Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

Rosie

When I woke up the following morning—at exactly 6:00 a.m., just like I had done every weekday for the last five years but didn’t need to anymore—I did so with a certain brown-eyed, smile-wearing man in mind.

And for a split second, I was sure I’d dreamed it all.

Lucas Martín at the door. The disaster that followed.

But as seconds ticked by and awareness returned, I realized none of that had been a product of my subconscious. It had really happened. Lucas had really been here. I had really mistaken him for a burglar. And I had managed to make the worst first impression in the history of first impressions.

We’ll start over. Forget tonight happened.

If only I could be so lucky.

Covering my face with one arm, I groaned loudly.

To make things worse, my much less dumbfounded brain realized now that I’d let him leave—venture into a city he had just arrived in—with barely any resistance on my side. I’d taken the apartment and left him on his own.

God, I was the worst.

I rolled on my side, refusing to get up and leave the comforting safety of my best friend’s bed. My gaze fell on a framed picture of Lina and her grandmother that rested on a shelf, reminding me of how close she’s always been to her family.

But then, why hadn’t Lina said anything about Lucas’s visit? Lina was an oversharer, especially with me. This was something she would have said at least in passing.

In Lina’s defense, ever since Aaron proposed in September last year, she had been swarmed with the wedding preparations. Planning a wedding in Spain from the other side of the world wasn’t exactly easy. And after tying the knot two months ago in a beautiful summer wedding by the sea, she had been overwhelmed by everything that followed, even if they hadn’t left for their honeymoon until now, in October. So, I guessed… I guessed it must have slipped her mind.

Closing my eyes, I decided that either way, it didn’t matter. Now Lucas was in New York, and Aaron and Lina were away, in Peru, enjoying their deserved honeymoon. I had no business feeling hurt.

Especially when I myself wasn’t being truthful to those around me. Lina had no idea about my secret crush on her cousin. And that was nothing in comparison to consistently lying to Dad and Olly about my job situation for months. Months.

A surge of courage filled my chest.

All of that ended today. No more lying.

I’d give Lina a heads-up about what had gone down yesterday, and I’d go to Philly to see Dad. Maybe Olly could meet us there. If he stopped dodging our calls, that was.

Rearranging myself so my back rested against the headboard, I reached for my phone, clicked on Lina’s name in the messages app, and started typing.

Hey, I hope Peru is treating you two lovebirds well Listen, last night—

My thumbs hovered over the screen, hesitating.

Last night… I almost had your cousin Lucas arrested. Surprise!

No. That was a definite no.

I deleted it and started again.

Last night… my ceiling cracked open, so I used your spare key to let myself into your place (couldn’t reach you but I knew you wouldn’t mind!). Anyway, everything was fine until Lucas showed up and I somehow mistook him for a burglar. Remember Lucas? Your cousin. The one whose Instagram profile you showed me what feels like an eternity ago? Well, I’ve been… checking it out. A few times. More than just a few times. Something like every day? It’s hard to explain but think… Joe Goldberg. Minus the murders.

Yeah, also a no. That was too long for a text.

The word murders was probably a red flag, too.

With a long and noisy sigh, I deleted the text and let the phone drop into my lap.

The truth was that I had kind of stalked Lucas online. In a totally harmless way.

Ever since Lina showed me one of his social posts, I’d been curious. And I hadn’t started checking his profile regularly until Aaron had proposed a year ago and I’d… hoped I’d meet Lucas at the wedding. And just like that, what started as nothing more than curiosity turned into something else.

Every photo he posted, whether he was in it or not, brought butterflies to my stomach. Every short but always funny and honest caption brought me a little closer to him. Every clip he uploaded allowed me to get an insight into his and Taco’s lives. Into the attractive and handsome man he was.

Sure, it hadn’t hurt that as a pro surfer, he’d been shirtless in most of his posts.

Some people had celebrities like Chris Evans or Chris Hemsworth or any of the other Chrises, to inject that shot of serotonin before bed. A little daydreaming and a lot of wishful thinking. And I supposed… I supposed I’d had Lucas Martín.

It had been nothing more than a silly, innocent infatuation with someone I didn’t really know. Plus, it had been put to rest the moment he’d mysteriously vanished and stopped updating—weeks before Lina and Aaron’s wedding—and turned out to be a no-show at the ceremony. I had buried all of that nonsense and told myself enough was enough.

My phone rang in my lap, and all of that was immediately forgotten when I caught my little brother’s face flashing on the screen.

A long sigh came through the line.

