I woke up to the sound of Rosie singing and the smell of something delicious being cooked downstairs. Like someone had cast a spell on me, I drifted out of bed and down the stairs in a trance. Usually it takes me eight hits on the snooze button to wake up. Not today. Apparently, all it took to cut through my bear-like nightly hibernation routine was a beautiful woman singing and cooking for me.

The night before, I dreamed about Jen. I’d been sure that it would be Rosie who would haunt my dreams, flashing seamlessly between soft vulnerability and imperious quips all while being frustratingly, unbelievably sexy, but it wasn’t. It was Jen who appeared there. It had been a long time since I’d seen her in my dreams. I appreciated the visit. It was always nice to see her.

I wondered what Jen would say about me lusting after a teenager. She’d almost certainly find it hilarious, just like Ian did. She’d be jealous too, of course, but I think Jen would give me a pass considering that she was dead. I smirked at myself. Jen would not only think it was hilarious that I was attracted to Rosie, she’d tell me to go for it. I could almost hear her saying that if the genders were reversed, I wouldn’t be thinking this way. It was just my ‘latent sexism’ and ‘societal conditioning’ that had me hesitating.

Still, I couldn’t imagine pursuing Rosie, even with Jen’s imagined permission. Jen was the woman who once insisted that it was a good idea for me to jump off a cliff. Off an actual cliff. Ok, so we were going cliff diving at the time, but still. Jen’s advice was suspect. All the more reason to resist Rosie.

My resistance lasted only about as long as it took me to get down the stairs and enter the kitchen. Rosie didn’t see me at first. She was dancing in front of the stove I’d never turned on before, shifting her hips from side to side as she sang. I settled into the bar stool behind her after getting a cup of coffee as quietly as I possibly could. I was totally content to just watch her.

The song was ‘Birthday’ by the Bird and the Bee. It seemed wildly appropriate.

Rosie’s singing voice this morning was soft, absentminded, and beautiful. It had the pure, bell-like quality I associated with Disney princesses and opera singers. I could listen to it all day. A tiny, treacherous part of my heart yearned to wake up to her singing to me every morning. I hadn’t realized until that moment how used to being totally and completely alone I’d become. The last real relationship I’d had was so distant I could barely remember it. Waking up to someone else again was a revelation.

Rosie turned around and almost dropped the plate she was holding when she saw me. I smiled at her from my position on the breakfast bar and toasted her with my coffee cup. I hoped I looked sufficiently non-threatening in a rumpled t-shirt and flannel pants to avoid scaring her.

“Good morning,” I said happily, not mentioning her singing to avoid making her more embarrassed. She had turned a bright, vivid pink. It was almost as bright pink as her cute flamingo-patterned pajama shorts. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded uncomfortably. Her mouth, which had been hanging open in shock, snapped shut again. She shoved her long hair behind her shoulders. “Um, good morning. Do you want some pancakes?”

“Yes please,” I watched in amused silence as she slid a few onto a plate and shoved them across the breakfast bar at me. “This looks fantastic.”

“I figured making you breakfast was the least I could do since I was your punishment and all.” She made a wry face at me.

I honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me breakfast. It had been a long time. Maybe since before Jen died. The memory of her serving me cheerios in our run-down Dallas apartment when I had the flu made the first bite of my pancakes taste bittersweet. Then Rosie sat down next to me at the breakfast bar, and happiness suffused through me instead. She banished the pain back into my memory. Having her close to me seemed to do that. It was like magic.

“Well it certainly wasn’t necessary, but I’m not going to complain, either,” I told her. “And I don’t think of you as a punishment, Rosie. Please don’t think that I do.”

She smiled at me hesitantly. “I’m glad you don’t think of me as a punishment. And I hope they taste ok. I’m not sure how old that butter was.”

