Page 15 of Rosie and the Dreamboat
“Rosie Clamshell!”
“Leo Some-guy!” I run at him, and he’s got me. He’s got me all the way, with his arms wrapped to the elbows around me. My arms are around his neck. “You got me out!”
“I did! And guess what? The mayor called, and they’re making me the king of the firemen!”
“Congratulations! I never doubted you!” I am laughing like crazy. I have clean cotton on my cheek. “You smell better than a day-spa candle. And your flammable uniform is incredible on you!”
The hug is everything I’ve needed: it’s dry, firm, there are so many points of contact, and I can hear more than my heartbeat. I can hear his laugh through the padded wall of his chest. We laugh and laugh. My feet aren’t on the floor anymore.
“Triumph,” he crows, shaking me from side to side. “Triumph is mine!”
“And mine!”
“Okay, weirdos,” Bree says from the doorway behind us. “Calm down. People are trying to get mudded and massaged around here.”
“Now, let’s take a good look at you.” Leo sets me down and studies me with increasing alarm. His eyes are the dark sapphire sparkle of my grammy’s engagement ring. A crease appears on his kissable forehead. “Holy shit.You’rea dreamboat, Rosie Clamshell. Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Must have been some miracle broth I’ve been marinating in. You weren’t lying, either. Is that the biggest pickle jar you’ve ever opened?”
He beams at me. His face matches his humor—the wit, the kindness, the cleverness—and I feel the magic ping-pong of energy between us. A weird feeling is settling in the center of my chest. It’s like the missing lever that I’ve been searchingaround for is in there, and it’s been pulled. The lid’s popped off something.
“I know you hear it all the time, but, Leo, you’re a dreamboat and a half!”
“I’d never lie about that.” He puts a thumb under my chin and lifts my face for further inspection. “Well, that does it. Got any more jars for me to open? I like to keep myself useful.”
“So many jars.”
Dionne approaches. She’s had quite the ordeal. “We wish to extend our deepest apologies to you, Rosie, for the disrupted service today.”
“It’s all right. It wasn’t your fault.”
Leo coos, “Kind Rosie, sweet Rosie. You’re suing them.”
“Hmmm,” my lawyer sister hums in agreement.
Dionne continues, “As a gesture of goodwill, the salon is pleased to offer you a gift certificate—”
I wince. “I’m sorry, but I can’t come back here.”
“A travel gift certificate.” She hands it to me. I stare at the figure printed on it. I know what my time is worth per hour. Kintsugi Day Spa is very sorry indeed.
“This will be fine. Apology accepted.”
Bree interrupts. “By accepting this goodwill gesture, Rosie does not waive her right to seek compensation for any economic loss in circumstances resulting from ongoing injury, physical or psychological.”
I shrug at Leo as Dionne steps away to discuss this with her. “I told you. Bree’s the total package.”
His lovely eyes don’t leave mine, not even for one blink. “It’s probably too late to get a good Valentine’s Day deal for the Maldives. Maybe next year, huh?” Leo tidies my hair with his fingertips. “Did you already have lunch, while you were locked inside that dystopian-nightmare pod?”
“I did make a sandwich in there, but I could still eat.” I get Bree’s attention. “We’re going to go eat a whole pizza each. Coming?”
“Nah. I know when to leave you two alone.” She’s holding out my bag and scarf with a distinctly sulky look. “Have fun. I was hoping I’d be here when you noticed.”
“Why? Notice what?” I put on my scarf, and then I see.
Why she told me totrust her, trust her, trust her.
Sewn on his uniform is his last name. I read it out loud in awe.
