky, Rosa made her way toward the checkout desk and her back office along the far left side of the room. She cast a quick glance at the black and white industrial wall clock above the checkout desk. 3:10. School regulations said the library would be open another fifty minutes. Of course, she usually stayed till 4:30 if students were here. When Poetry Club met, they were known to stay longer, especially if one of the members volunteered to practice reciting or, as it was commonly known, spitting something they’d written.
Her stomach rumbled. Whether from hunger or nausea, she’d given up trying to tell. Since her visit with Dr. Jiménez, she’d been surviving on prenatal vitamins and mini bites of pureed chicken soup with a side of her favorite Export Soda crackers. She’d have to ask Tomás to pick up another one of the green tins from the colmado in west Chicago after work.
As much as Rosa hated to admit it, Dr. Jiménez had been right. Working a full day was too much right now.
Gracias a Dios Yazmine had dropped her off this morning and planned to pick her up after the library study hour. Rosa didn’t trust herself behind the wheel of a car. Not when all she wanted was to lie down on her office floor and take a nap.
Bypassing the stool behind the library checkout counter, Rosa continued to her office and the small restroom attached. A splash of cold water on her face, maybe a wet paper towel on the back of her neck, might revitalize her.
Moments later, she dabbed her face dry, then trudged back to the stool behind the counter, hoping to get there before her legs gave out. It was important that she be out front to greet any students who might arrive. It was part of her plan to gain her students’ trust.
A friendly smile, the brightly colored bienvenidos welcome mat, and the framed snapshots of students and her scattered throughout the library on bookshelves, tabletops, and various nooks and crannies. They were all intended to create a sense of family and belonging. Inviting her students to think of the library as a home away from home, like she did.
Rosa had barely made it to the metal stool before Carlotta Juárez walked into the library. The tall, slender girl with light olive skin and long, straight black hair slowed her steps as she drew closer to the counter. She pushed her thick glasses farther onto her nose and slanted Rosa a tentative glance.
“Hola, Carlotta,” Rosa greeted. “How are you doing today?”
“Um, okay. How about—?” Carlotta broke off, her brows arching closer together as she stared more pointedly at Rosa. “Perdóname but, you’re not looking too well, Señorita Fernandez.”
Rosa chuckled, dabbing her face with the moist paper towel again. “No need to apologize, nena. I saw my reflection in the mirror a few moments ago.”
Carlotta blushed, pushing her glasses up again in the nervous gesture Rosa had begun to notice the more time they spent together.
“Does that mean you’re heading home early then?” Carlotta asked. Head bowed, she fiddled with Rosa’s Shakespeare bust paperweight, moving it away from the counter’s edge, then trailing a finger down the back side of the figure. “I can stop by tomorrow if that’s better.”
It was obvious the girl had something on her mind. That she’d come here to get it off her chest, maybe ask for advice, was like a shot of vitamin B in Rosa’s arm.
She scooted to sit up straight on the stool, elated that Carlotta would turn to her. “No, I’m staying. Something isn’t agreeing with my stomach, but I’ll be fine. Are you planning to study? Or do you maybe need help with something?”
“Yeah.”
Rosa dabbed her face again to cover her smile. Carlotta probably didn’t even realize she’d replied to both options.
“Okay then,” Rosa said. “Make yourself comfortable. Let me know if I can be of assistance. I’m going to send a few emails, but I’ll be right here.”
The shy teen nodded, then heaved her over-full backpack onto the nearest tabletop with a loud thud. She winced, offering Rosa an “I’m sorry” glance as she pulled out one of the plastic chairs and plopped down.
Rosa clicked open her email, intent on drafting a message to her assistant, Brenda. Typically Brenda worked mornings so her hours wouldn’t change while Rosa moved to afternoon half days for the next few weeks. They’d overlap for about an hour and could review any particulars then.
Two sentences into her email, Rosa paused, a sense of anticipation tiptoeing across her shoulder blades. Fingers on the keyboard, she looked at Carlotta.
Hunched over a spiral notebook, a mechanical pencil tightly clutched in her left hand, Carlotta peeked through the curtain of black silky hair that draped her shoulder and pooled onto the table. The girl was actually quite beautiful, though too shy to see it. Tall and thin, with beautiful skin and thick brows arching over dark eyes and delicate features, she could easily pass for a model. Add Carlotta’s brains and, if you asked Rosa, her student was the “total package,” as some kids might say.
Unfortunately, Rosa hadn’t heard Carlotta mention many friends. In fact, the teen spent most of her time studying or taking care of her three younger siblings. Based on what she’d shared before, Rosa figured the girl didn’t get much chance for socializing.
Dios, Rosa remembered the difficulties of adolescence, the rejection and insecurity. Especially when it came to dating. Like Rosa, Carlotta often kept to herself, attending the Poetry Club meetings, but usually not saying much.
