CHAPTER TWO
Rosie
Lucas looked up from his position on the floor, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
“I…” Ugh. This was not how I’d pictured meeting Lucas. This wasn’t even in the same galaxy of how I’d constructed this moment in my head. And I’d had time—over a year of it—to come up with dozens of different scenarios.
“Hello, Lucas,” I said. “It’s… It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Finally?
Yep. I’d said finally.
Lucas’s brows drew together, and I felt the tips of my ears grow even warmer. My face was probably flashing red, too.
“You’re definitely not a burglar!” I blurted out to veer the conversation away from that stupid, stupid finally. “And I’m also so, so very sorry I assumed you were. I’m sure this was not how you imagined arriving in New York. Or Lina’s apartment for that matter. Anyway, can I please help you up?”
But Lucas remained on his back, brandishing that grin that had taken shape minutes ago. As if all of this was okay. Normal. Which wasn’t. It really wasn’t. Because Lucas Martín was here. On my doorstep—or, well, Lina’s doorstep. And I was making the worst first impression ever.
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly see this coming,” he said as he stretched his arm up, letting his hand hover above him, right at the height of my stomach. “But either way, it’s really nice to meet you, Rosalyn Graham.”
I stared at that hand, taking in the long fingers attached to it. Then, my eyes jumped to the tan skin of his wrist, which was swathed by a worn leather cord bracelet.
A small part of me wondered how his skin would feel against my fingers, but both my arms remained glued to my sides.
“How do you… know my name?” I asked.
Because Lucas had said my full name.
His hand remained in the air, waiting. Just like his smile.
“I heard it earlier,” he answered casually. “You know, when you told the emergency dispatcher. Right after you called me deranged.”
I winced. “Oh God, I guess I did that, didn’t I?” I blew a breath out of my nose. “I’m so sorry about that, too.” I blinked some more. My eyes now fixated on the section of skin on his forearm that had been gradually revealed as the sleeve of his sweatshirt slid down. But I still didn’t reach for his hand and he let it drop down to his side. “I swear I had no idea you were arriving tonight. Lina never said anything. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called the cops. Heck, I wouldn’t even be here if I had known you were coming.”
Lucas tilted his head with what I assumed was curiosity. Probably wanting to ask why. Why the hell are you here, then?
“But you can call me Rosie,” I continued. “Everyone does. You can, too. If you want, of course. But Rosalyn is also fine.”
A soft chuckle escaped through his permanent grin, followed by a simple, “Rosie.”
As if he was testing the name on his tongue.
And God, the way he pronounced it, coated in that strong Spanish accent that rolled his Rs as if his whole body was pitching the sound and not just his tongue and vocal chords. It was so… different from every other way my name had been pronounced. Interesting. Distracting.
“Rosie,” he repeated after a couple of seconds. “Qué dulce,” he added in what I knew was his mother tongue, Spanish, but wasn’t sure what it meant. “I like it. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, my whole body feeling increasingly warm. I shifted in my feet. “You have a good name, too, Lucas. It’s very… groovy.”
Groovy.
Oh God. Oh Lord.
Did I just say that his name is groovy? Like a… a… disco ball? Or a seventies themed party?
“Thanks, I guess.” Lucas let out a chuckle. “All right, as comfortable as I am on the floor, I’m tired of looking at your face upside down, Rosie.”
And before I could process his words, Lucas got up on his feet in a quick maneuver I wasn’t expecting. Distracted by the motion, the size of him, that alluring roll of the R that was still echoing in my head, and ultimately, the effect of having Lucas Martín—in the flesh—in front of me, I almost missed it when he winced and doubled over.
“Watch out!” I said as I lunged myself forward and grasped his forearms a couple of seconds too late. His head was down, and I couldn’t see his face. “Are you okay?”
“Estoy bien,” he breathed out, as if the words in his mother tongue had unconsciously slipped out. He shook his head. “I’m okay. All under control.”
Slowly, he glanced at me from under his lashes, meeting my gaze and making all the blood in my body return to my face. Just before returning his eyes down, as if something had caught his attention.
I mirrored the motion.
My hands. They were around his upper arms in a death grip. Around what I now realized were very firm upper arms. Lined with muscles. Hard ones. Flexed ones.
We looked up at the same time, my now wide eyes meeting his brown ones.
Amusement entered his expression. “Good catch, Rosie.”
I let go of him immediately, as if those three words had blasted me backward.
“Of course,” I rushed out, clasping my hands in front of me and averting my eyes from his face. They set up camp on a point below his chin. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, nothing to worry about.” He waved a hand in the air. “I should have probably stretched my legs a couple times instead of sleeping through most of the flight.”
