Page 53 of Whispered Promises

“My birth mum had me too young and became addicted to alcohol as her way to escape.”

Her hand reaches up and grasps the one I had entangled in her hair, linking our fingers together, then squeezes as our joined hands rest on her thigh. Her thumb brushes back and forth, creating a soothing rhythm.

“Cooking programmes became my lifeline. I’d spend hours imagining what I could make, the recipes I could follow along with. We never had any food like that in the house, and I’d imagine I could taste what they could, picturing the textures in my mouth, the flavours exploding across my tongue. The school reported things, I think, so I spent some time in temporary foster care before going back to her when she’d sobered up for a while. But eventually things got too…rough, and I was removed from her indefinitely. I was at school with Noah at the time. He was my only friend, and his parents heard what was happening and immediately offered me a home with them.” My voice breaks a little, and I take a moment to clear it, appreciating the comfort of her hand in mine.

“Noah’s parents easily became mine from then on. Mum would catch me watching her in the kitchen daily, and eventually I started asking questions. What was she adding next? Why was she cutting that? What was that called? Then we started cooking together. Not long after that, I took over the role and cooked the family meals.”

She leans in and rests her head on my shoulder. Her warmth and support sinks deep and helps to heal the bruised parts inside.

“I can easily picture that: a mini you in the kitchen and becoming who you are now.” Her words vibrate through where her head rests on me.

“It was my favourite place to be; where we would all come together every day and just be with each other. Eating and chatting.”

Rosy sighs, and it's almost…wistful. I frown. “Did you have that with your family growing up?”

She sits up and rubs a hand across her eyes, before grimacing at me. “Well, this is becoming a morbid lunch. Our situations aren’t the same…but they’re similar, I guess. Neither of us got the childhood we should have. My parents were fairly young when they met. I happened rather unexpectedly, but apparently Mum was thrilled and threw herself into becoming a parent. I think my dad just loved her so much he went along with it all for her. Mum passed away fairly early on when I was a toddler from cancer, and my dad was too heartbroken to stick around. He dropped me at my nanna’s one day and just never came back.”

Pain lances through me on her behalf at her casual shrug, as if she’s so used to accepting it, she’s become indifferent to it.

“I couldn’t have wished for a better person to raise me. She gave me more love than one person should be able to contain. So before you pity me for being parent-less, you don’t need to. I was so very happy with her, Bry.” She looks up at me, a watery smile full of loss and grief creasing the corners of her mouth.

Wrapping my hands around her face, I tilt her head back so we’re even closer, so she can see every part of me feels anything but pity as I tell her, “I don’t pity you. I feel grateful that you’ve had that kind of love in your life. I might never have met your nan, but I’ll be forever grateful to her for nurturing you into this beautifully kind and compassionate person. You might not see it, and I know we’re all still getting to know you, but you’ve brought light into all of our lives already, Rosy.”

The tears balancing along her lower lashes fall, trickling down the sides of her cheeks and landing into my palms still bracketing her face. Seeping into my skin. My feelings turn resolute, and I want to always be here for her, soaking up every tear, every emotion with her.

“Bry…” she whispers, voice low and coated with so much emotion that I can’t stop myself.

I start to lean in, but she inhales sharply just before our lips meet. I hesitate. Taking this step could possibly push her away, and Nate’s already said he kissed her. If I follow through with this, without talking to him, then I could really fuck things up.

It takes everything in me, but I change direction and place a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, taking the moment to enjoy the feel of my lips on her skin.

Pulling back, I see a flicker of disappointment flash through her eyes before she closes them. Guilt surfaces as they reopen, and as much as I wish I didn’t, I know I did the right thing by not kissing her.

For now.

Her throat clears, and she stands quickly, avoiding my gaze. “Lunch was perfect, thank you. But I best be getting on. I’ve got a load of things I need to get done for the day.”

I’d be a little hurt at the dismissal if it wasn’t for the flustered, guilt-ridden look coating her.

I feel it on me too.

Standing up, I gather the containers, drop them in and zip up the bag. “No, I understand. Just know that I really enjoyed having lunch with you,” I admit, hoping she sees I’m being genuine. “Will we see you later at dinner?”

A frown mars her brow, and suddenly the floor looks very interesting as she looks down, scuffing her boot against it. “I can’t. Tonight I mean. I have a night with Steph planned. I’m sorry I didn’t already let you know. I can cover any food costs if you’ve got stuff for me already.”

Worry niggles its way in as I wonder if I’ve pushed things too much and she’s backing away from us. Or perhaps just me.

“No, not at all. Don’t worry about it, and have a good time,” I reassure her with a smile. “Would it be okay to have a hug before I go, though?”

I just need another moment of feeling her skin brush against mine.

She looks up, her lips quirking into a shy smile before she nods. My arms open, and she steps into them, her arms winding tightly around my middle as I wrap mine around her. With her face pressed up against my chest, her warmth seeps through, slow and soft.

My cheek rests on the crown of her head as she squeezes me tighter. She might as well have reached into my chest, broken through the walls around my heart, and swiped the beating organ right out of me. Is it too soon? Definitely. But she has me feeling something, and I’m desperate for it to never end. She’s slowly filling in the jagged cracks left over from the grief, threading the tiny fragile pieces together with each smile, each word she gives me.

I just need to speak to Nate, probably all three of the guys. There’s no way any of us are going to be able to resist falling for Rosy. Placing someone as open-hearted and internally beautiful as her in front of the four of us love-starved, broken, and lonely men… What else would you really expect?

We’re going to need to figure this out. But fuck if I know how we figure out who deserves the chance with her the most.