Page 62 of Every Rose

“I thought—” Oh, God, she’d been such a fool. She’d set the rules, she’d been the one going on and on about boundaries and then she’d completely screwed it all up. She’d gone and fallen in love with Matt. She hadn’t even realized until Peter proposed, and, as he’d driven away, she’d known she could never be Lady Buckingham. Because she was deeply and hopelessly in love with Matt.

Maybe she still wasn’t through with fairy tales. She’d wanted Matt to fight for her, to beg her not to marry Peter. To ask her to marry him.

But, instead of fighting to keep her in his life, he was pretty much booting her out of it.

“I don’t think I’ll stay for dinner after all.” Because she suddenly felt that she couldn’t be cool and pretend to eat and pretend everything was okay. Because it wasn’t okay.

“Suit yourself,” he said, as though he couldn’t care less and there were a dozen other women waiting on speed dial who’d be only too happy to chow down on his home-cooked Greek food.

She got through her week, blessing her patients for keeping her too busy to brood. Almost. Friday, she packed up her laptop and a weekend bag, got into her car and drove to Hidden Falls. She wanted to check on her dad, but also, she wanted to be with people who loved her unconditionally.

When she got home, she learned that Jack had found a physician only twenty minutes drive away. This was good. She obviously didn’t put up with any crap, and he respected that. Also good.

She could see his color was better and he’d happily given up the idea of planting artichokes when Marguerite came up with the idea of growing more heirloom varieties, not only of tomatoes, which everyone was doing, but also squashes, peas, beans. He was happily researching heirloom plants and testing out the best places to plant them.

“I have to hand it to you,” Rose said to Marguerite as they sat over green tea on her porch. They’d let the hens out of their enclosure and they were happily pecking and preening. One was giving itself a dust bath in the flower bed outside Marguerite’s cottage. “You got Dad engaged in something that interests him and doesn’t tire him out. Or wreck anything.”

“It wasn’t easy. I got the idea from something Alexei said.”

Rose turned to stare. “Alexei? You mean Matt’s brother?”

“Yes. We’ve been emailing. I think he might take a trip here one day soon. He really likes the idea of sourcing as much produce locally as he can. I’ve got the full network of contacts.”

Rose wondered if Alexei’s interest was purely agricultural, but kept her mouth shut since she was the last person who understood male/female relationships.

Marguerite poured more tea from an authentic Japanese teapot and asked, “Whatever happened with you and Matt? Mom was convinced there was something going on there.”

She shrugged, holding her emotions in check with an effort.

“It’s a casual thing.” So casual that he’d pretty much ended it without a fight, and hadn’t bothered to contact her all week. She took a sip of tea to ease her throat.

Marguerite shook her head. “You know how people say to women sometimes, ‘you date like a guy, or you have sex like a guy,’ like that’s somehow a good thing?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Well, you’re doing it. And I don’t think it’s a good thing.”

“Why? Why not? What is wrong with a relationship that has all the good things and none of the bad? I can enjoy the sex, the fun flirty texts, without having to go to sporting events I hate, or meet people I have no interest in. I don’t have to sit through movies I don’t want to see because it’s his turn to pick. I’m too busy for that. And so is Matt. Why are you so hostile to the idea?”

“Because that’s not a relationship. It’s a bed buddy.”

She almost laughed except that she was too irritated to laugh. “A bed buddy? That sounds like something you’d call pest control for.”

“You know what I mean.” Marguerite primmed her mouth. “I’ve decided to give up swearing. Well, I’m trying to anyway.”

“Why?”

“I read an article or maybe heard something on NPR that suggested when you swear you’re just being lazy. Using real language is better.”

“And all of this freed up brain power gave you bed buddy?”

How could you stay mad at someone who so earnestly tried to improve herself, her soil, her food, the planet. Rose was a bit fuzzy on what being a flower child actually meant, she thought it might be because the hippies used to carry flowers and pass them out to soldiers and passers by. Marguerite seemed like a flower child in that she lived in her enchanted garden, her biggest enemies were slugs, and even those she tried to deter or reroute rather than kill.

Marguerite put her hands on her hips. “I’m a work in progress here, most of the day I talk to plants and chickens.”

And because Marguerite was one of the nicest people Rose knew, and because she was hurting, she let down her guard and told the truth. “You’re right. It didn’t work at all. I tried so hard to keep things casual, but I fell in love with Matt. And he dumped me.” There. She’d said it. The awful truth that made the idea of ever going back to Pacific Crest hospital a nightmare to be dreaded. She’d set the rules up herself, and then she’d broken all of them.

Her sister smiled, looking thrilled. “You love him.”

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