Sensing her student’s hesitation and need for reassurance, Rosa infused her smile with every ounce of encouragement in her tired body.
Carlotta dropped her gaze back to her notebook, her shoulders rising and falling on a heavy sigh.
Okay, so she wasn’t ready to share. Rosa understood better than most that pushing wasn’t always the right answer. Instead, she turned back to the computer to finish her email. Her stomach churned and she pressed a hand to it, hoping to allay the nausea while at the same time wracking her brain for an inconspicuous way to entice Carlotta to open up.
“Señorita Fernandez?”
Carlotta’s unexpected inquiry startled Rosa out of her thoughts.
“I was wondering,” the girl went on once she had Rosa’s attention, “well, if you don’t mind, or if you have time, would you look at this poem I’ve been working on? Maybe give me some feedback?”
Carlotta’s left palm pressed down on top of her spiral notebook as if protecting her work. Creating an unconscious connection between her words and herself.
A closet poet who rarely shared her work with others, Rosa understood how difficult, how personal, Carlotta’s request might be for her. Ironically, while Rosa considered her poetry more like her private diary, she’d been encouraging her students in the Poetry Club to volunteer for their first open mic night the evening after their last day of finals. It was the perfect way to cap off their semester.
Despite Dr. Jiménez’s orders that she not overtax herself, Rosa refused to disappoint her students by postponing or canceling the event.
“I’d be honored to read your piece.” Rosa slid off the stool, her stomach roiling in protest. She swallowed, pushing away the discomfort, then circled the length of the checkout counter. “Is this the one you were working on before the Thanksgiving break?”
“A new version actually. I was inspired by one of the spoken-word artists you mentioned at our last Poetry Club meeting.”
A thrill lit through Rosa like a July Fourth sparkler. “¡Ay que bueno!”
“Pues, not so good if you ask my mamá.” Carlotta scowled, her mouth puckering before she explained. “I was watching one of the performances on YouTube and Mamá walked by my room. My fault for not closing my door.”
“¿Por qué?”
“Because she wasn’t too thrilled with some of the language.”
Rosa’s hand stilled on the back of the chair she’d been about to pull out. “Language? What do you mean? I reviewed all the pieces before recommending them. None of them were inappropriate.”
“Oh, I know, but I started clicking around and came across the over-eighteen page.”
“Por favor, tell me you didn’t.”
Carlotta winced.
“I—I kinda clicked the link?” The teen’s voice hitched up at the end turning her statement into a question. A sure sign she knew she’d messed up.
“Even though you’re not over eighteen.”
Carlotta had the grace to dip her head in remorse at Rosa’s admonishment.
The last thing Rosa wanted was to get one of her students in trouble. Or worse, have a parent call the school with a complaint about her condoning inappropriate material. Not when she was already dreading having to meet with Father Yosef about her pregnancy.
Talk about digging a deeper hole for herself.
When Carlotta tipped her head to peer up at Rosa, her black eyes shone with a feverish light.
“It’s just that, this girl, she’s not much older than me, and she has such a way with words,” Carlotta said, her voice filled with awe. “I wasn’t even thinking really. I got so caught up in her verses and her live performances, I couldn’t not click on the next one. It’s like . . . I don’t know.”
Carlotta’s thumbs rubbed against her fingertips as if she were trying to feel for the right words. “Es—es como que me conoce.”
“Like she knows you,” Rosa slowly repeated Carlotta’s assessment, a sense of kinship worming its way to her poet’s soul.
The young girl nodded, her expression earnest. One palm flattened against her chest, the other once again pressed atop her spiral notebook.
Rosa bit her lip, torn between reprimanding the girl for going to an unauthorized website and empathizing with her over the intense experience of having someone speak the words in your head. In your heart.
Dragging out the plastic chair beside Carlotta’s, Rosa sank down into it with a heavy sigh.
“You’re upset with me, too,” Carlotta muttered. She pushed her rectangular glasses higher up the bridge of her nose, her shoulders slumping.
Rosa gathered her thoughts, wanting to bring home the importance of following the rules, yet not discourage one of her favorite students from confiding in her.
“Here’s the thing,” Rosa started. “I love that you’re excited about poetry. That you’re challenging yourself by putting your thoughts and ideas on paper.” Instinctively she reached out to place a comforting hand on Carlotta’s shoulder. “And I’m honored that you’d ask me to read your writing.”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming. I can sense it.”
Rosa chuckled at Carlotta’s disgruntled tone. Smart girl.
“Peeerooo.” Rosa drew out the word, teasing a tentative smile from her student. “But you know what your parents think is acceptable and what’s not. You know their rules. So, while I am all for diving into the spoken-word arena, I am not okay with anything that will get you in trouble. Or me.”
Carlotta’s head whipped up, her jaw dropping in a shocked “oh.”
