In any other conversation, Rosalie would have asked for clarification. But hearing Alex speak candidly about something she had thought unilaterally pointless and despicable, she understood what Alex meant.
Whatever she and Alex had or didn’t have in common, they both wanted to be cared for and seen.
Rosalie reached across the table and extracted Alex’s hands from where they were folded under her elbows. She pulled them toward her and held them in her own.
Without saying anything, she looked Alex in the eye. For the first time, she didn’t feel a hint of unease or uncertainty as she stared at Alex dead on. She squeezed and gave a little nod.
I see you.
Alex’s face spread in a slow, peaceful grin. She gave a little nod back.
I see you, too.
Through all their obligations and defenses, despite family members who didn’t understand or care for them, in the most unlikely of places, they had noticed each other. They’d seen through the haze of Rosalie’s resistance, Alex’s reticence, and the desert dust. If that wasn’t miraculous, Rosalie didn’t know what was.
Their food arrived, and they were forcibly shaken from their connection. Rosalie didn’t worry—now she understood how to meet Alex, to care for her as she felt cared for, and she could pick up the connection any time.
They lifted their forks and began to eat.
“I have an idea,” Alex said, shifting forward and putting her elbows on the table. “Tonight, we’ll relax and have fun and not talk about business. Then sometime this week, we can have a brainstorm session and talk about every worry in that head of yours.”
“Every worry?” Rosalie asked, playfully raising her eyebrows.
Alex smirked. “We can start with the Cocheta property. One thing at a time.”
Rosalie leaned forward, picking up her spoon with her free hand. “Sounds good,” she said. There was something satisfying about having a plan. Alex understood that about her.
“So what are you doing tomorrow?” Rosalie gave an impish smile to mock her own anxious desire to talk about the future of Hearth and to convey how much she loved spending time with Alex.
“I gotta drive back to Corte del Cuervo to help Malcolm install an electric fireplace.”
Rosalie pouted, thinking of the desert oasis she loved so much.
“You can come. It’s just a day trip,” Alex said, sliding her hand toward Rosalie again to let her know she wanted Rosalie around her as much as possible.
Rosalie let out a heavy sigh. “Shelley can’t cover the desk tomorrow.”
Rosalie’s thoughts drifted to Shelley, sitting behind the desk, unaware she was facilitating Rosalie’s date night with Alex. Rosalie felt a spike of anxiety at the thought of Shelley finding out. But they were far from Ashhawk, and Shelley was probably too wrapped up in other matters to be curious about why Alex and Rosalie were both gone on the same night.
Alex gave a little pout back. “I’ll have Malcolm pick out a nice bottle of wine to bring back for you.”
Rosalie leaned forward, loving how simple and understandable Alex’s affection was. For a girl with an inexpressive face, Rosalie had an easier time understanding how Alex felt about her than anyone she’d ever dated.
Rosalie looked into Alex’s eyes, wondering at how she had managed to attract someone as reserved and independent as Alex. Her curiosity about who had been so fortunate as to receive Alex’s affection in the past gnawed at her. But she didn’t want to bring up Alex’s ex-girlfriends. What she wanted more than names and dates and circumstances of past lovers was to know Alex better, to feel their connection deepen.
And perhaps a few clues about what she could expect if she told anyone in Ashhawk they were dating.
“Can I ask you something?”
Alex nodded, as though she was happy Rosalie was taking advantage of their closeness.
“What was it like coming out here?”
Alex’s smile dulled. Rosalie worried she’d stirred up old hurt, but Alex gave a halfhearted shrug.
“Mixed bag,” Alex said. “Nothing that scarred me for life. Just high school kids being jerks. Mostly, people looked the other way. It probably woulda been worse if it wasn’t so obvious.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never grew out of my tomboy phase. I dress comfortable and like to play with tools. I’m kind of a walking stereotype, so they already suspected. That made it easier.”
