Rosie snorted and put the plate in the dishwasher. “Honey, you were in no condition to do anything yesterday or last night. You don’t need to apologize. Sometimes the best thing a girl can do is spend the day feeling sorry for herself.” She turned around and pointed. “Just as long as she gets up the next day and gets back to work.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Livvie, I am not talking about the damn chickens.”

Liv nodded. “I’m going to start looking for a job again—”

“I’m not talking about that either.” Rosie marched back to the island. “I’m talking about Royce.”

Liv groaned and shook her head. “I don’t even care anymore.” Which wasn’t true. But it felt good to pretend it was true. Her capacity for teetering on the edges of emotional cliffs had reached its limit. She needed the comfort of gravity for a while.

“Nonsense,” Rosie said. “You’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I thought you said I deserved to feel sorry for myself.”

“That was yesterday. Today I need you to pick up the pieces and carry on.”

Shame drew Liv’s gaze to her lap. “I feel like I made things worse.”

“It feels that way because you poked the bear and the bear attacked. He struck you right where it hurts most, and now you’re nursing your wounds and scared to finish the fight.”

“Maybe this isn’t my fight.”

Rosie slammed her palm on the island. “Bullshit!”

Liv jumped in her chair and snapped her head up. She’d never heard Rosie raise her voice like that. Not even at Hop.

Rosie pointed her finger again. “This is every woman’s fight, Olivia Papandreas. And I know you didn’t ask for it, but this one landed in your lap. Jessica is counting on you. Alexis is counting on you. Every woman on that damn list is counting on you. And I am counting on you.”

Rosie’s expression softened at the last part, and then she rounded the island to stand next to Liv’s chair. She reached over and smoothed an escaped knot of hair back from Liv’s forehead, a gesture that brought another sheen of tears to her eyes.

“I’m counting on you to finish what my generation started, Livvie. What generations of women have started but couldn’t finish.”

Liv snorted, grateful for a reason to do so. “Let’s not go overboard here. I’m just a pastry chef, Rosie.”

“History was built by thousands of women who thought they were just housewives or just secretaries or just seamstresses until the day they got fed up and decided to fight back.”

A memory brought a smile to Liv’s lips. “My Gran Gran used to say something like that. There’s no force on Earth as strong as a woman who is good and fed up.”

“Your grandma was a wise woman.”

“Yeah, well, she also used to believe that if all the cows were lying down in the field, it meant rain was coming, so . . .”

“See? Wise woman.”

Liv sucked in a shaky breath. “I’ve made such a mess of things,” she said after a moment.

Rosie nodded. “Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“I need to apologize to Alexis.”

“Yes, you do. We need our female friends. Royce has destroyed enough. Don’t let him destroy that too.” Rosie nodded crisply. “Now, I have something for you, and this seems like as good a time as any to give it to you because you need a boost of confidence.”

Rosie crossed the kitchen and went into the living room. Liv turned and watched as she opened the drawer to her desk and withdrew a thick envelope.

“What’s this?” Liv asked as Rosie returned and handed it to her.

“My will.”

The air escaped her lungs in one panicked exhale. “I swear to God, Rosie, if you tell me that you’re dying right now, I will kill you.”

“I’m not dying. I’m going on vacation.”

Liv sank into her chair. “Thank God.”

“I wanted to get this taken care of before I left.”

“Get what taken care of?”

“I’m adding you to the will.”

The tiny bit of oxygen Liv had managed to suck back into her lungs once again rushed out. “You can’t,” she stammered, shaking her head. That emotional cliff was tugging at her again. “You can’t.”

“It’s done. I met with my attorneys last week.”

Liv could only form one word. “Why?”

“Because I’m old. I want to retire, travel, have more sex with Hop before he can’t get it up anymore.”

Liv winced.

“And because the day you showed up here was the best day of my life.”

Liv gave up and just covered her face with her hands. What was the point of fighting tears at this point? Rosie’s hand settled on her shoulder, warm and reassuring. “I gained a daughter that day. A daughter I didn’t even know I needed.”

Liv wiped her nose with the back of her hand and hiccupped. “I thought the day Neil Young threw a sweaty T-shirt at you from his tour bus was the best day of your life.”