“Get you in trouble? Ay que estúpida soy. I didn’t even think about that. Perdóname.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re an inquisitive teen. Who also knows better than to break the rules. If you’re looking for more poets to study, I can give you a few other names and titles before you go. But stay out of the over-eighteen pages!”
“Gracias, Señorita Fernandez.” Carlotta flung her arms around Rosa in a tight hug that stole Rosa’s breath. “You’re the best!”
Rosa tucked Carlotta’s declaration into a corner of her memory. The one reserved for special moments she liked to recall whenever she doubted herself, or needed a pick-me-up. This might be her first semester as Queen of Peace’s librarian, but little by little she was making progress. With time, patience, determination, and love, she’d make her own place here. Out of her sisters’ shadows.
If the diocese let her stay.
As if her brain relayed the troubling thought to Rosa’s stomach, it picked that exact moment to complain again. Her stomach spasmed with contractions that had her pushing out of her seat and beelining for her office restroom. Her stomach heaving, she sank onto her knees in front of the toilet.
Long moments later, once the worst had passed, she heard a tentative knock on the door. “¿Señorita Fernandez, está bien?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” Rosa answered, her voice weak. “I’ll be right out.”
It took way too much effort to pick herself up off the floor, rinse her mouth in the sink, and pat the sweat off her face. By the time Rosa finished, lying back down on the tile floor sounded like the best idea she’d had all day.
Time for her to head home, even though it was earlier than normal.
When she opened the door, Carlotta waited on the other side, her face a mask of worry.
“I’m the one who needs to apologize now,” Rosa said. She leaned against the door frame for support. “I’m sorry, but I really need to call my sister for a ride home. Any chance I can take a look at your work tomorrow? Maybe during lunch or after school?”
“Sure, that’s okay. Here, let me help you.” Carlotta stepped to Rosa’s side. The girl swung her right arm around Rosa’s waist, then hooked Rosa’s left arm over her shoulder.
Her legs feeling like they were filled with mango jelly, Rosa leaned on Carlotta as they made their way to the front counter, where she’d left her cell phone.
“Are you sure you’re doing okay? You’ve been sick for a few days now, haven’t you?”
“I’m good. This will pass.” She hoped.
They reached the stool behind the counter, and Rosa hooked a foot on the rung to support herself as she sat down.
“You kinda look like my mom when she was, um, never mind.” Carlotta waved off the words, an embarrassed look crossing her youthful face.
Rosa froze, afraid to respond. Certain she knew where Carlotta had been headed with her observation. Thankful the girl had dropped it because Rosa would not have wanted to lie to her.
Mortified, Rosa reached for her cell next to the computer keyboard so she could call Yazmine. Just as she’d unlocked the phone screen, the library door opened again.
“We’re closing up,” Carlotta called. “Señorita Fernandez isn’t well. Come back tomorrow.”
“Looks like I got here just in time. I’m her ride home.”
At the sound of Jeremy’s deep voice, Rosa dropped her phone. It clattered onto the counter, nearly falling off the edge.
Her gaze shot to the doorway, her mind screaming a silent, What is he doing here?
The sight of his broad shoulders cloaked in a navy wool winter coat made her pulse skip. His dirty-blond hair was wind-mussed, his cheeks ruddy from the cold front that had blown in overnight, dropping the temperature to icy twenties. She hadn’t seen him since her doctor’s appointment on Friday, but out of sight had not meant out of mind.
Not for her anyway.
“You know this guy?” Carlotta leaned toward Rosa and stage whispered.
“Yeah,” Rosa answered. “He’s my—”
Long-time crush, one-night stand, baby daddy.
Jeremy cocked his head, his blue eyes considering her, waiting for her response.
“Friend,” she finished, her voice tripping over the lame description.
Jeremy’s eyes flashed with disappointment. Then he blinked and it was gone.
His lips curved with a friendly grin for Carlotta as he strode toward the counter. Confident. Sure. Gorgeous. Totally unexpected.
Rosa’s pulse picked up speed with each step that brought him closer.
Her two worlds—school and personal life—were about to collide. Like an eyewitness helpless to stop a train wreck, she watched, stunned into muteness.
“Jeremy Taylor. I’m a very close friend of Rosa’s, er, Señorita Fernandez.” He held out his hand toward Carlotta. “Nice to meet you.”
The young girl eyed Jeremy warily before accepting his handshake. “Carlotta Juárez. She’s not feeling so hot. You probably wanna get her home right away.”
Before Rosa could object, Carlotta morphed from shy schoolgirl to big sister in charge, thanks no doubt to her role at home. The teen made quick work of shutting down the computer, grabbing Rosa’s purse and jacket from her desk drawer, and locking the office behind her. Once back out front, Carlotta held the jacket and purse out at Jeremy.
He looked at the black shoulder bag blankly.