Rosalie nodded, wondering what a younger version of Alex looked like and how she behaved. She felt a specific, protective tenderness toward Alex, imagining her closeted.
“Were you scared to come out?” Rosalie asked.
“Were you?”
Rosalie thought of Perene and realized how silly the question was. Everyone was afraid when they came out. She’d been so afraid she’d lost the first girl she ever loved.
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen.”
Rosalie tried not to cringe, imagining how hard it must have been to endure high school out of the closet in a small town. Rosalie wished Alex would say more to distract her from what she was now imagining had been a difficult teenage life that Alex had little control over.
“How did you come out?”
Alex sighed. “I got caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I guess you could say.”
Now Rosalie couldn’t stop herself from expressing concern. “Whose cookie jar?”
“Shelley’s cousin.”
Rosalie finally understood the tension between Shelley and Alex. Shelley must have felt Alex had tainted or tampered with her family in some way, and even though it had been decades, that wrong hadn’t been forgotten. Rosalie grew even more afraid of what Shelley might think when she came out.
As she thought of Shelley and how Ashhawk often yielded certain ways of thinking, Rosalie realized she was now part of Alex’s story. She wanted to give Alex as much control over her own story as possible. That was more important than soothing her fears about the disapproval she might receive.
“Do you want me to tell Shelley?” Rosalie asked.
“That I banged her cousin? I’m sure she already knows.”
“No, about us.”
“If you want to. But I’m not going to tell you to come out here if you’re not ready.”
Rosalie nodded. Telling Shelley meant telling the whole town. In Philadelphia, she could pick and choose who knew she liked girls, but in Ashhawk, everyone knew everyone’s business.
At the end of their meal, Alex drove them back to Hearth. Shutting off the engine of her truck, Alex slid out of the cab, not bothering to open Rosalie’s door for her, which made Rosalie feel better. She didn’t need such traditional courtship. Courtship was different from romance. Courtship was rules and customs and stiff gestures. Romance could light up the night sky.
Rosalie wondered if their night was over, but Alex hovered in the parking lot, hands stuffed in her pockets. “I have an idea,” she said. “Unless you’re super tired.”
“I can stay up a little longer.”
Rosalie hoped she didn’t sound too flirtatious or suggestive. As much as she loved Alex’s company, she didn’t want to attempt having sex again. They were still learning how to dance together; she didn’t need to be dipped before their footing was in sync.
“Meet me out back in twenty minutes,” Alex said, taking a few steps backward toward her truck.
Curious, Rosalie watched Alex get back into her truck and pull out of the parking lot. Rosalie went into her room to feed Smoke and check that her eyeliner hadn’t rubbed off onto her upper eyelids in an unflattering way. She checked her email and wished there was some way to document her evening. She didn’t keep a journal or a blog or photograph things for posterity; that would be too indulgent for her taste. But she wished there was a way to break a piece of their night off and keep it like prized turquoise.
When she walked out back, she saw Alex had parked her truck behind the hotel facing away from the building again.
She had set up a projector with an extension cord running toward the maintenance shed. She had a glass of wine and a bottle of beer waiting beside the fireplace she’d built. The paused opening credits of a movie were glowing on the stucco wall at the back of Rosalie’s room.
“I thought we could watch Desert Hearts,” Alex said with a grin.
Rosalie beamed, climbing into the bed of the truck. The last evening they’d spent together in Alex’s truck had been so peaceful and happy. She situated herself resting against the back of the cab on top of several blankets and pillows Alex had laid out.
As the movie began and Alex adjusted the sound so they could hear over the night sounds of the desert and the rustling of their legs in the blankets, Rosalie felt stiff with anticipation. She knew Alex wouldn’t try to push anything sexually; the propriety of them watching a movie behind the hotel wasn’t the issue. She was unsure she’d be able to lie comfortably in the truck bed, at its slight angle, with only the meager padding to position her body against. How close would they lie? Would they stay parallel to each other, maintaining a safe distance after their unfortunate first attempt at having sex? She waited for Alex’s cue.
