Page 42 of You Again

My girl.

Rosalie and the waiter share a few more words that I can’t make out, and then she’s back in her book.

I drink five lemonades and eat a chicken salad sandwich slower than a sloth. I won’t be the first one leaving. I stay as long as she does—which is a while. In fact, I should have brought a book. I look strange just sitting here, picking at my sandwich for two hours. A book would have been smart—an excellent cover.

Next time.

When Rose finally stands to leave, she says goodbye to the waiter, and she even leans in, giving the older man a short side hug.

I’ve never been the jealous type, but I’d do just about anything to switch shoes with that man. And then, she’s gone. Out the door, in her car, driving away.

It takes everything inside of me to keep from following after her. But I pull up my app and watch as my Rosalie dot drives home.

My breaths are short and my heart still knocks in my chest like a hammer to a nail.

“She’s a pretty girl,” the waiter from Rosalie’s table says. He’s standing right next to me, my check in his hand.

“Uh—” I repress a cough. “Who?”

He smiles and points toward her empty table. “Miss Rosie.”

“Ah.” I nod.

“I saw that you noticed her… and noticed her… and noticed her.” The man chuckles.

I clear my throat. “Like you said, she’s pretty.”

“What did you do?” he says, pointing to my leg in its boot.

I swallow. “Car accident.”

“That’s bad luck. I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” says the man who’s never met me before. He slaps a hand to my back, then hands me my check. “I assume you’re ready to go now.”

I peek back at Rosalie’s table before looking at her observant waiter again. “Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m ready.”

The man—Carlos, his tag reads—winks before taking my credit card. “And,” he says with a grin, “I assume you’ll be back.”

Twenty-One

Present Day

The patio table in Callum’s backyard, with my closest friends sitting around it, goes deathly quiet. All eyes on me.

“What?” My foot taps nervously beneath the table.

“You told her you were still in love with your last girlfriend?” Maggie’s brows are knit. She looks from me to Lucca. She may be a referee, but not in Callum’s backyard, so why is she questioning this? Why is she looking at me like I’m guilty? What else was I supposed to say? I can’t lie about my feelings for Rosalie.

But then everyone else is looking at me the same way.

“Oh sweetie,” Fran says. And I hate the pitiful tone she’s using.

“It’s just—” Stella bounces little Ivy on her lap. She licks her lips and peers down at her baby who squawks out a cry.

Roman stands, and our resident Red Tail grump holds out his arms for the baby girl. “I think everyone is worried that if you’re telling her you’re still in love with someone else⁠—”

“With Rosalie,” I bark. “Not someone else.”

“Yes, but Rosalie doesn’t know that,” Callum says, sitting up straighter, his voice the sound of reason.