“Right.” I nodded my head. “You just got off a transatlantic flight.” Because this was Lucas Martín and he had just crossed half the world to get here. From Spain, where he was from. And what had I done? Locked him out, called the cops, and then left him lying on the floor for a stupidly large amount of time.
“Oh no,” he said. “I flew in from Phoenix.”
Oh.
Oh?
“Was that a layover or were you already in—” I stopped myself, realizing it really wasn’t my business whether Lucas had been in the country or not. “Either way, here I am anyway, keeping you at the door. Please, come in.” I stepped to one side to let him into his cousin’s apartment feeling all kinds of… out of place.
Lucas lifted a heavy-looking backpack off the floor and walked in, allowing me a clear view of his backside. Now that his eyes weren’t on me, I finally let myself take him in. Take him really in, eyes traveling up and down the length of his body a couple of times.
And oh boy. He had long, lean-looking legs. Lucas was taller than I thought he would be based on what I’d seen of him during my online lurking. Even his shoulders were wider than I’d imagined. And the wrinkled gray sweatshirt he was wearing did nothing to hide them—or the muscles I’d noticed when I’d felt him up a few minutes ago. Or the way you could tell only by looking at his back that he was a professional athlete. That he surfed, competitively. And we were talking championships and tournaments and beautiful but scary-looking waves that reached incredible heights. Lucas had probably spent most of his life on the water and his body could endure—
The sound of his backpack falling snatched my attention. He had come to a stop next to the island that separated the kitchen and living areas in the cozy studio apartment.
“So, Rosie,” he said as he leaned down to pick up the stool I’d knocked to the floor earlier. He placed it upright next to its twin. “If you didn’t know I was coming…” He turned around, facing me with an easy grin. “And you wouldn’t have been here if you had known I was coming, then I guess you’re not my welcome committee, huh?” His voice was deep, his tone kind but playful. It made something in my belly take notice, something I pushed down immediately. “Pity, I was starting to think I should really thank my cousin.”
That something fluttered, making me stumble for an answer and immersing us in a strange silence.
Lucas’s smile fell.
“It was a joke,” he explained. “A really bad one, it seems. I’m sorry, I’m usually smoother than this.”
I blinked.
Think, Rosie. Think. Just say something. Anything.
“Ashton Kutcher,” was what my brain decided to go with. Lucas’s brows drew together. “The host of Punk’d, the prank show. The one you couldn’t remember.” I threw my hands in the air and lowered my tone. “You’ve been punked!”
He tilted his head, and I wished I could take back the last ten seconds of my life. Rewind, and say something else. Something smart. Flirty. Because was that too much to ask? I wasn’t even asking for the last ten minutes of my life. Or the last ten hours.
But then, he let out a laugh. It was a deep and happy sound. And for some strange reason, I knew it was genuine and not at my expense.
“Yes,” he said, shaking himself off his laughter. “That was the show I was talking about. And that’s him, the guy with the good hair.”
I stared at him—at his face, his upward lips, his beautiful eyes, his hair, which was far, far better than Ashton Kutcher’s ever was—and I felt myself smiling. I couldn’t help it.
Lucas’s gaze dipped to my mouth, though, and that kind of wiped the smile off my face.
“Okay,” I said, squaring my shoulders and averting my eyes. “This was fun.” It really hadn’t been. “But I think it’s time for me to go and leave you to… to it.”
Without wasting any time or considering the knot that had formed in his forehead, I moved in the direction of my belongings and kneeled in front of my two suitcases—one of which was open, and half unpacked—a filled-to-the-brim blue Ikea bag, and the box containing all my perishable groceries.
I heard a few steps to my right. Then, a pair of white sneakers came into view.
“You’re leaving,” Lucas said, just as I grabbed a stray shoe I couldn’t recall pulling out. “With all of… that.”
It hadn’t been a question, I knew that. But I answered anyway.
“Of course.” I snagged the stack of sweaters I’d also apparently taken out. “I was just dropping by Lina’s place to… to…” To occupy her clearly not vacant apartment while she was on her honeymoon because my apartment was uninhabitable at the moment. “To water her plants. Check on the mailbox. You know, that kind of stuff.”
A beat of silence.
“That doesn’t look like just dropping by, Rosie.”
“Oh.” I waved a hand, pushing the sweaters into the open suitcase with my other one. God, why in the world had I unpacked so much stuff? “This? This is all nothing.”
Just me, trying to not inconvenience a guy I might have had a teeny-tiny little online crush on.
He sat down on the floor in front of me. As if we were just hanging out.
My mouth opened and closed a couple of times until I came up with something. “What are you doing?”
Smart, Rosie.
