by Tessa Bailey
“I’m here.” He backed them toward a tree, pressing her up against it, knowing she could feel the chaotic pounding in his chest . . . and letting her. Not being the impenetrable fortress for once. They inhaled and exhaled against each other’s mouth, his cock swelling with every tiny, feminine pant she let out against his lips. Christ, he would kill to give her one fucking orgasm. Just one. “Rosie.” He brushed their lips together. “Honey girl, I’m right here.”
She pulled him by the sleeves of his shirt. “Come closer,” she breathed.
“Ah, would you look at this masterpiece!”
Armie’s voice booming through the clearing was the equivalent of a brick wall slamming down between Rosie and Dominic. They jumped apart like guilty teenagers whose mothers had caught them making out in the family room. And something amazing happened. They both laughed. She fell into his chest and giggled—and hell, if Dominic didn’t feel seven feet tall in that moment. Ignoring the incessant throbbing in his pants, he wrapped an arm around Rosie’s shoulders and held her close.
“Busted,” he said against her temple.
She looked up, smiling. “Feels like old times.”
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “It does.”
Rosie started to say more, but her jaw dropped at whatever was happening behind Dominic. He turned just in time to catch Armie ducking into the tent they’d erected, with not one but two women.
“Viva Team Vega!” called Armie as he zipped up the shelter, amid the squeals of his companions.
Rosie and Dominic were bursting at the seams as he hustled her back toward the parking lot, where they finally doubled over and gave in to tears of amusement.
“Did we just build a campsite so our therapist could have a threesome?” Dominic said.
“Officer, I swear, we were unwitting accomplices.”
Dominic’s laughter trailed off as he tucked a curl behind Rosie’s ear. “Here’s to not rejecting the crazy, huh?”
She regarded him in thoughtful silence. “Yeah.”
Sending his wife to Bethany’s that night knowing he wouldn’t see her until their next therapy session was torture, but he couldn’t help but hope they’d made some progress. Dammit, he would take it.
And someday soon, he would take his wife back.
Chapter Thirteen
A lot of people can throw together a decent meal,” Rosie said, giving her friends a stern look across Georgie’s dining room table. “But food should be about an experience. A journey.”
In front of Rosie sat three covered dishes, and she didn’t miss the ravenous looks Bethany and Georgie kept sending them. She’d asked them to refrain from eating today so they could participate in her first official taste test. It appeared they’d complied. And okay, she was being a little cruel making them wait to dig in, but she wanted to savor the moment. After building the campsite with Dominic yesterday, Rosie felt . . . exhilarated. Excited. New.
Ever since she’d reopened herself to the possibility of being a restaurant owner, she’d been struggling with imposter syndrome. Who did she think she was? Gordon Ramsay owned a restaurant. Did she think she was Gordon Ramsay? He might be a reality television star, too, but they would both be restaurant owners. How could she even put herself in the same category?
But while she cooked asado on Georgie’s backyard barbeque, she hadn’t felt like an imposter at all. Maybe that’s why she was confident enough to revel in the suspense. Just a little longer.
Georgie propped her chin on the table and sniffed one of the covered plates. “You vicious woman. You’re milking this.”
“We never knew you were a sadist,” Bethany commented, studying her nails.
Rosie hid her smile. “I just want you to really focus on how the food makes you feel, as opposed to what your mouth is telling you. It’s going to taste good. That’s a given. But tell me where the flavors transport you. That’s what I’m after.”
“Done.”
“Got it.”
Rosie whipped the napkin off the first plate with a flourish, outright giggling when both of her friends groaned in pleasure, leaning forward to inhale the steam coming off the meat. “Don’t dig in yet. I’m going to help you craft the perfect bite.”
Bethany picked up a fork and mimed jabbing it into her eye. “Rosie, you’re evil.”