I took a delicious first bite of my breakfast. The pancake was perfection—fresh, warm, tender, and sweet. Just like Rosie’s smile this morning. “They’re absolutely fantastic. I didn’t know I had enough ingredients to make real food.” The last time I’d made real food in my kitchen was… um, never. I couldn’t cook. I’d never learned, so I didn’t try.

She smiled at me a bit more brightly. “You definitely eat like a bachelor.” Her gentle teasing made me feel better. I hadn’t mortified her into total silence. That was good. This way, maybe, I could finally talk to her.

“I eat a balanced diet. I’ll have you know that I’m extremely good at ordering takeout,” I argued.

“You sound just like Trina,” she teased.

“Your roommate?” I vaguely remembered meeting her the night before. I’d been so focused on Rosie that I barely remembered her. Blonde. She’d been blonde. And tall, too. Beyond that, I couldn’t remember any details.

Rosie was nodding, oblivious that my fascination with her was compromising my short-term memory. “Yeah. She’s not much of a cook either. She thinks microwaving leftovers is cooking.”

Microwaving leftovers isn’t cooking? I felt like adding heat to food was cooking no matter what. I decided not to argue the point.

“How long have you two lived together?” I asked instead. I wasn’t just making conversation; I was genuinely curious. It seemed odd to me that Rosie would be living in such a rundown place, especially if she had a roommate. With combined rent they ought to be able to live somewhere a lot less… sad and wet.

“We lived together freshman year in the dorms. We got randomly assigned but it magically worked out.” Rosie grinned. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

I thought back to my first randomly assigned roommate, Dylan. He was a very weird, eerily quiet and withdrawn kid. He kept turtles in our dorm room, and they’d smelled musty and gross. He’d also given me head lice. I’d never been happier to move out.

“You were lucky,” I told her. “Random assignments can be a real craps shoot.”

Rosie grinned and doused her plate in a diabetes-producing amount of syrup. Rosie had a serious sweet tooth. “Oh, for sure. I’m not sure what I would have done without Trina. She let me stay with her all summer long.”

“You stayed here over the summer? Why didn’t you go home to LA?” I tried to think of a good reason. Summer school? An internship?

Rosie blinked. “LA isn’t my home.”

“It isn’t?” That was a surprise.

She frowned like she was considering telling me the truth. Finally, she sighed. She pushed her pancake bite around the syrup mote she’d created morosely.

“No. I grew up in Rhode Island with my mom.” She paused. “You didn’t tell me you were a music agent.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“I want to be a singer one day.” She grinned. “I don’t expect your help or anything, but I wouldn’t turn it down, either.”

I was halfway stunned that she would come right out and say it, but the Ross tendency to be direct when it suited them was strong in her.

I smiled at her as gently as I could. “I don’t think your dad would let me represent you.”

She laughed, and I felt immeasurably relieved. “I’m sure he wouldn’t. I didn’t know my dad even worked in the music industry though. I thought it was just film.”

I was genuinely surprised. “He’s got his tentacles in all sorts of things. I run the music wing of the talent agency, but not all of his ventures are even entertainment related. In the past few years he’s acquired a criminal and family law firm in the Midwest, a private eye in Ohio, and a tax shop in New Hampshire. I have no idea how big the total network is, but your dad has all sorts of operations. You really didn’t know?”

Rosie had smirked at the word ‘tentacles’, but then she just shook her head. “Wow. I mean, I knew he was really rich, but he doesn’t always share details with me. Plus, I actually didn’t even talk to my dad for a solid decade. My parents’ divorce was uniquely nasty. They despise one another. Now that I’m talking to my dad again, my mom won’t talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her, hoping that I hadn’t poked an open wound. My parents had divorced, too. I’d been eleven and Ian had been fourteen. It had made both our adolescent years much more difficult than they needed to be. Being caught in the middle of warring parents meant you lost—no matter what. The fact that Rosie’s parents were making her choose between them for their own selfish reasons sounded especially cruel.

