Page 36 of Faking the Pass
She was so engrossed in the story, she didn’t even lift her head when I entered the room. Which gave me the opportunity to study her bare legs draped over one arm of the chair as I stood cooking at the stovetop on the kitchen island.
She was abeautifulwoman. I’d always thought so, but time and maturity had only made her hotter.
Sounds and peripheral movement hadn’t been able to break the spell of her book, but apparently the smell of cooking food did the trick.
Once the salmon burgers started sizzling in avocado oil, Rosie closed the book and wandered over.
“Smells good,” she said, sliding onto a stool. “You cook for yourself a lot?”
“Not sure who else is gonna do it,” I said. “I’m sure as hell not eating takeout.”
“I thought maybe you’d have a personal chef or something. You’re really particular about your diet, huh?”
“Have to be,” I said. “It’s part of the job. Well, I mean I guess some of the guys eat junk, but they’re a lot younger than me. If I’m gonna keep playing long enough to get my eight rings, then I’ve gotta get the right balance of protein, fat, and carbs—and get it from good sources. And now I’ve got this injury to recover from on top of my age, so it’s even more important.”
“How long is recovery expected to take?” Rosie asked.
“The doctors are saying twelve weeks at a minimum, but I think I can get back out there in eight.”
“Of course you do.” She smirked. “High expectations.”
I grinned at her. “Exactly.”
Rosie lay the book beside her on the counter, a napkin marking her place. I was surprised to see she’d selected one written by one of the lesser known historical fiction writers I enjoyed.
“Funny you picked that one,” I said. “Margaret Oliphant’s one of my all-time favorite authors. So funny and clever. What do you think so far?”
“Oh, I’ve already read it—many times. Oliphant is one of my favorites, too. Miss Marjoribanks is my comfort read. I figured if there was ever a time for it, this is it.”
“They should make a movie adaptation,” I said.
Rosie’s eyes lit up. “That would be amazing. I’d be first in line for a ticket.”
“Forget that—you should beinit,” I said. “You’d make a great Lucilla.”
Suddenly Rosie looked uncomfortable. “I love her character… but I’m not right for that kind of role.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s so high brow. I’d never get cast for it—even if I’m miraculously not blackballed. People would never buy me in an Oscar-contending film.”
“What? Why not? You’re a great actress—you can play any role you want.”
She cocked her head. “How do you know? You haven’t seen me act since high school.”
“Exactly. You were fantastic then, so I can only imagine how good you are now.”
Rosie waved at the air in front of her as if to brush away my praise.
“I’m better, sure, but… I guess I just don’t see myself that way. I mean, I’d be thrilled with steady work just doing fun movies likeOnce Upon a Charm.”
“That’s fine if it’s what you want,” I said. “But I think our interests and passions are like a roadmap, you know? I was so passionate about football, I made the decision to put it first, before everything else.”
Including you.
“There’s a reason that’s your favorite book. My instincts tell me itmeanssomething.”
“I’m not currently listening to my instincts,” Rosie joked. “They told me it was a good idea to marry Randy. My instincts belong in remedial education classes—like me in high school.”