“You’ll take that back in a minute.” Rosie took the napkin off the next dish. “This is an ensalada criolla. Tomato, lettuce, onion. Oil and white wine vinegar dressing. It’s going to help counter the savory flavors of the meat. And . . .” She uncovered the final dish. “The pièce de résistance. My mother’s chimichurri.”
Georgie scooted closer to the table. “Okay, so a little bit of everything in one bite?”
Rosie nodded. “Correct. This would be the house dish. At my restaurant,” she said, some shyness creeping into her tone. “I’d serve these three components together.”
Bethany’s face warmed with a smile. “Those words sound good on you.”
Her cheeks heated. “Thanks.” She waved her hands. “Okay. The time has come. Build your bite.”
“Ooh.” Georgie straightened. “Build your bite. Have you thought of putting that somewhere on your menu?”
“I am now,” Rosie murmured, repeating the phrase under her breath. “Build your bite. Maybe we’ll do appetizer combos and—” She cut herself off. “We’ll talk about it later. Eat.”
She held her breath as she watched Bethany and Georgie carve off small pieces of asado, moving it to their plates before adding the chimichurri and a forkful of salad. Georgie shoved the bite into her mouth first, closing her eyes and sighing dramatically. “Okay. Oh my . . . Lord. How am I supposed to think straight when my taste buds are having a straight-up orgasm?” She hummed. “This flavor journey is taking me to a busy street. It’s nighttime. Music is playing. People are dancing and making out in the alleys. There are lights strung overhead . . .”
Bethany popped in her own bite and groaned, her eyelids drooping. “Totally. I can totally see that. But I’m being transported to a backyard barbeque. I’m suntanned and half-drunk and there are bracelets clinking on my wrist and I’m so happy. This food just makes me happy.”
Moisture—happy in its nature—sprung to Rosie’s eyes. “Wow. Both of those scenes are perfect,” she murmured. “I couldn’t ask for anything better.”
“This is it,” Georgie said, already carving another bite of asado. “This is your signature dish. I think your only problem is going to be convincing people to order anything else.”
“Do I smell food?”
Travis strolled into the kitchen, shirtless, with a baseball bat slung over his shoulder. He looked so indecently male that Rosie had to look up at the ceiling.
“Uh, yeah . . . grab a fork. Let’s get the male perspective.”
“No way. No.” Georgie shook her head. “If he eats this, he’ll be forever unsatisfied with my cooking. Begone, fiancé. Forget what you witnessed this day.”
“Ah, come on, baby girl.” He laid a noisy kiss on her cheek. “No matter what, you’ll always be my favorite meal.”
“Oh, come on.” Bethany shoved her future brother-in-law away. “I’m hanging on to my appetite by a thread here.”
“Let him have one bite,” Rosie cajoled, winking at Travis and cutting him off a slice of meat, preparing him a forkful, and handing it over. When his eyes widened at the taste and he staggered back a step, Rosie knew he was playing up his reaction and didn’t mind in the slightest. “What do you think?”
“I think I’ll have no problem convincing some of the Bombers players to make the trek to Long Island on opening night.” He nodded at Rosie and set the fork down. “Once people taste your food, you won’t need the extra help. But it won’t hurt having a little star power on opening night, whenever you get to that point.”
“Wow.” Rosie searched for the right words and couldn’t find them around the obstruction in her throat. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
Hand on her throat, Georgie gave Travis a serious look over her shoulder. “You should be scared of how hard you’re going to get laid tonight.”
His laughter trailed behind him as he left the kitchen.
Bethany went to the fridge and took out three bottled beers, uncapping the brews and handing them out before falling back into her seat. “Totally unrelated to my little sister getting more action than a twenty-one-year-old on spring break in Cancun, I’m getting to the point where porn and my vibrator are losing their luster and I’m beginning to desire male company again.” She took a brisk sip of her beer. “And, God, that’s annoying.”
Rosie drained half of her beer. “Amen to that.”
Georgie visibly battled her smugness. “Sounds like things are . . . interesting . . . in the reconciliation department.”
