Visions of Love (Arden's Glen Romance Book 3)

by C. M. Albert

  “What’s up?” Brecken asked, humming some tune or another. Music had been an extension of her brother for as long as Rosalie could remember. “Change the World.” She smiled when she recognized the tune. One of his favorites.

  “Well, remember how I told you about that cable network that was asking some questions about my work and my radio show?”

  “Sure, the one out of California? Does all the mystery and travel shows?”

  “That’s the one,” she said hesitantly. She scrubbed the grease from the pan she was washing, taking out her nerves on the poor stainless steel.

  “What about it?” Brecken asked. “Have you heard back from them?”

  “I did, actually. They—”

  “Hold that thought,” Brecken said, stepping away. He covered the cell phone he answered while Rosalie had been talking. “Sorry, sis. I have to take this call.”

  But he didn’t take it in front of her, which wasn’t like Brecken. They had no secrets. Well, except for this opportunity of hers. But she’d been trying to catch him up to speed. And she would eventually. Rosalie drained the water, drying the pan Brecken had left for her. She heard the tinkle of the chime from the front door and dried her hands quickly, racing for the front.

  She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. Even though his face was covered by a huge bouquet of white hydrangeas—her favorite—Rosalie instantly recognized the muscular lines of Zade’s athletic frame. Her mouth went dry at the way his white dress shirt stretched across his chest, narrowing at his waist.

  He peeked from behind the bouquet, a sheepish smile planting two small dimples above his mouth. Rosalie couldn’t help but grin back. It was either that or run up to him and lick his dimples, which would’ve been awkward.

  “Did the sun come out? Or did you just smile at me?” Zade asked, stepping toward her. Rosalie looked over her shoulder. She could still hear Brecken talking in hushed tones in his office. She didn’t know how long he’d be in there, but Dez had warned her that Brecken wasn’t too keen on the idea of Zade pursuing her.

  She rushed forward, meeting Zade partway so he didn’t have to cross the entire café, and to keep him out of earshot from Brecken’s office. “What in the world is going on?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

  He held out the huge bouquet, offering it to her. “These are for you,” he said.

  Rosalie’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

  “These are for you, Rosalie,” he said, laughing. “And I have a question for you.” His tone was light and teasing, but the hunger in his eyes spoke of things far more complicated than a simple question.

  “Sorry . . . of course. Let me just get these in water.” She hurried behind the counter, grabbing the first vase she saw, which also happened to be her favorite. It was an old clay pitcher that Rosalie had been drawn to one summer at the local flea market, cream colored, with hand-stenciled flowers that looked like the dogwood blooms that lined the Vega farm. Most of the lettering that was once painted on the side had long worn off. There was no date on the jug, but Rosalie knew it was old, her intuition telling her it dated back at least a hundred years or more. Her favorite part was the French words that were worn but not quite gone yet: “pour toujours mon amour.” She’d had to look it up. Forever my love.

  Whenever she used the pitcher, an image came to mind of a young woman sitting at an antique wooden potter’s wheel, her heart full to overflowing. With every vision came the reward of a new piece of the puzzle, as if showing Rosalie a bread-crumb trail of clues to an answer she couldn’t figure out the question for.

  The woman was used to finer things, Rosalie could tell by the small luxuries scattered around her home—unusual for the standard of living at the time she was alive. Her ruffled white sleeves with small pearl buttons and full floral skirt gave her wealth away too. She hummed while her hands sculpted the body of the pitcher. Every time the vision came, she was shown a little bit more. She now recognized the woman’s long, blond hair that was secured neatly to the nape of her neck in an intricate style that resembled a bun; some pieces were braided and wrapping around one another, while others fell from the tight constraint and ran wild with their unruly curls. The regal way she held her body, her pale white hands smoothing the wet clay as if in meditation—as if she’d done this a thousand times before. This time, the front door to the house opened quietly and a large man stood in the entrance frame, but he did not enter. His eyes fixated on the woman’s, causing her to take a sharp inhale of breath. Her pulse skyrocketed, no longer in a peaceful state. Rosalie felt the concern that bubbled up, but it was overshadowed by pure, unadulterated passion.

