Page 26 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Har, har.”

He smiles. “You’ll love it.”

“I don’t have a great track record with nature,” I say.

“Too much of a city girl?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m more accustomed to the concrete jungle.”

He leans across the cart and points to something in the distance. “Over there, there’s a bike path and a walking trail that span the entire perimeter of the grounds. An early morning walk outside every morning would be a great way to start your day.”

“Is that your professional opinion?” I deadpan.

He tosses me a sideways glance. “Why, yes, it is.”

He drives us over to the opposite side of the compound, where the grounds become a neighborhood, and he stops in front of a rounded building. “And that”—he points to the building—“Is your theatre.”

I stare at it. It’s unassuming, almost like a converted barn, but like the rest of the buildings, this one seems to have been well maintained.

I feel a familiar pull, an excited flicker, like... coming home, somehow.

“They do some art classes and dance classes in this building,” he says. “But you’ll mostly have free rein of the place.”

His phone buzzes, and he gets out of the cart to answer the call. I sit, staring at the building in front of me, and after a few seconds, Booker is back.

“Sorry,” he says. “Pickleball injury. I’m going to have to cut this short.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I tell him, not wanting to be a burden. “If you point me toward my digs, I can walk.”

He pulls away from the theatre building, steering the cart back onto the path. “No, I’ll drive you over, and tomorrow I can take you inside the theatre.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.

“Not a problem,” he says. “I don’t like to leave a job undone.”

I nod, my eyes scanning the landscape in front of us,

I laugh to myself. “I have a feeling this isn’t actually your job.”

He shrugs. “Keeps it interesting.”

Chapter 7

We continue along the path, and at this point I’ve completely lost all sense of direction. I’m not sure I could even find my way back to the clubhouse.

“This place is huge,” I say, mostly to myself.

“You’ll learn your way around.” He veers off to the left. “These are the staff cottages.” And then he brings the cart to a stop. “This is it. Your cottage for the summer.”

I glance up at the most adorable sage-green cottage with an oversized porch, wide pillars, and white trim. “Really?”

“Yep,” he says.

Mycottage. I look at the mailbox—it looks handcrafted of wood painted white—and I think, that’smymailbox. “I’ve never had my own mailbox,” I say on a sigh.

Those aremyshutters. That’smyhanging plant.Myporch swing.

And though I know I don’t actually own this place, I get to live here. For a whole summer.

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