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

by Sally Thorne

I quote our dearly departed Grammy now. “I’ll recognize him the moment I see him.”

During the end credits, we are interrupted by a man entering the room. “What the hell is this thing?” He sounds delighted. “It looks just like a big toilet!”

“It’s a flotation tank.” Dionne sounds like her perfect hairstyle is unraveling. “It’s for relaxation. We’re glad you’re here.” “I love when people say that to me. Hey.” There’s a knock on my lid. “You relaxed in there?” I wrap my arms across my boobs and groin. “I’m fine. I don’t suppose you’ve brought a can opener?” He roars, laughing. “Oh, we got a live one in here!”

“Hey, pearl in the clamshell.” The man’s voice sounds like he’s lower now. Maybe he’s kneeling beside me. Maybe his colleague just hurt his feelings. “We’re from the fire department. We’ll have you out soon.”

Any suggestions from you, clamshell girl? Can you pull the manual lever?” “There’s nothing to pull.”

“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.”

“Rosie, listen to me.” She is on the other side of the tank, speaking into the sealed crack. “I want you to trust me. This is all going to work out. Trust me. Trust me. TRUST ME.”

“Off you go, traitor. I’ve got her from here.” “See you later, Rosie,” Bree says, sounding like she’s already halfway out of the room. “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.”

“She said this thing is worth eighty-five thousand dollars,” my funny guy—Romeo?—says with awe in his tone. “Hear that, Rosie Clamshell? You’re in something very expensive. You’re one lucky lady.” “I’m truly blessed.” I’ve got a new occupation now: making him laugh. “I’m actually on a sun lounger in the Maldives.” “You are?” His big smile is in his voice. “I coulda sworn you were sleeping on a couch in Buckingham Palace. Yeah,” he says to someone. “She’s fine. Brave little Rosie Clamshell.”

I’m touched that he’s taken on this role of looking after me. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Romeo.” “Nah. This fuckin’ asshole calls me Romeo to annoy me. I’m Leo.” 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.”

“I am in sensory deprivation right now. My ears are full of water. You’re nothing but a voice.” “A dreamy voice.” Leo’s laugh has a color.

“I’ve got a problem I should probably tell you about, if my sister didn’t already.” “Shoot.” “Uh . . .” I put my hands on my cheeks. They feel warm. “I’m like, sort of . . .” “Yeeees . . .” “I’m naked, so when we get this thing open . . .” “I will blindfold everybody, including myself, and we’ll get you a towel.”

It’s you and me. I am going nowhere until you’re out. I can promise you that. I’m just glad you weren’t about to tell me you need to use the bathroom.” “Give it time. This thing doesn’t flush, I guess.” He’s smiling again, I know it. “I like you, Rosie Clamshell. Half the people I rescue in a day seem to be naked. Why’s everybody so goddamn nude all the time?” “We’re heathens.”

“It’s just typical. I’ve lost a button and an earring already. There’s two tanks, but Bree didn’t get into this one. She’s the clever, competent sister, after all. We probably should have tried harder to make her stay.” I fall silent, and when he doesn’t reply, my heart bumps in my chest. “Are you still there?”

“They don’t seem to be concerned about me suing.” “They’re hoping you’re a little sweetie who won’t make a fuss. But lawyer up, baby. I’ll be your witness. We can go to the Maldives after it’s all done.” “How did we become each other’s courtroom witness so fast?” His tone is rich with amusement. “I really have no idea. Maybe we could represent each other, too.” “No need. My sister’s a lawyer. She’s single, by the way.” There’s no other word for it: he scoffs. “Are you trying to set me up with her? Because I saw her true colors. Nothing could drag me from your side, Rosie Clamshell.”

“Ohhhh! It’s Valentine’s Day? It all makes sense now.” “What does?” “Some woman gave me a single rose and her number, down on the street this morning. The boys ragged me so much.” I’m surprised by a hot, dark streak of emotion. I’m frowning. “How positively delightful for you.” “Oh, wait! It was a clue! Rosie, the rose! The perfect girl to be my midday rescue.”

“You’re my isolation-tank hallucination.”