They watched the first few minutes of the movie, the opening credits faded against the stucco wall, the projected image less saturated than a television monitor counterpart. It was still clear, though, almost crisper. Rosalie enjoyed the novelty of watching a movie outside, with the crickets chirping and the faint calls of the coyotes in the distance, the spontaneity of the night air brushing over her face.
Rosalie could see Alex glancing over at her, anxious with her far arm behind her head. Rosalie wondered what she was observing or wanting to ask.
“You can come here if you’re cold,” Alex offered. “I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Rosalie gave a nervous, appreciative giggle. She wasn’t shivering, but the space between her and Alex seemed cold. She scooted closer, limbs making a muted racket in the truck bed as she moved closer, pulling her pillow along with her. Alex threaded her arm under Rosalie’s neck, supporting her, hand resting near Rosalie’s elbow. There was nothing forward about it. Rosalie felt protected and safe. She snuggled an inch closer, keeping her gaze on the screen but her attention on the warmth pressing against her, the lean muscle she rested on. Alex was strong and supportive. Rosalie wondered if the weight of her head would start to pinch Alex’s arm until it tingled, but as the movie wore on, Alex didn’t indicate discomfort.
Soon Rosalie relaxed into Alex as she would a warm bath. Alex drew blankets over them, first making sure Rosalie’s legs and hips were covered before covering herself. As she lay back, she pressed a soft kiss into Rosalie’s hair. Rosalie closed her eyes and took a deep, contented breath, savoring all the sweetness and care she felt seeping off Alex’s body. She had never been around someone so attentive and selfless. She felt impossibly lucky.
Rosalie tried not to squirm too much during the surprisingly graphic sex scene. She coped with her arousal by commenting that the scene was unexpected, given the film had been made in the eighties. Alex nodded and gave a vague, calm response, not seeming as fazed or aroused by the scene as she held Rosalie. She kissed Rosalie’s hair again, and Rosalie felt something stir in the bowl of her belly, a fluttering of excitement.
When the film ended, Alex didn’t move to switch off the projector or the laptop hooked up to it. Instead, she let her Windows desktop fill the rectangle of light broadcast against the wall. She acted as though the movie hadn’t ended, and Rosalie was glad for it. She was so comfortable, she didn’t want to move.
After five minutes of listening to the coyotes and crickets, Alex said in the gentlest whisper, “My arm’s asleep.”
Rosalie startled up to free Alex’s arm, guilty her head was so heavy.
“It’s okay,” Alex said. “I just need to reconfigure our layout here.”
Rosalie took the cue to lie down again, this time facing Alex.
Alex massaged her arm before letting it rest between them. Illuminated by the gentle green light of the projector, Alex smiled. “You look so pretty tonight,” she murmured, as though speaking normally would disrupt the nightlife of the desert.
Rosalie swallowed, never sure how to respond. “Thank you.”
Alex extended her hand to Rosalie’s waist and let it rest there, sturdy and soft, cradling her curve, admiring it without sight. Rosalie felt smaller and more feminine than she felt with the attention of eyes.
Rosalie couldn’t believe Alex had given her a second chance, that they were actually spending such peaceful and natural time together, that the desert hadn’t robbed her of something as tender as this budding thing between them. Rosalie wanted to protect it the same way she wanted to protect Smoke and the wonderful stillness in her body. She would work hard to allow Alex to feel seen the way Alex saw her.
Rosalie reached forward, grazing Alex’s ear with her fingertips before lifting her face to meet Alex’s. Their kiss was soft and slow, the biggest motions the gentle slip of their lips against each other, the quick lick of tongue against tongue. Rosalie felt Alex melt toward her, almost thirsting for whatever kisses Rosalie would give her. Rosalie knew she didn’t have endless kisses; their kisses wouldn’t lead to nakedness. She wanted to stay in the stillness that was her piece of Ashhawk. She felt Alex’s kisses stiffen, jaw more measured as Alex’s hands grew shakier against Rosalie’s head and waist. She knew further probing of her tongue would lead to confusion, so she placed a row of kisses against Alex’s jaw before shifting onto her back, directing her gaze to the stars.