When Dad announced about a year ago that he was leaving Queens, where he had spent most of his life and where Olly and I had been brought up, to move to Philly, Olly had announced he wasn’t leaving. He also informed us that, unlike me, he wouldn’t be taking the college route. And we’d supported him, encouraged him to search for what it was that made him happy. I’d even helped him out with rent and living expenses until recently. But he struggled to find his calling. He struggled to keep a job for more than a few weeks, too.

The line was silent for so long that I feared he’d hung up.

Another sigh came.

Hope inflated my chest for a second there, but it was quickly stifled by a hundred dozen new questions.

I was close to scoffing at his you don’t need to worry about me, but I held the sound in. Olly was an adult, and I understood his need for boundaries. His wish not to be babysat. But I was still his big sister, and he was still the kid I used to feed Froot Loops to for dinner when our fridge was empty, and Dad was working night shifts. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll drop it.” Then added, “For today.”

He muttered a half-hearted, “Thank you.”

A beat of silence, then he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to go to the office today? It’s Monday.”

I winced, silently cursing myself for my careless slip. Oh, crap. “I… yes. You’re right.” And he was, technically. What Olly—or Dad—didn’t know was that for the past six months, I hadn’t been calling InTech’s Manhattan headquarters the office. “But I have taken the day off. Just today. My boss is… more flexible with my time off now that I’m, you know, a team leader.”

He sighed. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

Ah, progress, I hoped. “I’ll text you the train timetable, yeah? We can meet at the station.”

Bean. It had been ages since he’d called me that. “I love you, too, Olly.”

And with those parting words I set to get ready and go confess the truth to the man who had worked multiple jobs to give my brother and me a good life after he’d been left on his own with us. The man who had raised us, alone, after our mother had taken off and left us behind. The man who had put me through college with the sweat of his brow and a determination of steel. The man to whom I owed the financial security my engineering degree had given me until recently. Until that day six months ago when I took a leap of faith to change my life. My career.

Oh boy.

How did one tell such a man that I had decided to quit the stable, well-paid position he—and I—had worked so hard for, only to chase dreams that were nothing more than ink on paper?

How did one tell a man who had sacrificed so much that I had exchanged an established career with amazing prospects for one that wasn’t guaranteed?

I didn’t have the slightest idea. And that was exactly why I’d let that secret sit on my shoulders for months.

But that ended today.

I kept repeating that mantra as I went through the motions of getting ready. I threw on the first thing I could pull out of my suitcase: a pair of light blue jeans and an oversized burgundy sweater. And like pretty much every morning, I unsuccessfully tried to tame the mess of dark curls on my head and settled for tying them loosely on top of my head.

Once I made my way out, I settled on a plan of action.

First, I’d get Dad’s favorite sausage rolls from O’Brien’s, a bakery here in Brooklyn, only a few minutes away from Lina’s place. I’d wait for him to bite into the savory fried goodness and, boom, I’d drop the bomb.

It was a good plan.

At least, I was trying to convince myself of that as I entered the bakery, placed my order, and made my way out with Dad’s bribe. That was probably why, when I stepped onto the sidewalk, I almost tripped when my gaze fell into the window of the diner across the street.

I did a double take. Then, a third. I probably stared for about a good full minute.

But how could I not, when Lucas was sitting there, in the window of the diner, hair an unruly mess, and lean and strong arms crossed over his chest. That mouth I’d seen mostly grinning, hung open as his head rested on the back of the seat and I could tell he had on the same clothes he had been wearing last night.

But I had to be wrong. That couldn’t be Lucas.

He couldn’t be sleeping in that diner, in front of a mug and an empty plate. He was supposed to be in a hotel. Unless…

That thought was left unfinished as my two feet carried me across the street and into the diner, this big, pressing question bouncing off the walls of my head. Had he spent the night here? And if so, why? Why hadn’t he gone to a hotel?

I crossed the threshold and walked up to him, the warm bag of pastries still dangling from my fingers.

I took him in up close, the bags under his eyes and the impossibly wrinkled clothes. The start of what looked like… drool falling out of the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even hear me.

I cleared my throat and leaned down a little. “Lucas,” I repeated.

Guilt tangled with worry in my stomach, making me want to shake him awake so I could demand answers and apologize a few hundred times. All at once. Because someone didn’t just sleep at a diner unless necessary and I shouldn’t have let him leave so easily last night.

Tentatively, I reached out, my free hand landing softly on his shoulder. “Hey.” I shook him lightly, trying not to focus on how warm and solid he felt through his sweatshirt. “Lucas, wake up.”

And… Still nothing. God, he slept like the dead.

I was left with no other option but…

His mouth snapped shut and one of his eyes popped open.

A brown eyeball took me in. Then his expression was relaxing back until a sleepy version of his smile took shape before me.