Lucas chuckled, the sound light and unconcerned and not at all how I was feeling. “I was going to ask you what you’re really doing here, in my cousin’s apartment. I would have asked sooner but we were… busy.” A shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t think I’m owed an explanation. All of this”—he spun a finger in the air—“is clearly Lina’s fault. You didn’t have any idea I was coming.”
“I really didn’t.”
“Does she know that you’re here, then?”
I let out a sigh. “No…” I trailed off, even though I did think Lucas was owed an explanation. “But not for lack of trying. I called her—and Aaron—to check if I could use my spare key and stay the night.” Or more like a few nights, plural. “But neither of them picked up. Their phones must be out of reception.”
His eyes roamed around my face, as if he was trying to piece something together. Then, he moved his hand, pulling a small object out from his pocket. “Speaking of keys,” he said, holding it between his fingers. “I wasn’t lying. I do have one.”
My lips parted with another apology, but Lucas stopped me with a shake of his head. “Lina left it at the pizzeria down the street. Alessandro’s? She left instructions for me to pick it up from there.”
That made… sense. Although it didn’t change the fact that she’d never mentioned to me that Lucas was visiting.
“Good man, this Sandro,” Lucas pointed out with a nod. “I must have looked seriously beat, because he even offered me food.” Lucas’s face brightened impossibly, reminding me of an Instagram post where he’s staring at a steak as if that piece of juicy meat had just hung the moon and stars for him. “Probably the best pizza I’ve had in a long while.”
“Sounds like Sandro,” I told him, thinking of the dark-haired, middle-aged man. “And I’m not surprised. We’ve been ordering pizza from Alessandro’s at least once a week ever since Lina moved here a few years ago.”
Probably the reason my best friend had felt safe enough to leave a set of keys with him.
“I was told as much,” Lucas said, a twinkle in his eye, making me wonder what Sandro had said about us. Hopefully not that we always ordered enough to feed a small army.
We stared at each other for a long moment. And although it wasn’t as awkward as a few minutes ago, it wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence, either. Not when my secret infatuation with this man that sat on the floor in front of me seemed to be swelling like a balloon, taking all the space between us. And certainly not when all these facts and details I had collected over more than a year and kept hidden in a sealed cabinet in my mind started pouring out.
Like how I knew Lucas actually loved pineapple on pizza just because it was still food—something I’d never understand. Or how I also knew that he had gotten that tiny scar on his chin by tripping over the leash of Taco—his beautiful Belgian shepherd—and falling on his face. Or how I had learned that he prefers sunrises over sunsets.
Dear God. The amount of information one could learn from someone’s socials when one looked long and frequently enough was terrifying.
“Rosie,” he said so sweetly that I felt a ball of shame climb up my throat.
What had I been thinking, stalking someone like that? “Yeah?” I croaked.
“What are you really doing here?”
I debated answering that question genuinely. Not because I didn’t want Lucas to know the truth, but because this encounter had been filled with enough dramatics, and adding my ill-fated day to it was too much.
“There was a little problem in my building.” I swallowed, settling for a half-truth. “Nothing important, but I thought it would be better to leave for the night.”
His brows arched. “And what was this little problem?”
“Plumbing issue.” I shrugged. “Nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ll be back in no time.”
A hum left him. “Is that why you packed all your stuff?” His head bobbed down, pointing at the bags and scattered items between us. “And all your… food, too? Just for a night?”
“I snack.” I looked everywhere but at him. “I’m a big night snacker. I could easily go through all of this in one night.”
“Okay,” he said, but it sounded like he didn’t believe me.
Fair, because I was lying.
I glanced at him, and I never knew what it was about his expression but I heard myself saying, “Okay. It wasn’t a little problem. There’s a crack in my ceiling. Big enough for me to pack everything, hail a cab, and come spend the night here.”
Here, because Dad had moved to Philly and my brother, Olly, wasn’t answering my calls. Here, because on top of that, I’d been lying to them for months—six, exactly—and going to spend the night with either of them would reveal the truth and expose my lies.
“Sorry, this is nothing you should worry about. It’s all good, really.” I looked around, taking in my best friend’s cramped studio. “This is a one-room apartment and there’s only one bed, so I guess… I know we can’t both stay here.” Frankly, I could and would take the couch but putting Lucas in that position wasn’t something he deserved after tonight. And I was embarrassed enough. “I’ll book a hotel for the night.”
I looked at him in time to see his lips twitching. It wasn’t a smile. It was some sort of grimace. “You’re okay, though?” he asked.
I frowned, taken a little aback by the question. “What?”
“The crack on your ceiling,” he said. “It sounds serious. Are you okay?”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “I’m… fine, yes.”
But Lucas didn’t look like he believed me. Again.
“Seriously. I’m a New Yorker. I’m tough as nails.” I let out a laugh I hoped sounded genuine and shuffled some more of the scattered items closer. “Just let me get everything and I’ll call an Uber.”