  The vision faded, and Rosalie mentally tucked this new discovery away, fascinated by the woman’s response. Who was the man? Why was there concern when she could so clearly feel the love the woman had for him?

  Rosalie sighed as she filled the jug with water, aware of Zade’s eyes watching her every move. She cut the bottoms of the stems before arranging them, admiring the jumble of lush white pom pom–shaped blossoms. “I’m not sure what these are for, but thank you, Zade,” she said quietly, setting them by the register.

  She came out from behind the counter, trying to navigate their conversation toward the front door before Brecken came out, but Zade stopped her. He caught the hand she was using to steer him with, taking it between his own warm palms. Her breath caught in her throat, shocked by the intimacy of the contact, even though it was a simple gesture. Here, their hands touching, it was just the two of them. The rest of the world slipped away, and she could do nothing but stare up into his soft green eyes, noticing for the first time the dark clover color that circled the outside of his irises.

  “Do you believe in love at first sight?” he whispered.

  Rosalie swallowed, hard.

  “Or should I walk back in again?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

  Rosalie let out the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding, realizing she must’ve been romanticizing the woman’s feelings from her vision with her own, and momentarily confusing the two when she heard the words love at first sight.

  She swatted him on the arm with her free hand. “Oh my God, Zade, you are such a goofball,” she said, deflecting any seriousness she’d almost placed on the moment.

  His grin lit up his whole face, his eyes turning mischievous. “Come on, you love it. Tell me you love it,” he said, making puppy-dog eyes at her.

  “What am I going to do with you?” she said, her hand resting on the curve of her hip.

  “Make me a grilled-cheese sandwich? Maybe throw in a pickle or two? I’m starving,” he said.

  It was then that she noticed the fatigue in his eyes. He must have brutal hours, she thought. “Sure, sit down, I’ll get you something to eat.”

  Zade looked relieved as he slid onto a stool at the counter.

  The door chimed again before Rosalie could head to the kitchen to put his order in with their cook, Martina. It was her friend LuLu with her sister Maura. “Hey, ladies!” Rosalie called out as she placed a glass of water in front of Zade. “Grab a seat anywhere you want. I’ll be right with you.”

  She popped her head into the office looking for Brecken, but he wasn’t there. That was odd. He never left without telling her. She checked her phone, and sure enough she had a text from him. Be back in thirty. Hold down the fort, please?

  Hmm. That was strange. But Rosalie didn’t have time to worry about it. She went through the double doors into the kitchen, where Martina was busy prepping the work stations for the next day. At least someone was coming in to relieve Rosalie soon. They were only open a few more hours, but he would close down the restaurant and do the heavy cleaning, which she appreciated. She’d been on her feet all morning since they were short a waitress. And she still needed to look over the contracts that Halcyon Productions had sent her for their proposed show: Mystic Mysteries.

  “Hey, Martina! I need a grilled cheese for Dr. Zampogna
. And a couple pickles on the side. Maybe throw a Greek salad on there, too. He looks famished,” Rosalie said.

  “Oh, does he now?” Martina asked, winking at Rosalie.

  What is it with everybody?

  “Just for food, Martina, just for food,” Rosalie said, grabbing a pitcher of tea and two menus on her way out.

  “That’s not what Zada told me,” Martina sing-songed behind her.

  Rosalie stopped, turning to look at their cook. She was a couple years older than Rosalie, and while they got along, Martina was still relatively new to Arden’s Glen, so she didn’t quite know how to read her yet.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rosalie asked, one brow raised in curiosity.

  “Just heard at karaoke the other night that Zade has a crush on someone and won’t stop talking about it to Zada. She said she’s never seen him act this way before over a woman.” Martina looked Rosalie up and down. “Know anything about it?”

