Page 37 of Built to Last
Things have changed so much between us. We’ve shared physical intimacy, sure, but I hadn’t been concerned with how that would go if we crossed that line. Rose has a fire within her that I knew would translate well into passion if she decided to share that experience with me. Opening up to me emotionally, though? I had worried about that considering the hurt she carried around like armour. But Rose has let me in much sooner than I ever dared to hope she would, deepening the connection between us to something unlike anything I’ve experienced in a relationship before. She trusts me, but if she finds out I’ve been keeping this from her everything will be ruined. I need to tell her. Soon.
Chapter Twenty-One
Phillip
On Tuesday morningthe ping of a notification draws my attention away from breakfast to my phone. My mood lifts instantly when I see Rose’s name lighting up the screen but my goofy smile slides away as quickly as it came when I open her message.
Rose:
Sorry for the short notice but I’m not well enough to work today. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m feeling better.
Concern and disappointment wash over me. If Rose is sick then I want to be there to look after her, not because she isn’t more than capable but because she deserves to have someone taking care of her. If it was Blake or Eric, I’d have already left the house, container of soup in hand. But, despite how much our relationship has progressed, I’m not sure how Rose would feel about me just showing up at her flat. Shoving down my over-protective urges I settle for sending a quick reply, telling her to get well soon and to let me know if she needs anything, then I head out to the garage.
Since my painting abilities begin and end with a solid coat of colour on a wall I steer clear of the set, knowing Rose’s design is well beyond anything I could ever hope to produce. My contributions to the set project are complete so I’d already been planning to work on the woodland themed blanket box for the Gardners today anyway. What had started out with a request for a woodland themed dressing table for her wife as an anniversary present, led to the couple commissioning more and more pieces, this one being the latest. Soon they’ll have a full bedroom set. Settled in at my work bench, I lose myself to the familiar feel of wood taking new shape beneath my chisel. Unfortunately, the meditative process can only do so much and soon my thoughts drift back to Rose. It’s nearly lunchtime and she still hasn’t opened my text. I know she lives with Aria but I’m worried about her.
There are a couple of portions of leftover butternut squash soup in my freezer from the batch I made on Saturday morning. Taking some over to Rose will kill two birds with one stone—I’ll be able to check on her and make sure she gets something healthy in her system. Abandoning my work, I head to the kitchen before I can second-guess myself any further.
After packing up the soup and some ready-to-bake bread rolls in a cool bag I eye the offerings before deciding to throw in a bar of chocolate in case Rose doesn’t have any. From what she told me she is probably either sleeping, has a migraine, or is in too much pain to go very far. I dart upstairs and rifle around in my bathroom cupboard before pulling out painkillers and a microwavable heat pack to throw in my bag. She probably has stuff like that already but it can’t hurt to have extra on hand. Firing off a quick text to let her know I’m on my way over, I head out the door.
The drive to Rose’s flat only takes fifteen minutes thanks to traffic being light at this time of day. I park, then sit frozen inplace. I thought she would notice my second text but she hasn’t opened it and I feel unsure about barging into her space even if it’s with good intentions. I could leave but there’s nothing to stop her seeing my message later and then wondering why I never showed up. Sighing, I release my grip on the steering wheel. I’ve left myself with only one option. If she doesn’t want me here, I’ll just drop off the stuff and go.
I ring the buzzer, shifting nervously from foot to foot as I wait for Rose to answer. A couple of minutes pass with no response and I decide to try one more time before leaving.
“Hello?” Rose’s voice sounds over the intercom, thick with sleep.
“Hi, it’s me. Phillip,” I add realising the buzzer system is audio only meaning Rose can’t see who ‘me’ is. “I brought you soup.”Smooth man. I can practically hear what Blakes’ commentary on this situation would be.
“Oh, um OK. Come on up,” Rose replies, still sounding pretty out of it. The door unlocks with a loud buzz and I make my way inside and up the stairs to find Rose slumped against her doorframe, looking as though a light breeze would knock her down. Guilt gnaws at me for bothering her, but hopefully the soup will make up for it.
“Hey, come in.” She greets me with a wan smile, moving aside to let me in. My returning smile is tight when I notice she’s still resting a hand on the wall for support. This is not the version of Rose I’m used to. Neither the walled-off woman from when we first met or the soft-hearted, playful woman I’ve come to know, this version is too exhausted to put up any kind of a front and I feel as though I’m being given a look behind the curtain that I’m not sure I deserve. She could have sent me away. Instead, she’s chosen to allow me to see her in her most vulnerable state. The trust she’s offering me makes me feel grimy knowing I’m keeping something important from her. I’d been resolved to tellher all about the art show today but there’s no way I can bring it up now when she’s feeling so awful.
Rose leads me inside, shuffling down the short hallway before turning right into the open plan kitchen and living space. Practically falling into one of the kitchen table chairs she gestures for me to take the other. I sit, really taking her in.
She’s wearing purple flannel pyjamas covered in frowning cartoon rain clouds, her skin is three shades paler than her usual ivory, and her hair is gathered up in a messy bun. The frowning rainclouds are soher, I smile despite myself.
Wetting her lips nervously she asks, “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t sound upset, just confused. I’ll take it.
“I might have been a little worried when you didn’t reply to my text earlier,” I admit sheepishly. “Not that you have to answer all my messages but you said you were ill and I want to help. I thought maybe you could use some soup.” I lift the cool bag. “If I’ve overstepped I can just leave it in your fridge?—”
“No,” she interrupts and shakes her head as if clearing a fog. “Sorry, I’m just surprised and I feel pretty out of it. That’s really thoughtful of you, thanks.”
Pulling my bag onto my lap I lay my other offerings on the table.
“I brought painkillers and a heat pack too. You probably have this stuff already but I figured it couldn’t hurt to have some spare,” I explain with a shrug.
“You thought of everything.” Rose’s tired smile tugs at my heart.
“Would you like some soup now? I can heat it up for you.”
“Thanks, but I’m too tired to feel hungry right now. I’ll make sure to eat it later though,” she assures me, eyelids drooping showing the truth in her words. If I keep her up much longer, she’ll fall asleep right at the table.
“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Do you need help getting back to bed?” Our short conversation has obviously drained what little energy she had judging by the way she’s slumped in her chair. She was already unsteady on her feet when I first arrived, I don’t want her falling over with nobody here to help her. Apparently Aria has meetings with schools about theLost in the Woodsshow for most of the day. Rose assures me her friend will be home in a few hours but that seems like a long time to leave her alone like this.
“Help would be nice,” Rose admits, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Hey.” Gently tilting her chin up with my thumb, I wait until she looks at me. “Please don’t feel embarrassed. I volunteered, remember?” I hold her gaze until she nods.
“OK.”
