Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rosie

We were roommates.

Temporary roommates, as I’d been sure to make very clear.

Because I wouldn’t take advantage of Lucas’s kindness.

It was one thing to stay in Lina’s empty place while she was on her honeymoon, like I’d intended when I’d shown up two nights ago. But it was Lucas who had been promised the apartment. I’d only accepted his help because I… I was a little desperate.

And I didn’t mind the company.

And fine, okay. I was tempted by the idea of spending more time with him, too; temptation encouraged by my—totally under control—crush. But most of all, I was running out of time. I had eight more weeks until my deadline and I couldn’t afford wasting them searching for an alternative, affordable accommodation if I was being honest. Realistic. I needed every minute and penny I had, because worse come to worst, if I didn’t hit my deadline and cash in part of my advance, my savings account would suffer.

So I’d stay with Lucas. For a few days. Until the repairs at my apartment were done. Which I was hopeful would be soon.

Returning my gaze to my laptop as it sat in front of me, I reminded myself that my focus should be on my manuscript, and not on everything else going sideways in my life. Particularly, not on Lucas.

I checked my word count for the day.

One hundred out of my daily goal of two thousand words.

A sad hundred words in three long hours. Half of which were notes for me. Setting the nonexistent scene.

I returned my gaze to the mostly blank page in front of me. My fingers hovered over the keys and I… I closed my eyes, tried to summon something, anything, and nothing solidified. Fear sprouted. Spread. Settled right in the middle of my chest. Like a stone, heavy and solid. And just like it always happened, that familiar urge to scream rose.

And once more, I suppressed it.

Because I was Rosie. Keeping it together was my thing. I planned, rationalized, took a deep breath, and adjusted without losing my shit. I was the reliable friend and daughter.

When I’d written my first—and only other—book, everything had just… come to me. It had been like opening a valve and releasing something that had been locked inside, waiting to be let out. The yearning to be loved, fiercely. The wonder of becoming someone else’s world. The joy of finding that person—that one person—that… fits. Someone who isn’t necessarily perfect, because nobody really is, but someone who is perfect for you.

The time-traveling spin had been just for fun, because I’d always had a soft spot for a lost, fish-out-of-water hero. So I created a man from the past, an officer stuck in the present day, battling his demons and trying to come to terms with a love he thinks he doesn’t deserve. Because he might have been lost, but that never meant he couldn’t be found by someone. His person. Even when all odds are against him and even after being flung forward in time a century or two.

So why couldn’t I—

A loud screech caught my attention.

Lucas?

It couldn’t be. He’d left to explore the city a few hours ago and wasn’t supposed to return until late afternoon.

I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.

An old woman dressed in red dungarees stood in front of her door across the hall, her hands on her hips. A loveseat seemed only halfway inside her apartment.

I stepped into the hallway and ventured a “Hi there! Do you need help with that?”

No reaction or acknowledgment. The woman was busy pulling at one of the arms of the mustard-colored leather loveseat, which was lodged into the doorframe.

Still oblivious to my presence, the woman—who must have been somewhere in her seventies from the mane of gray hair and crooked posture—shoved the piece of furniture forcefully. And when it didn’t move, she took a couple of staggering steps back.

Closing the distance between us quickly, I gripped one of the arms of the loveseat.

Her gaze finally zeroed in on me, her brows shooting up her wrinkled forehead. She screeched, “Oh, for the love of all that is holy!” A hand patted her chest. “You scared the bejesus out of me, girl!”

I gave her my friendliest smile. “I’m so sorry, I tried to get your attention a couple of times, but you must have somehow missed me.”

Her eyes narrowed.

My smile fell. “I’m Rosie.” I waited for her to introduce herself, but she didn’t. “It looks like you’re struggling with this, and I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

The woman’s eyes swiped up and down my body very slowly. “I don’t know.”

For whatever reason, I formulated that as a question.

The woman tilted her head. “Maybe.” Still unconvinced, she continued her perusal. “You don’t live here.”

My expression fell. “Catalina Martín. Short? Brunette? Around my age? You don’t know her?” The lady blinked. “She… She…” Why couldn’t I think of anything that would describe my best friend? “Oh God, I swear I know her—”

She waved a hand in the air, stopping me. “I was testing you.” A low chuckle left her. “Always says hi, no partying, no stinky animals, and a very tall boyfriend. I like her. And I like him, too.”