I inspected my disorganized mess. Then, I started to chuck everything inside the bags as fast as I could.
That was probably why I didn’t notice that Lucas was on the move until he was on his feet and striding away. He stopped when he reached his backpack, picked it up, and flung it over a shoulder.
“What—” I started going up on my two feet. “Where are you going?”
Lucas rearranged the weight at his back. His smile was back in place, lopsided and… yeah, still distracting. “Somewhere else. I’m not staying here.”
“What?” I gaped at him. “Why?”
He took a step in the direction of the door. “Because it’s past midnight and you look like you’re about to pass out.”
I blinked. Then, I noticed my hand shooting to my hair. Did I look—
I let my hand drop. How I looked wasn’t important. One, because there wasn’t anything to do about that now. And two, because… there really wasn’t anything to do about it. “Do you have a place to stay?” I finally asked him. “Any place other than Lina’s?”
“Of course.” He shrugged, his lips not bulging. “This is New York City—the options are endless.”
“No.” I shook my head, taking a step sideways and blocking his way to the door. “I can’t let you do that. I’ll be the one leaving. This is your cousin’s apartment. You even have a key. You… can’t go spend the night at a hotel.”
His smile turned warmer. “That’s sweet, Rosie. But unnecessary.” He walked around me, making me turn around on my heels to keep track of him. “Plus, it’s easier this way. I only have a backpack with me, and you have…” His gaze jumped to my big, messy pile. “You have a lot more than that.”
“But—”
He met my gaze again, and the way his brows bent into a sort of frown was so at odds with his easy grin that I lost my train of thought.
“Listen,” he said very calmly. “I’m a blunt man so I’m just going to say it, yeah?”
I swallowed.
“I’m under the impression that me being here is making you very uncomfortable.” A pause. “I’m actually sure that’s the case. And it’s okay, we’ve just met.”
What? Oh my gosh, and that was why he was leaving? He— “I’m not uncomfortable,” I countered in the most not comfortable way. “It’s not for the reason you think.” He tilted his head and my mouth opened again to give him something else, anything else. But nothing came out. Only a stammered, “It’s— It’s not—”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, cutting me off, and for some reason, I had the feeling he’d done that to save me from myself. “You stay here for the night, get some rest, and tomorrow I’ll be back. We’ll start over. Forget tonight happened. Then, we’ll figure out what to do in terms of accommodation.” A careful pause. “What do you think?”
We’ll start over. Forget tonight happened.
What I’d give for that to be something we could do. “But there’s nothing to figure out, Lucas. Lina promised you the apartment. You should be the one taking it.”
“Okay,” he said simply. “But not tonight.”
This wasn’t right. This was so not okay. Everything about it had gone wrong and I… I only realized I was blowing air out of my mouth when I heard my mouth releasing it.
Lucas’s chuckle was deep, masculine. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”
My lips parted, ready to fight him some more, to tackle him to the floor and make him stay if I had to.
But then he said, “It will be fine, Rosie.” And his expression turned serious. Earnest. “Everything will be okay.”
And all my determination to fight him back loosened up, letting the exhaustion in. The toll from years and years of trying to keep everything together, contained, always on my own, washed right over me. Head to toes, like a wave. And for once, just for this one time that I was being told those four words, Everything will be okay, instead of being the one using them to comfort someone else, I felt the need to let go.
“Okay. Thank you for doing this,” I murmured, and I meant it more than Lucas would probably ever know.
He nodded slightly, then took another step away. “See you tomorrow, then. I’ll knock this time, I promise.”
I tried to think of something clever and funny to say, but what was the point anyway? I’d already ruined this. First impressions were like words penned with permanent ink. Once etched on paper, there was little one could do to change them. So, I simply stared at him as he turned the knob and threw the door open.
“Hey, Rosie?” he called before crossing the threshold. “It’s been great finally meeting Lina’s best friend.”
Finally.
He’d said finally.
Just like I had a while ago. But probably for a completely different reason.
“Likewise, Lucas. This was all… great.” A great freaking disaster.
A small smile turned his lips up. “Do me a favor and lock up after I’m gone, yes?” He turned around, giving me his back and striding away. “You never know who might try to break in.”
And just like that, I watched Lucas Martín disappear down the stairs as swiftly as he had landed right on my doorstep—or Lina’s doorstep.
As if this had been nothing more than a dream, all of it a product of my imagination.
A silly and bizarre dream about a man I had spied on through the screen of my phone for months and months, all thanks to the magic of social media.
A man I had somehow harbored the biggest, stupidest crush on, even when I hadn’t even meet him in person and even when I’d thought I probably never would.