“You could say that.” Rosie twisted her bottle on the table. “He’s trying. Like, really, honestly trying to communicate better and that makes me hopeful. I’m hopeful. That’s way more than I had two weeks ago. I think we might have a chance.”
Bethany reached across the table and squeezed her wrist. “That’s fantastic.”
“Yeah. It is.” Rosie wet her lips. “I can’t help but feel like he’s holding so much of himself back, though. I have this unsettled feeling in my belly sometimes, like I’m missing the bigger picture. The situation can’t fix itself overnight, no matter how much I would like it to, you know? I have to keep reminding myself of that.” She looked into the empathetic faces of her friends and decided to keep her paranoia to herself for now—the nitty-gritty was between her and Dominic. They’d pick it apart tomorrow in therapy. She’d just nailed down her signature dish and she wanted to enjoy that fact a little longer, so she searched for a way to lighten the mood without avoiding the topic of her husband completely. “Meanwhile, when Dominic and I are together, I can’t go ten seconds without wanting to . . . to . . .”
Georgie waggled her eyebrows. “To what?”
“Yes, I need some specific imagery.” Bethany clapped. “I’ve literally reached the end of internet porn. Spoiler, the only prize you win is shame.”
“Fine.” Rosie covered her face and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I want him to tie my hands behind my back while I . . . um . . . ride his face and tongue? You know that move?”
Bethany and Georgie stared at her in stunned silence, before Bethany drained her beer and rose to her feet. “Looks like I’m going back to the beginning of porn.” She pushed out through the kitchen door. “I’ll try and recover by the time Georgie’s wedding rolls around.”
In the wake of her sister’s exit, Georgie shifted in her seat.
Rosie pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “Go find your fiancé. I’ll put this in Tupperware and head out.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked. “So see you at the next meeting . . . ?”
A laugh snuck out of Rosie’s mouth. “Go.”
Rosie and Dominic sat side by side on the couch in Armie’s office. There was something in the air. Something that had been hanging in the atmosphere like sticky dewdrops since she’d arrived at the session, but Rosie couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She only knew there was tension coiled between her shoulder blades and a sense of foreboding lingering in her belly. The first two sessions had been cathartic. They’d made progress, too. Hadn’t they? So why did the issues between her and Dominic still feel totally unresolved?
“We’ve been presented with the river of Rosie’s needs and we’ve crossed to the other side, as much as we can in our accelerated time together,” Armie said, hopping up onto the edge of his desk. “We’ll be using this session to discuss what Dominic needs.”
Rosie’s serene expression felt frozen on her face.
Armie had mentioned in passing during their first session that she and Dominic expressed appreciation and love in different ways. Rosie needed words to feel appreciated—that had now been established. She should have seen this moment coming. After all, she wasn’t the only member of this marriage. Of course Dominic had needs as well. Wasn’t that what Tuesday nights had been about?
An uncomfortable burn started in Rosie’s sternum and traveled down to her belly, spreading. Tuesday nights hadn’t been just for her husband. They’d been for her, too. In fact, Dominic was almost hyperfocused on her satisfaction when they had sex. None of this was relevant, anyway, because hadn’t part of her reason for leaving been that their sex life had turned empty?
“Rosie?” Armie prompted. “You’re quiet. Doing okay over there?”
“Yes,” she rasped. “I think so.”
“We don’t need to do this,” Dominic said, and she could feel him watching her intently. “She works all day, standing on her feet. Always makes sure I’ve got something homemade to heat up for dinner.”
That unease in Rosie’s stomach thinned the lining even more, and she could taste acid. When she’d walked into the office, she’d had the upper hand, and now it was slipping. The very fact that she’d wanted to have an upper hand when they were trying to get even footing increased her discomfort. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t put a name to it yet.
“I think this is important, Dominic. The way you protect Rosie is a positive thing, but in this case, I think . . .” Armie’s smile tightened. “I think you might need to quell that protective urge for the purposes of this discussion.”