I flinched. “Oh, that was actually me and my…” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish that. My roommate? My best friend’s cousin I mistook for a burglar? “Lucas. Not my Lucas, but just Lucas. I’m sorry for the trouble.” I paused, growing uncomfortable. I looked at the loveseat once again. “So… Do you think we can move this? Together?”

Lina’s neighbor gave me one more once-over. “Fine, I guess you’ll do. I’m Adele, by the way.”

She nodded, murmuring something that sounded a lot like smart-ass.

And… the thing didn’t budge an inch.

Mostly because Adele had pulled.

Adele shot me a dirty look. “Don’t use that tone with me, missy. I know what I’m doing.”

Oh dear God. I really didn’t have time for this.

I gave her a big, toothy smile. “Just trying to help, Adele.”

I winced, looking down at my arms.

Something occurred to me. “Adele, are we moving this in or—”

Battling whether I should question her further, I braced both hands on the edge.

I looked over at her, waiting for instructions, but Adele’s expression had changed. The blood had drained from her face, her skin paling and her eyes going glassy.

I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Adele? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

The woman stared into space for what seemed like a full minute, not responding to any of my attempts at moving her or making her return to herself.

Alarm pounded through me.

I couldn’t get her back into her apartment because the entrance was blocked by the loveseat. Calling for help felt like a waste when she wasn’t hurt. She was just… not here. As if her mind had left her.

Small beads of sweat formed in the back of my neck.

I called her name one last time with no response.

Right as I was pulling my phone out to dial for help, though, Adele’s eyes zeroed back in on me, confusion knitting her brows. Her eyes jumped to the stuck loveseat. Then down, right where my hand gripped her shoulder. What couldn’t be anything but alarm flickered in her expression.

But the lady in front of me had nothing to do with the snappy Adele from a few minutes ago. This woman was disoriented, looking as lost as someone who had just woken up from a dream.

Crap. Now I was feeling pretty panicky myself. “I—”

Lucas.

He was here.

The relief at hearing his voice was so sudden and unexpected that it almost felt like too much. Like I had to close my eyes and take a breath.

I heard his steps approaching us. “What’s going on here?” A pause. “What’s that sofa doing there?”

I turned in his direction, finding him standing only a few feet away from us. “We’re trying to move it out.” Our gazes met, and that bright grin he seemed to brandish so easily fell the moment he took a good look at me. “Or in. I… don’t really know, if I’m being honest.”

Lucas frowned, processing my words, his eyes scanning my face.

I blinked, my gaze jumping between the woman, who had her hands clasped under her chin, and Lucas, whose expression remained as calm as a millpond.

Mateo?

Adele glanced at me with a small frown. “But this can’t be your Lucas. He’s my Mateo.”

I smiled tightly, not knowing how the heck we had gotten here or how to veer the conversation far, far away.

After what seemed an eternity, Lucas said, “How about I get that thing out of the way, and get you back inside, Adele? I’m all about feminism, but I’m willing to take this one for the team.”

I finally dared to glance at him, just in time to meet his gaze briefly before he started in our direction.

He set a palm on Adele’s back and ushered her out of the way, then he returned to my side. Slowly, he leaned down and said only so I could hear, “Your Lucas to the rescue.”

Your Lucas.

A strange sound left my mouth.

Thankfully, Lucas got to work and a few minutes later, the loveseat was unstuck and back inside Adele’s apartment and my temporary roommate was guiding the frail woman back inside.

Adele giggled and smacked his arm down. “Oh, you rascal.”

And I stood there, so enraptured by the odd and bittersweet scene—and enthralled by the way Lucas radiated this soothing and commanding kind of energy—that it caught me off guard when he looked back over his shoulder and met my eyes.

You coming? he mouthed.

And I’d never know what he saw in my expression as our gazes remained locked for the next seconds, but when I didn’t move, he said more gravely, in this firm yet sweet tone, “Come, Rosie.” And my two feet pushed forward and I followed them in.

After preparing some tea and chatting for a while, Adele assured us her daughter was coming over later in the evening. And when she eventually drifted off, we returned to Lina’s place. To our place. For now. A part of me seemed to note.