  Rosalie shook her head, using her butt to push open the doors to the front of the café.

  “Nice flowers by the way!” Martina called out, letting her know that she’d already spied them and knew damn well they were from Zade.

  Rosalie delivered the pitcher of tea to LuLu and Maura, taking their order and gabbing for a few moments before turning her attention back to Zade. He was sitting at the counter, scrolling through his phone, his hand worrying his thick, brown hair. She watched as he texted furiously, then paused, waiting for a response. She didn’t want to interrupt him, but she couldn’t help but want to chat with him some more—especially to thank him for the beautiful hydrangeas. She’d never had a man buy her flowers before. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all.

  Before she left LuLu’s table, she leaned down and whispered to her friend. “Hey, can we talk sometime soon? I feel pretty bad about the way I treated Annalise the other day when she and her boyfriend came in. But there’s something I need to tell you both, and she won’t listen to me,” Rosalie said. “Not that that’s news.”

  LuLu put her hand over Rosalie’s in understanding. “Of course, sweetie. When we’re done with lunch, Maura and I are just headed back to the store. She can go on without me and we can chat before I head back,” she said warmly.

  Rosalie had always liked LuLu—wishing her own mother had been as warm and down-to-earth as Annalise’s mom. But it wasn’t until last year, when LuLu sought Rosalie out to help her connect to her twin sister who had passed away at birth, that the two really became friends. Despite their age difference, Rosalie loved spending time with LuLu and felt a bond that went deeper than she could explain.

  She headed back toward Zade, grateful that Martina had delivered his lunch while she was at her friend’s table. He was busy stuffing half the grilled-cheese sandwich into his mouth, a look of pure ecstasy clouding his eyes.

  “Oh my God,” he said, washing it down with his pickle. “This is the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had.”

  Rosalie loved the way he looked when he was satisfied—it was part dangerous cheetah, part content pussy cat. “Glad you like it. It’s a special Brecken recipe. He calls it our ‘Adult Grilled Cheese.’ He’s the foodie in the family.”

  “This isn’t your gig?” he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich. “What dreams does Rosalie have?”

  “I keep my dreams pretty close to my vest,” she said quietly. “I have one that might come true soon, though. But I haven’t even told my brother about it yet.”

  “Why not?” he asked, checking his phone again. “Sorry . . . hospital stuff. I’m supposed to be off today, but with only two surgeons on staff, I’m never really not on call.”

  “No worries,” she said, putting a basket of silverware away behind the counter as they chatted. “This is Brecken’s dream, not mine. But he can’t do it alone. Our parents passed away when I was seventeen, and we’re all we have left. I’m not sure if I can put my dreams ahead of his, after all he did for me.”

  Zade nodded, a look of sorrow creasing his brow. “I get that. But don’t you think Brecken wants you to be happy?”

  Rosalie watched as Martina came from the back, balancing two large bowls and two small plates on her arms, delivering LuLu and Maura their gigantic spinach, goat cheese, and strawberry summer salads with fresh honey-buttered croissants. It was one of Rosalie’s favorite creation of Brecken’s.

  “He does. But he also wants Brecken to be happy. And this,” she said, waving her hand around the café, “this works. With me here. I can do my radio show from the restaurant and help Celeste out from time to time when she has retreats. I do some of her scheduling and paperwork from the wellness center when she needs it.”

  “You don’t sound fired up, though,” he said as he looked up at her from his thick, brown lashes. “What fires you up, Rosalie? Everyone needs some passion in their lives.”

  “I—” but Rosalie didn’t have time to respond. Zade’s phone vibrated on the counter, and he took the call immediately, worry lines creasing his forehead as he listened.

  “On my way,” he said. “Gotta go—emergency at the hospital. Thanks for lunch,” he said, tossing a twenty onto the counter. “By the way, what are you doing tomorrow night?” he called out over his shoulder as he dashed to the front door.