Dominic was silent for a few beats. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Try.” Armie leaned forward, elbows propped on the knees of his ripped jeans. “Dominic, we know you express your appreciation for Rosie through deeds. Acts of service. We’ve been working on creating words, to go along with those actions.” He paused. “It’s important that you’re not just giving, that you’re also receiving. What is something that Rosie does that makes you feel appreciated?”
“I told you, the food in the fridge.” Her husband shifted restlessly on the couch. Not Rosie. She couldn’t move at all. “She contributes a well-earned paycheck.”
“Okay. A paycheck is a contribution to the household, which is very important, but it’s not meant to express love or appreciation specifically to you, Dominic,” Armie said. “Let’s talk about the food. What do you typically make, Rosie?”
“Um . . .” Her voice sounded rusted. “Sometimes I’ll make a lasagna and just leave it there, so we can cut squares from it during the week.”
“So the food isn’t just for Dominic, it’s for both of you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her pulse jumping in her wrists.
The cushions on the couch dipped as Dominic moved closer to her. “What is the point? She’s not responsible for making me dinner. I’m a grown man.”
“No, I would agree with that. But if you’re claiming that’s how she expresses—”
“If I’m not doing that, I’m doing nothing. I’ve been doing nothing.” Rosie laid her ice-cold hands on the sides of her face. For the past week, she’d been feeling apprehensive, positive things were moving forward too easily with her and Dominic. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Was this why? “Oh my God.”
“That’s enough of this,” Dominic ground out, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Stop upsetting her.”
Armie sighed. “Dominic, it’s okay for you to be upset, too. Have you considered that maybe there are reasons this marriage hasn’t been working for you, too? And not for just Rosie?”
“No, I haven’t,” he gritted.
She looked over in time to see his green eyes flash with irritation. There was more happening in their depths, though. Uncertainty. Just a hint of it, but it was there, and it crumbled Rosie’s house of cards. It took a lot to make Dominic uncertain of anything. Her husband was built out of conviction and duty.
“You should,” Rosie whispered. “You should consider I haven’t been good to you, either. I—I don’t think I have—”
He scoffed. “Stop, Rosie. Just stop this.”
“Look me in the eye for ten sec
onds. The way I couldn’t do last time.” She wasn’t sure why it seemed vital to attempt that prolonged connection in that moment, only that it was. During their first session, she’d seen everything right there, visible in the windows to his soul. She’d seen frustration, apology, heat. She needed that reassurance right now more than she needed her next breath. “Look me in the eye and tell me you were happy in our marriage.”
Dominic took her chin in his hand and leaned close, unflinching as their gazes connected. This time, though, there was a barrier up. He was hiding. “I was . . . I was . . . happy.”
Rosie made a sound and covered her mouth.
“If I wasn’t completely happy, Rosie, it’s only because you weren’t.”
It was hard to watch, her husband struggling to come to grips with his own lack of contentment, all the while desperate to reassure her. She’d had a shard of ice lodged right in the center of her chest ever since the night she’d given up on their marriage. This display of vulnerability from Dominic made it crack down the center and begin to thaw. God, she hadn’t seen him like this in so long. Maybe ever. Thoughts raced behind his eyes faster than a major-league pitch. What went on in Dominic’s mind?
“Dominic.” Armie’s voice brought her husband’s head whipping around, his expression decidedly dazed. “Let’s talk about what Rosie could do, instead of what she maybe hasn’t done lately. I’m going to give you a few examples of expressions of love—you tell me which one appeals to you most.”
Dominic shrugged a jerky shoulder.
“Rosie saying thank you for working hard.” He let that option settle. “Rosie surprising you with a new pair of sunglasses. Rosie going with you to a movie. Rosie filling the gas tank of your truck without you asking . . .”
It was subtle, but she caught her husband’s nod in her periphery.
“So you not only prefer to express your love through deeds, that’s how you need love expressed to you in return.”
“I don’t know,” Dominic said hoarsely.