Alex followed her attention, looking up. Rosalie wondered what stories were strung from those stars, stories of animals and warriors, gods and kings, lovers and fools. Stories from people who had loved this land before she had. Stories she didn’t know yet because she hadn’t taken time to look at them.
Feeling the warmth in her hands and feet, the gentleness of Alex at her side, and the courage of her own heart, she knew she had time to look now. She had all the time in the world.
Chapter Fourteen
Room Service
Rosalie didn’t know what to make of George Tackett. He was the cleanest-cut person she’d met since moving to New Mexico, his hair slicked and his collar pressed precisely. Perhaps Rosalie was still peeved about the interactions she’d had with the male real estate agents she’d contacted who called her sweetheart and made her feel incompetent. But George was polite and formal, his smile professional, the handshake of his soft hands firm but unthreatening.
She’d agreed to take a meeting with him at Alex’s urging. Alex had stressed that Rosalie needed to know her options for the Cocheta property and that she was under no obligation to make any decisions.
“Good afternoon, Miss Campbell,” George said, standing and greeting her as she approached his table. After her panic in the casino, she’d asked to meet George at a McDonald’s a few towns over. It wasn’t the most professional place to meet, but outside of Ashhawk, she didn’t have many options unless she wanted to drive all the way to Albuquerque. Part of her resented George for taking her away from her hotel when she was on such a high learning to run it.
Rosalie greeted him as curtly as she could without being rude, sliding into the hard plastic booth across from him.
“Can I get you anything?” George offered, gesturing toward the counter.
Rosalie shook her head. She didn’t want to take anything from George, lest it indebt her to him in any way, even though the smell of French fries was making her mouth water.
“Thank you for meeting with me.” George sat and arranged some files on the laminate table. “I know you’re busy.”
Rosalie nodded in agreement. So far, she liked George. He knew she was not here to mess around.
“So shall we jump right into it?” he asked pleasantly, opening a file.
“I have one question first.”
“Absolutely,” George said. A smile played on his lips, as though he was encou
raged by Rosalie’s participation after having been rebuffed so many times over the phone.
“Why are you so interested in this particular piece of property? There are plenty of small towns with open pieces of land.”
“Ah, yes,” George said, shifting in his seat as though settling into a clear story. “Our client finds the zoning codes in Ashhawk more attractive than others for their particular business.”
“And what business is that?”
George hesitated. “I’m not at liberty to say who the client is by name, but they’re in the industry of consumer goods distribution.”
“What kind of goods?”
“The facility they’re interested in building on your property would primarily be a book distribution center.”
“Like Amazon?”
“I’m not at liberty to name our client, but that’s the type of company interested in the land.”
“Huh.”
Rosalie hadn’t expected someone would want to buy the land to build a distribution center for books. She loved books. Ashhawk could certainly use a few more, though she knew the books inside the warehouse wouldn’t make it out to the actual town.
“Would you like to go over the proposal?” George held an open file a few inches off the table.
Hoping she could stomach it today, Rosalie nodded.
George turned the file so it was facing right side up for Rosalie and set it flat in front of her.
As Rosalie oriented herself to the figures on the page, she realized she wouldn’t be able to determine whether or not this was a good offer. She’d need to consult a lawyer.
Still, the figures in front of her weren’t small.
Rosalie bit her lip and furrowed her brow, scanning the document as though she understood all the real estate jargon and acronyms with which she’d been presented. She let out a few deep hums to feign engagement with the strange piece of paper. Once she’d looked for what she thought was a reasonable amount of time, she looked up with a halfhearted smile.
“I’ll need to consult my real estate agent about these figures,” she said.
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