Chapter 39 But What If I Freeze?

• Rosie stared at the fruit bowl like it had personally offended her.
• A clementine sat on top, glossy and perfect, mocking her with its round, cheerful self. Her fingers hovered above it for a second, then dropped back to the counter. She wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t been all morning.
• Her back ached from standing too long in one spot. The espresso she’d poured earlier had gone stone cold, sitting on the edge of the marble like a dare she kept ignoring. The house was too quiet, save for the faint sounds of Alistair moving around in the other room, flicking through a magazine maybe, or tapping something into his phone. Present, but not hovering. Respectful. Annoyingly perceptive.