Rosie merely shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” She tucked her unruly hair behind her ear again. It had a tendency to break free of wherever she put it. It was wild and free. Like her.

Rosie was half right about not knowing about her family drama. If I wracked my brain, I could actually recall Ross talking about his shrew of an ex-wife sabotaging his relationship with Rosie. He’d lamented how difficult it was to get Rosie to listen to him because of her meddling mother’s influence. Only he hadn’t used language half as nice to describe his former wife. Apparently, the drama was much deeper and weirder than I realized.

“Your dad talks about you a lot,” I finally admitted to her. “I almost feel like I know you.”

Rosie’s eyes widened. “He does?” She sounded flattered.

I nodded, smiling at the reaction. If she knew how much he talked about her, she might really be embarrassed. “He’s very proud of you, Rosie.”

“He is?” She sounded shocked. Shocked. Far more shocked than I would have thought.

“Yes. He thinks you hung the moon. He’s always talking about how great it is that you’re in the University of Texas’ honors program.”

Rosie looked away. “That’s nice I guess.”

“Rosie, is there something weird going on with you and your dad? He seemed really excited to have heard from you yesterday.”

Rosie frowned, and her full mouth became a thin, stubborn line. “We haven’t been talking much lately.” Her tone said, ‘move on, weirdo’.

I ignored the obvious warning signs. Like someone choosing to edge themselves right off a cliff because they wanted a better view, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Did you two have a fight? I mean, it was your birthday yesterday…”

Something hardened behind her eyes, turning them from soft and vulnerable to guarded and suspicious in the time between one blink and the next. “I’d rather not discuss my personal business with a stranger if you don’t mind. You might feel like you know me, but I don’t really know you at all.”

There were moments when she really did remind me of her father. She had definitely inherited his ability to be haughty and superior. She stared down her nose at me like I was a particularly loathsome cockroach. That being said, she was completely within her rights to assert some boundaries in this situation. I was glad she knew how. And it wasn’t any of my business, either.

“Sorry. I promise I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just curious.”

She shrugged but didn’t soften at my apology. Her eyes were still extremely suspicious. “Do you think I can go home today?”

I’d pissed her off. That much was obvious. And now, she’d totally shut down. There wasn’t any warmth in her expression at all. She clearly didn’t want to chat with me anymore. She’d gone from cautiously friendly to ready to bolt.

Good going, dumbass. Only five minutes in and she’s already annoyed with you again.

I attempted not display my enormous disappointment. “I don’t know. After breakfast we can go check out the repairs if you want.” I tried to look a non-threatening as I could.

“I can go by myself.” She was looking anywhere but me again. Her eyes were fixed on her mostly untouched pancakes. I feared she wasn’t going to eat because of me. I’d already wolfed down my breakfast. I didn’t like the idea that she would forgo breakfast because I weirded her out. I waited until she took at least one more reluctant bite before speaking.

“You don’t have a car,” I reminded her when she finally shoved a bit more pancake in her mouth. How she existed without a car was a mystery. It was also incredible, because Austin is not a town with good, effective public transportation. The idea that Ross would leave his daughter without a safe and reliable means of getting around was baffling. There was something seriously weird going on between the two of them.

“I’ll get an Uber,” she replied. Her tone was flat.

“I don’t mind driving you. Plus, I need to talk to the property manager.”

Her eyes rose from her pancake just long enough to dart around my face. I wondered if she was debating the safety of getting into a car with me. Considering the fact that she’d slept in my house last night, it bothered me a bit. Clearly, I’d really pissed her off with my questions about her dad. It was obviously a sore subject, and honestly, nothing I should have been prying into. I could tell she couldn’t wait to be away from me and my invasive questions.

“Alright,” she said to me eventually. Her voice was free of any hints about what she was feeling. “I’m going to take a shower first if you don’t mind.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Of course. Go ahead. I’ll clean this up. Thanks again for cooking.”

She nodded and disappeared up the stairs before I could get another word in.