Just as the front door closed behind us, we let our backs fall against the wooden surface.

The shadow I had seen cross his face a few times returned.

Before I knew what I was doing, the words were leaving my mouth, “Was your heart broken, Lucas? Is that why you’re here, away from Spain?”

Lucas’s eyes opened and fell heavily on me.

Gazes locked, I pondered what his answer meant. Had he never been in love, then? Was he or was he not escaping a broken heart? And if he was, and no one was responsible for it, then what had caused it?

Lucas broke the silence. “Abuelo had Alzheimer’s. He used to confuse me with his little brother. At some point I stopped correcting him and pretended there was nothing wrong with his assumption. So even if I didn’t know if Adele could have been experiencing the same, I…”

Lucas looked down at where my fingers rested against his forearm, and I focused on how warm he felt beneath the sleeve of his sweater. He seemed to consider something, and then, without any kind of warning, he moved and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.

He opened a drawer and pulled a pan out. “I’m thinking frittata, roomie. Then, I have a couple of ideas for a white chocolate cheesecake I’ve been dying to try.”

With head and chest scrambling for composure after his hug attack, it took me a couple of seconds to make my vocal cords work. “Sounds okay.”

Oh, I didn’t need to wait and see a single thing.

I was starting to understand that where Lucas Martín was concerned, chances were, I’d never find anything I didn’t like.

And what was much, much worse, nothing I wouldn’t love.

We had been about to start the third consecutive episode of our show—as Lucas had called it—when Netflix decided to shut down our improvised binge party.

ARE YOU STILL WATCHING? My temporary roommate scoffed, reading the message on the screen in front of us. “Of course we’re still watching. They just killed one of the main characters and without that goddamn magical cure they just lost because of some stupid mind game, she’s not coming back to life anytime soon!”

I chuckled, amused by his frustration. “I warned you,” I said from my side of the couch, still finding it hard to believe that he was this invested in the paranormal teen drama. “I told you not to get attached to any of the characters…” I trailed off, needing to muffle a yawn. “Especially not her.”

I glanced over at him and found his eyes on me. “You tired?”

I wanted to say no, but unable to stop it this time, my mouth opened widely of its own accord.

Lucas laughed. “Okay, Bella Durmiente.”

Bella Durmiente.

The words sounded like a spell conjured just for my ears, alluring and distracting, and I knew I probably felt that way about them only because they had come from Lucas. “What does that mean?”

One second, he’d been right there, in his corner, sitting at a safe, conservative distance of three feet, and the next, he had closed the distance and his chest was pressed against my side.

The first thing I noticed was how warm he felt. The next thing that hit me was his scent. Salty, soapy, fresh. Undeniably Lucas in a way I couldn’t explain or understand how I’d missed earlier, when he’d squeezed me against him like he hadn’t been able to help himself. But now, it was all I could think of. All I could smell.

He stretched over me, as if he was looking for something somewhere on the other side.

He shifted so he could look me in the face, bringing our noses inches apart. “Did you hide it?”

I sensed his hand moving around the pillow I was sitting on. “The remote. You’re about to pass out, so I’m putting you to bed, Bella Durmiente.”

His tone was teasing, friendly. And I could see how unintentional and harmless his actions were. Heck, apparently he was just looking for the remote and I happened to be in the way. But all I could think about was him, right there, smelling amazing and so close that if I moved an inch to my left his chin would graze mine and I’d feel the stubble covering his jaw. All I could focus on was him, calling me things in Spanish. Or him being so sweet, that he wanted to put me to bed.

Ugh. I probably was better off finding the remote for him, smacking myself with it, and putting an end to this.

Lucas laughed, and before moving away, he tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. “Next time, hide it better.”

Cursing myself silently, I closed my eyes.

He waited a few seconds. “Did you… fall asleep while I was talking?”

And because this was me, and I had to fail at acting normal around this man, I miscalculated the distance to the coffee table and banged my knee against it.

I stepped back before his hand ever made contact. “I’m fine,” I reassured him. “It was nothing.”

Lucas straightened, coming to his full height. He looked down at me as if he was trying to piece something together. Then, he leaned his head to one side slowly, and to my utter surprise, he chuckled. “Yeah, not Bella Durmiente. You’re a tougher princess.”