  She blamed it on being flustered from the abrupt departure and the state of Zade’s emergency. But the first thing out of her mouth was, “Nothing. I’m off.”

  Zade grinned as he opened the door. “It’s a date,” he said, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I’ll text you later to make plans.”

  She watched as he took off in a sprint toward the hospital. She had no idea what was going on with Zade, but the butterflies in her tummy were certainly happy about it. And it felt entirely different than her crush last winter on Mitch. Mitch was certainly hot, but she’d not thought past sleeping with him. But with Zade . . . his attention scared her to her very core. As did the way her body felt when he’d held her hand earlier—a little too similar to the feelings that raced through the woman in her vision when the love of her life had shown up at her door.

  “Still don’t know anything about that crush?” Martina asked, brushing the bangs of her short, blond pixie cut to the side.

  Rosalie shot her daggers, but then burst out laughing along with the sassy cook, tossing the towel she was holding at her. She put Zade’s money in the register and started cleaning off the front window while LuLu and Maura worked on their salads.

  She heard LuLu’s phone ring, saw her friend take the call. Then time stood still as Maura grabbed her sister in her arms, cradling her as she broke down and cried. Rosalie knew who it was before LuLu could even get the words out.

  “Annalise!”

  IT WAS ONE of the worst nights Zade could remember at Arden’s Glen Regional Hospital. The facility was big enough to serve the town’s growing population and the smaller surrounding rural communities, but it wasn’t big enough to justify more than two full-time general surgeons yet. It was so different from the hospital he’d worked at in Dallas, where most everyone had a specialty. Zade always preferred general surgery in the ER, though. It was one of the things he enjoyed about Dallas. A bigger city meant a busier hospital. And he usually liked it that way. There was a rush of adrenaline that came with saving a life and working against the clock—especially when he was successful.

  Tonight was not one of those nights. He ran his hand over his face, his five o’clock shadow long past its time. He would not break down here. But, eventually, he would. He looked at his phone. It was four in the morning. He saw the text from Mitch at the top of his notifications giving him Rosalie’s number. He’d almost forgotten about his date with her tonight. He thanked the OR team before leaving, though they were all as shell-shocked as he was at losing two residents that night. It almost never happened in Arden’s Glen.

  On his way out, he stopped by the ICU, looking for LuLu. He couldn’t find her anywhere. He’d wanted to talk to her before
he left, but knew the staff would take good care of her. He was grateful that all he had to do was stumble a few blocks home to his condo. It was nights like these that living so close was a blessing.

  He wasn’t surprised to see Zada’s lights still on. He’d finally told her to leave the hospital and not wait on him. There was nothing she could do when two patients were pronounced DOA, and the other two were in serious critical condition—the one requiring surgery barely holding on . . . and the other one not able to after all.

  He couldn’t face Zada tonight. Couldn’t face anyone. His soul was numb, as his losses had been few and far between in Dallas. And he hadn’t lost one patient in Arden’s Glen before tonight. Fuck! He dragged himself into the shower, made himself stand under the scalding hot water to clean away the images of blood and bone and lifeless stares. It was the part he hated most about his job. That, and telling families that there was nothing left they could do. That gutted him worse than any heartbreak he’d ever experienced, other than losing his mother.

  He climbed into bed, pulling the crisp, white sheet up to his waist as he sunk into his mattress. The first person he texted was his sister.

  Zade: Finally home.

  Zada: Need to chat?

  Zade: Not tonight.

  Zada: Did she make it?

  Zade: No.

  Zada: Did the other one?

  Zade: Yes.

  Zada didn’t text back. He knew she would be mourning with him. The whole town would be. He didn’t know if he had the heart to drag Rosalie into his somber mood tonight. He would text her when he woke up and play it by ear. Without another thought, Zade fell asleep, tumbling into nightmare after nightmare of the two he never even had a chance to save.