Rosie and the Dreamboat (The Improbable Meet-Cute, #3)

by Sally Thorne

Bree looks like a nineties supermodel with her wet hair scraped back. I’m in my sea otter era.

“Sounds like they didn’t put it in. Wait. It’s dark in there?” This realization has put velvet empathy in his voice now. “You’re being real brave, sweetie.”

“She really left?” “Your heartless sister’s gone, Miss Rosie Clamshell. It’s you and me now, kid. Frank is just our third wheel.” “Shuck me out of this thing. I’m begging you.” His helpless, barking belly laugh is an absolute dopamine hit. “Are we shuck buddies? My God, Frank, whoever is in this fancy water coffin is cracking me up.”

Frank booms in his big voice, “We call him Romeo because he’s a dreamy fucking dreamboat.” “Yeah, yeah, fuck right off, Frank, you day-old hot dog. But he’s right, Rosie. I’m a dreamboat. Picture it in your mind, how dreamy I am.”

“Are you trying to set me up with her? Because I saw her true colors. Nothing could drag me from your side, Rosie Clamshell.”

“I don’t think I’d let her tease you.” He sounds . . . flat? No, wait. He’s protective of me.

“May I have his full name and date of birth?” Leo asks sweetly. “Social security, too, if possible? I need to commit a murder, please.”

“I’ll say it again. Are you listening to me? You’re being really, really brave right now, and it turns out, you’ve always been brave.” “Sure. I should have recorded it all. I should have made a police report, filed for a protection order—” He sounds commanding now. “Stop. You did the best you could, just like now. You didn’t let it ruin you. You stayed funny and smart and kind. You survived. A lot of people don’t. Take my word for it.”

“Mr. Husband,” Bree says to him with supreme satisfaction, “I can’t tell you how long we’ve been waiting for you to show up.”