“You’re right. Your showing up here was the second-best day of my life.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Liv whispered, staring at the envelope on the counter.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Rosie smoothed her hair again. “Just be the woman I know you are. A woman who makes me proud.”

But could she be a woman who made herself proud? Liv stood on shaky legs. Rosie was only the second person in her entire life who had ever said those words to her. She backed away, but in every direction was that fucking cliff. Her arms were helicoptering, and the fear of falling was draining her muscles. “I’m scared,” she finally whispered.

“Of what?”

“Disappointing you.”

Rosie let out an incredulous noise. “That’s the second-dumbest thing you’ve said today. You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”

Liv looked at her feet. The floor wavered in her watery vision. “Alexis was right about me. I am judgmental. I’m so scared of my own weaknesses that I punish other people for theirs. I . . . I don’t make it easy for people to trust me. To love me.”

Rosie made a sympathetic noise. “Whoever made you think that, they don’t deserve you.”

Liv didn’t realize she’d closed her eyes until she felt the warm pressure of Rosie’s hands on her cheeks. “Look at me, honey.”

Liv obeyed and lifted her gaze. Rosie’s eyes were warm, loving, proud. “Whatever was broken in that person, it was their wound.” Rosie’s thumb brushed away a tear. “You don’t have to carry the scar of it for them anymore. You’re allowed to let it go, Liv. All of it. Let yourself be loved and let it go.”

Liv let Rosie pull her into an embrace and sobbed on her shoulder. How could she just let it go? How did someone just one day decide this was the day they were going to heal? She couldn’t. And now she’d lost the only man she’d ever loved.

And she did love him. So, so much. The image of him had haunted her all night. His defeated smallness . . . She’d done that to him. He’d told her the truth, and she’d turned him away because of her own fucking insecurities. How could he possibly forgive her?

Liv pulled away and wiped her face.

Rosie did another one of those now that that’s settled inhales. “But first you need to take care of yourself. Go brush your hair. Take a hot bath. Drink a glass of wine. I’ll bring over some chocolate pie and send Hop to get your car.”

Liv’s voice broke. “I love you, Rosie.”

“I know you do, sweetie. And I love you too.” She pointed to the door. “Now go. I got shit to do.”

She did what Rosie told her to. She returned to her apartment and brushed her hair. Drank a glass of wine. Took a hot bath. She sank low in the water and let it wash away the fresh tears.

An hour later, she wrapped a towel around her body and walked into her kitchen with the empty wineglass. A book on her table caught her attention.

The Protector.

What the . . . ? Where had that come from?

A note stuck out of the top.

A friend gave me this to read. Thought you might like it.

—Hop

Liv snorted out a laugh. Hop . . . had given her a romance novel?

There was a postscript beneath his name.

Page 245. Fear is a powerful motivator, but so is love.

Fear is a powerful motivator. Those were the same words Mack—Braden—had said to her. Liv carried the book to the couch and flipped through the pages until she found 245.

Ellie’s hands dove into Chase’s hair again. “Whatever happened before this minute doesn’t matter. We can start over.”

“How?” The word—muffled against the hot, fragrant skin of her throat—was a plea from deep down inside him that desperately wanted to believe it was actually possible.

“Look at me.” Her hands slid around to his face, gently urging him to lift his head. He did, but only far enough to press his forehead to her cheek.

“We just start over.” She tugged his face higher until they were brow to brow. “We forget the past.”

“Just like that?”

“No. Not just like that. I’m scared and confused and feel completely exposed and vulnerable right now, and those are emotions I’ve spent a long time trying not to feel. I’m not saying this is going to be easy. I just know that trying to stay away from each other hasn’t worked out so well for us. Maybe forgiving each other and starting over will.”

Chase clung to her words. He soaked in them, floated on them, felt the weight of guilt and burden rise from his shoulders for the one blissful second when he believed them.

He wanted to stay in this suspended reality where he could be forgiven and where he could deserve her. Where the past, the truth, didn’t matter. Where he could take what she offered—a second chance, redemption, her. He wanted to be worthy of it—the adoration, the absolution, the forgiveness. He wanted to be the man he saw in her eyes when she looked at him the way she was looking at him now.