How many times have I kissed that dimple now? I blush at my wayward thoughts.
Kristy steps out of the other elevator, carrying her coffee cup. “Why don’t you take that poster to your office? The gawking will be easier that way.”
I swiftly glance around to check if anyone heard my crazy friend. “Do you really have to say that out loud?” I mince toward my office, and Kristy follows.
“So, tell me. What are we doing for your birthday?” She flops onto a chair as I place my backpack on the table and check the water level on my bowstring hemp plant.
“What we’ve done all the previous years. Takeout and a movie.” I perch next to her.
“Rosie, this year is different. Don’t you see this?” She raises her hand, showing me her engagement ring and wedding band, and then grabs my hand. “And this?”
The elegant diamond ring with a rose flower that Zander placed on my finger six months back twinkles. It still feels like a dream. I twist and pull it off and read the inscription.
U have me. I have U. Forever.
These seven words have deep meaning for me. For the first time in my life, I have someone, and someone wants to have me. When you live with no family and no identity for as long as I have, it’s only natural to believe that no one wants you. But Zander loves me so much that he gave me a ring with this inscription.
A ring with a pink rose and white diamonds around it.
Him buying it tells me everything I need to know about the depth of his love for me.
“Have you guys picked a date?” Kristy’s voice breaks my musings.
My stomach roils, and my palms suddenly get ice cold, as they do every time someone asks me this question.
“We…want to wait.” I hate lying to my best friend, but Zander did say there’s no rush, and I’m counting on it.
2
ZANDER
“So, what do you think?” My brother Zach cocks his head toward the paper he slid to me across the kitchen counter a few minutes ago. It’s the list of potential locations for our upcoming third office.
I give another glance to the ten-line document before opening the bag of chocolate chips and throwing two handfuls into the pancake batter.
After wolfing down two full bowls of risotto, Zach declared that this dinner in my apartment, which he and my youngest brother, Zane, invited themselves to, is incomplete without my unbeatable chocolate chip pancakes.
Yeah, Zach will say anything for food. And also, he doesn’t care that I’m practically cooking a second meal this evening. I have full faith in his eating abilities and know he’ll ask me to pack him a to-go container for his breakfast tomorrow.
“What’s th-there to th-think about? It’s Cherr-rywood,” Zane says when I don’t reply immediately.
“I thought you’d already be packing your bags and calling real estate agents.” Zach steals some of the chocolate from the batter and then licks the mixing spoon before throwing it into the kitchen sink.
How he stays fit after eating sugar like a ten-year-old is still a mystery to me.
I place the skillet over the stove and turn on the heat. Then I throw a big dollop of butter onto the hot iron because my brother is not only a sugar addict but a grease fiend too.
I pour in the pancake batter, and Zach shoulder-bumps me.
“Why aren’t you excited?”
Fuck. They won’t drop it.
“Because moving to Cherrywood is a big deal. I need to talk to Rose.”
“Then t-talk, what’s-s the problem?”
“She might say no,” I grunt before spreading the batter into a round shape, or I try to do so. This conversation feels like a grand test to my otherwise therapeutic cooking abilities.