Page 54
“Mom,” I moan. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“I know, baby. Maybe you need a little amnesia in your life, too. Act natural, Zevulun. You’re reacting, not responding to her.”
“But I do know and I can’t undo that. I—”
Mom holds up one finger. “Uh-uh-uh,” she lectures. “Respond. Don’t react.”
I blow out a tired sigh. “Respond.”
“There you go. I have to take Minnie Williams down the street some turkey pie. But you call with a report the minute you get back from the café. We’ll get our girl back, Zev. You’ll see.” Mallory Hayes is a determined optimist who’s fixing the world one turkey pie at a time.
“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”
“Let me know if you change your mind about that turkey pie.”
I smirk. “Okay.”
“The Last Explorer of the North?” I peer down at the book cover. I’ve never seen this book before. Surely, Rosalie would have shared this with me sooner if she loves it so much.
“Yeah, it’s about Ronald Amundsen, a Norwegian explorer.” She grins. “My dad said it’s excellent.”
“Your dad? You haven’t read it?”
She stirs in her seat. “No. But I will. One day.”
“I want to read something you’ve read—something you’d actually recommend.”
Rosalie clears her throat. “I’m sort of doing a deep dive into all things romantic comedy right now. It’s happy.” Her eyes skirt mine. “And carefree, and that’s what I currently need in my reading material.”
Natural. Mallory Hayes is a wise woman who does, in fact, make a mean turkey casserole. And she advised me to respond, not react. So, I think for a minute. If Rose had said this to me two years ago, when we were first meeting, how would I have replied?
“Okay,” I say after only a second thought. “What was your last five-star read?”
She licks her lips. “A Hallmarkish book about a woman moving to a small town and falling for her neighbor after they feud over their fenceline. Believe me, Zev—”
“I’ll take it. Bring it next time?”
She grunts. “I really think you’ll like this one. I think I will, too. One day.”
“I’ll read it later then. Bring me the small-town kissing book.”
She smirks. “You don’t mind kissing books?”
“I really don’t.” I sip from my lemonade. “I’ll pretty much read anything.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile.
What would I naturally ask her? Rather than convince her she’ll love something I know she loves, I need to ask more questions. “That’s settled. Now, Rosalie, what is it you want to do with your life?”
She hums out a breath, and her hands disappear into her lap. “Teach. I’ve always wanted to teach high school one day, but my family is convinced I’m better suited for elementary.”
Natural. Years ago, Rosalie found out on her own that she wanted to teach elementary. Her family knows that now, but she doesn’t. Naturally and normally, without more knowledge, I’d never just agree with her family. “No one can make that decision for you.”
“I agree.” She sighs, shutting her eyes and tipping her head back into the sunshine for just a second. “They mean well. Believe me, they aren’t tyrants. And they have more… experience than I do.”
“That’s fair. You still have to decide. Why do you want to teach high school?”
“I love literature. I love history. I just want to have deep, meaningful discussions about such things.” She shrugs. “You know?”
