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.

All my almost-husbands out in the wild have met my gaze, then looked over at her. I would, too.

“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.”

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 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.”