What’s your favorite indoor plant?” He seems to be thinking. “Dusty plastic. What’s yours?” “I’ll never admit it, outside of involuntary confinement.” “I’m leaning closer . . . my ear’s on the seal . . . I simply must know . . .” “I love peace lilies.” “I can’t believe you admitted that. Rosie, good lord. My perception of you has changed.”

He interrupts the thought. “I have no idea what a peace lily is, but I’m googling it. Okay. What’s so embarrassing about that?” “They’re the Basic Bitch of indoor plants, but I just like the way they’re so dramatic. You’ll walk by one, and it’s drooping flat. You’ll think it’s just about dead. Run over by a truck, surely. Then you soak it in a sink for an hour, and suddenly it’s upright, saying, I’m fine, I’m fine, I can live. Until the next time it’s nearly dead. They’re the fainting Victorian ladies of the plant world.” “Your tank’s lit up like a light bulb, so I’m guessing plants are your passion.”

“I love your laugh,” I tell him before I can censor myself. “It’s got a color to it.” “What color is it?” “Milky pastel rainbow.”

“The salt stings in the cracks of my lips. Please don’t slap the lid again, because it drips from the lid into my eyes. I keep hitting the walls with my elbows. My bladder is coming online, and the waiver I signed said that if I pee in this thing, it’s a thousand-dollar tank-cleaning fee.” “Just before we get it open, empty yourself in that thing like a squid releasing her ink.”

“You like pickles? You’d love me right about now.” “My mouth’s watering, Rosie Clamshell,” he says, all sexy-playful, and now I just have to confront the thought that’s been floating around me. This guy is so hot. Then I remember a point I really need to reiterate. “I’m not gorgeous like my sister.” “Was she? Is she?” He doesn’t sound very interested. “All I seem to recall is she was an abandoner of my poor Rosie.”

“Well, compared to her, I’m a late bloomer.” “I hear some roses are.”

“What’s up?” he asks me. Can he feel my emotions? I’ll be honest. I don’t care anymore. “Just irrationally jealous of the red-rose woman.” “Aw. She ain’t got nothing on you.”

He sounds amazed. “You love me for my sparkling personality? Even though I’m just the clamshell’s AI?” “That’s the only explanation for you being so freakin’ charming.” I can’t see a thing, but I picture him now, smiling up at the ceiling, stretching in pleasure. “Maybe you need a hobby. A pet?” “Ma says a wife would be the best solution. They don’t grow on trees.”

No one in the world knows where I am, except Bree. I wonder if she’s in the semifinals of the Pampering Olympics by now?” “She’s on my shit list,” Leo says darkly. “I’m glad she left. You’d be talking to her instead.”

“She’d be teasing me relentlessly. She’s more hilarious than me.” “I don’t think I’d let her tease you.” He sounds . . . flat? No, wait. He’s protective of me.

“When’s another time I should have been there to rescue you?”

“This one time, in my first year of college. I could have really used you then.” He’s heard the change in my voice, and with doom in his, he asks, “What happened?” “I got locked in the trunk of a car.” He’s amazed. “How the hell did you manage that?” “Someone put me in there.”

“I don’t know why. He was a jerk. He knew where I was all the time, and they’d just kinda . . . be there. Just standing there, blocking my way, laughing at me. Campus security couldn’t exactly do anything about people standing around. I can’t explain it, but I couldn’t get past them, and my anxiety levels were through the roof. I was in a class with the main guy, and he’d just stare at me, unblinking, like he wanted me dead.” “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.”

“Hey. I can hear you breathing too fast in there.” “I can’t help it. This feels too similar.” The smooth metal above me, not giving, no matter how I push against it— “But it’s me out here. Not them. And I won’t let anything bad happen. Breathe.”

“Frank? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Fuck, dude, I’m about to wrench the top off this like a sardine can. She can’t stay in there much longer. Yup. Bring it up, then, and if you ever call me Romeo again, I’m gonna insert it into your ass. Love you, bye.”

I want you to get yourself ready. It’s gonna be noisy. There’ll be lots of men’s voices above you. But you’re not in a trunk. You’re here, with me, and I’ll get you out like I wish I could have back then.”