Carlotta shook it at him, her bug-eyed expression clearly saying she expected him to take it.
If she wasn’t still shell-shocked by his arrival, Rosa might have laughed at Jeremy’s confusion.
For someone who tended to be quiet most of the time, Carlotta certainly knew how to take charge when needed. Her whirlwind of activity helped ease the nervousness tingling across Rosa’s shoulders at seeing Jeremy again. Especially after the brief text message responses she’d given him all weekend.
He had asked her to let him know how her conversation with Principal Meyer went, so she would have called him later tonight or tomorrow. She just hadn’t expected him to show up here.
“Señorita Fernandez is pretty weak. You may need to help her to the car,” Carlotta directed Jeremy. “I can lock up behind us if you give me a quick sec.”
The teen hurried to the table, where she crammed her spiral notebook and pencil in her backpack.
“I guess she means business,” Jeremy mumbled, his wry chuckle softening the words.
He slung Rosa’s purse strap over his shoulder, turning to model it for her with a quick wink.
Pleasure washed over her, erasing some of her unease.
This was her old Jeremy. The one who joked easily, smoothing away her shyness. The one who didn’t overwhelm her with his intensity. Or his insistence on moving their relationship at warp speed.
“I’m the oldest,” Carlotta explained. “Both my parents work two jobs to pay the bills, so I’m always stuck in charge at home when they’re out or if my mom’s not well.”
She slipped her arms into her book bag straps and hefted it up onto her back, then marched for the door. “Let’s go. She needs some rest.”
Jeremy held on to Rosa’s elbow as she slid off the stool.
Still weak from her recent bout of dry heaves, she leaned against the counter while he helped her into her coat. Turning her around to face him, he began fastening the buttons without a word.
Rosa bit her lip, desperate to believe they could go back to the comfortable relationship they’d shared before. Afraid they couldn’t.
He dipped his hands into her collar to carefully pull the ends of her hair out of her coat. His warm fingers brushed against her neck, and heat seeped down her body like molten lava.
Her thoughts flashed back to a set of cool white bedsheets, Jeremy’s naked body against hers. His big hands caressing her neck, her belly, her bare breasts as he leaned over her to press a kiss to her skin.
The lust she felt only for him sparked, overwhelming her already weakened body, and it finally gave out. Unable to stop herself, Rosa crumpled toward the floor.
“Whoa!” Jeremy yelped, grabbing her under the armpits to stop her fall.
The next thing she knew, he’d bent down to hook one arm under her knees, the other sliding behind her back. He swung her easily up in his arms, cradling her against his hard chest.
“I can walk,” she protested, but even to her own ears, her plea sounded wimpy. About as wimpy as her ability to resist him.
Jeremy ignored her, heading to the library entrance, where Carlotta held the door open.
“Nice move, Galahad,” Carlotta teased, stepping aside to let them pass by.
Jeremy laughed, a deep, throaty sound that Rosa felt rumbling through his chest.
Embarrassed as she was to have Jeremy carry her out of the building, she smiled along with him. She had to hand it to Carlotta. The girl had sized up Jeremy quickly, correctly pegging him for the gallant knight Rosa knew him to be. Bueno, most of the time anyway.
Carlotta locked up, then dropped the keys into Rosa’s purse. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Taylor. Make sure she’s okay. Hope you feel better by tomorrow, Señorita Fernandez. Adios.”
With a wave good-bye, Carlotta hurried away down the hall.
Rosa recalled the teen’s brief observation comparing Rosa’s sickness more than likely to her mom’s pregnancies. Hopefully Carlotta would forget about it. Certainly not share it with anyone. Not yet, anyway.
“And then there were two,” Jeremy said softly.
He gazed down at her, his charming smile crinkling the edges of his blue eyes.
Yesterday, Rosa would have been anxious to keep her distance from him. Too tired to fight. Too scared of what the future held for them with so many uncertainties up in the air.
Right now, it felt so good to be in his arms again. She didn’t have it in her to complain.
With his strength supporting her tired body. His smile warming her heart. The scent of his earthy aftershave soothing her roiling stomach. Keeping her distance was the last thing she wanted.
Sí, they still had to work through things. Big things.
Maybe him coming here was a sign she should share with him the pro-con list she had started. The old Jeremy would listen, offer a suggestion.
She hesitated, afraid of the consequences. Of him not agreeing and pushing his own agenda. Namely, a marriage of convenience.
It was time for her to swallow that fear and stand her ground. Have that adult conversation without worrying that she might fall on old habits and go along with the “right thing” everyone expected. She could do it.
Later though. Now she’d assuage her desire to be close to him. Just for a little while.
Wrapping her arms more tightly around his broad shoulders, Rosa laid her head against his shoulder, his wool jacket scratchy against her cheek.
“Take me home, Sir Galahad,” she murmured, barely suppressing a sigh of satisfaction. “I’m beat.”