And that unexpected observation, for whatever reason, made my heart do a cartwheel in my chest.

Perhaps I wanted to be tough. Or maybe, I simply wanted to be called a princess by someone. Or not just someone, but Lucas. And that— That was something I shouldn’t have been thinking of in that moment. Or any moment. So, I answered with the cheeriest “Thanks!” Then I grabbed my sleeping clothes and sprinted to the bathroom.

When I reemerged, all those dangerous, dangerous thoughts parked aside, I found Lucas leaning against a kitchen cabinet as he typed something on his phone.

Lucas looked up from the device, zeroing in on my face. He nodded, and his mouth opened with words that never left him. His gaze descended, as if compelled by something, making its way down my body while I stood there in nothing but a sleeping tee, shorts, and all the glory of my messy hair. One pass, that was all he did. One single, leisurely pass of his eyes as they traveled from my head to my toes and then back up again.

His gaze met mine again, and he said in a voice that sent a tiny shiver down my arms, “Thank you, Graham.”

Graham. I couldn’t remember if he’d ever called me just by my last name. Maybe earlier today? After the hug attack.

Distracted by that thought, I watched him as he pulled some clothes from his bag and headed to the bathroom. When the door closed behind him, I thought about that quick peek he’d taken. At me. At my legs. But I threw a sheet over the couch and told myself that I wouldn’t dwell on it. They were nice, female legs. And Lucas… was into that. Women. Legs, apparently. So what?

If he were to stroll out of that bathroom showing off his calves, I’d do the same. Heck, I’d done it this morning, when he’d been wearing nothing but a—

Lucas’s voice came from somewhere behind me. I was ready to tell him he had another thing coming if he thought he’d be sleeping on the couch again, that I was preparing it for myself, but the words died on the tip of my tongue when I turned and encountered the sight before me.

It wasn’t naked calves.

It was far, far better than that.

It was Lucas. In sweatpants—gray sweatpants—and a thin cotton tee.

But the sweatpants.

They hung low on his hips, and the fabric clung to his legs. His oh-so-not-naked calves. And his two strong-looking thighs. And those much, much more interesting parts that hung right in between.

And I— Jesus, what the hell was I doing?

There were about a hundred rules in the Roommate Handbook for Civil and Not Creepy Cohabitation that I might have broken by looking at his crotch. Even through the fabric of his sweats. Which wasn’t leaving much to my—

Feeling my cheeks flaming hot, I dragged my gaze back to his face.

Lucas was smiling. Grinning, really. As big as I’d ever seen.

He crossed his arms over his chest and the cotton of his shirt stretched. Goddammit. “I said many things, if I’m being honest.”

He pointed behind me. “Yeah, that you’re not sleeping there. But that’s not open for discussion.”

Lucas drifted in my direction. Leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world to stroll across the small studio. He stopped only when he was right in front of me.

How? That part of me that had my stomach flip-flopping wanted to ask him. How would you fight me exactly?

But instead, I murmured, “Fine.” I decamped to the bed on the other side of the studio. I huffed as I threw the covers back and slipped in. “We’ll see who takes it tomorrow night.”

I heard Lucas ruffle with his blankets, and I forced my eyelids shut so I wouldn’t search for his shape in the dark. So I wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. Lucas Martín, sleeping a few feet away from me. In his outrageous gray sweatpants.

My eyelids lifted. “Yeah.”

I laughed lightly. “It’s only been about… sixty-five seconds since we turned the lights off, so I’d be surprised if you were sound asleep.”

Turning onto my side, I stared in the direction of the couch. I could barely make him in the dark, but I still looked. “Yes, Lucas?”

I thought about all the words I hadn’t written today. About how I’ll need to recalculate my daily goal again. Just like I had to do every day.

I heard a deep hmmm, before he countered, “So how many words away from your dream, then?”

Many. “Still a few.”

Only meeting a word count wasn’t the problem, wasn’t it? It was about so much more than just that. It was about writing. Inspiration. Or the lack of both things.

Neither of us said anything for a long time and then, when I was no longer sure whether he was asleep or not, I heard him say, “Buenas noches, Rosie.”