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Friday, August 9, 2013

Rosewood Short - Part 6

*Mild Spoilers for Whatever Remains*

Rosewood Short – Part 6


            “You are enormous.”

            “You know what I miss most about you?” Jade said with a false, saccharine smile. “Sweet little moments like this.”

            Jeremy made a face at her. “I know.” His expression cleared, though, and in the wake of Jess’s departure, his eyes moved over her with unmasked concern. “You’re all right? Really?”

            She heaved a little sigh, not because of his question, but because it was hard work being this enormous. She smiled. “I’m really all right.”

            “Swear on Atlas?”

            “Swear on Atlas,” she assured. “Who’s also huge right now. He won’t let Casey ride him,” she said of her working student, “and that senior feed he’s on…yeah. Widowmaker needs to go on a diet.”

            A devastating white smile appeared, then receded. “Ben?” he asked, tone cooling. He and Ben – she suspected – had a grudging like for one another at this point. Definitely respect. But they would never consent to get along. Jade was sure they both found it fun, tormenting each other, though they denied it.

            “He’s a little bit freaked out to see me like this,” she admitted.

            Jeremy’s brows went up. “He’s not into the baby bump lovin’?”

            “No, it’s not that. I think he’s…it’s like he’s afraid I’ll break apart. Every time I stub my toe or sneeze he damn near has a panic attack. He tried to keep me from eating salsa the other night because he thought I’d go into insta-labor and pop the baby out on the floor of the Mexican restaurant.”

            “So, charming as ever.”


            “Does he rub your feet?”

            “Mangles them,” she corrected. “But he bought me a foot spa to make up for it.”

            The fire was burning down, and Jeremy got up to add another monstrous block of pine to it, sparks flaring. As he settled back into his chair, her eyes slid down his perfect profile, noting the stress lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders drooped against the back of the chair. He was exhausted. No doubt his sweater concealed a thin torso corded with muscle.

            His head rolled toward her, his smile small. “Happy?”

            She wasn’t all that mobile, but she reached between their chairs and slid her hand over the back of his. “Yeah. You?”


            “You were always meant for the big time, Remy.”

            “And what about you?” he prodded gently.

            She shrugged. “I think that’s the thing: you don’t always know your own calling.”

            “Maybe so.”

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