Page 11 of The Rose and the Hound (Ashes and Roses #2)

I watched my Zahra enter the building. She often jogged in the late afternoon, but she was really pushing it tonight. It was getting dark. It wasn’t safe for her to run around this neighborhood so late. I’d have to keep watching her if she put herself at risk like this.

Taking the yellow flower and note from my passenger seat, I slipped it under the wipers of her windscreen.

I also took the tracking device and placed it under her car.

She had no reason to think her car was being tracked.

In her mind, she was the stalker. She was the threat.

I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

If I knew where she was, I knew she’d be safe.

We had a meeting tomorrow and I knew she wouldn’t be happy with the news, so I’d asked permission to visit her at home and deliver it there.

She’d reluctantly accepted, but her reluctance seemed more to do with the prospect of bad news rather than a genuine desire to keep me out of her home.

I quickly returned to my car and drove from the apartment building. My Zahra would feel safe and loved. This was nothing like I’d felt for Evangeline. I’d survived Evangeline’s rejection easily. Could I survive rejection from my Zahra? I knew I was past just wanting to make her smile.

__________________

The next afternoon, I knocked on Rose’s door.

It was 4 pm, which had given her time to get home and prepare herself for the update.

She answered the door in her jogging gear, obviously intending to go for a run after our chat.

I wished she’d kept her workwear on. She wore plain clothes to work, often baggy jeans and a large sweater.

This tight gym gear was distracting. She had high, firm breasts and a sweet little rounded belly.

Her hips were slight, but wide enough to grab firmly to allow for greater control when I—

Shit, where was I?

“Hi Rose, may I come in please?”

She ushered me in and offered me a coffee, which I accepted. A coffee would buy me more time here. My update would only take a few minutes to deliver, with some extra time to allow for her reactions. But I could drag out a coffee for longer.

A few minutes later, we sat on her sofa with a seat between us.

She had only one sofa, positioned in front of her television.

Her studio apartment was tiny. She had a neatly made bed in one corner and the whole place had a minimalist vibe.

There were no photographs displayed. No art or prints on the walls.

This wasn’t unusual for someone who had spent time in an institution.

Many people who’d spent years in prison or a psychiatric facility lived simply, unable or unwilling to shift their mindset from their previous simple existence.

For Rose, I sensed she didn’t want to feel “at home” anywhere for fear that home may disappear.

My research showed she had moved many times, attending at least ten elementary schools in the space of six years.

She was used to moving around. Nothing had been permanent for her.

I sipped my coffee before placing it on the stark white coffee table. It had no drawers, no ornaments or candles on the top. Empty. Simple. I had to stop drinking my coffee if I wanted to stay in her home for longer than 10 minutes.

“Rose, my friend Henry reached out to Lou in the nursing home. He was mentally competent and more than willing to discuss your mother. He said Loretta had been a regular at that time and had enjoyed ... um, short-term relationships with many regulars. Unfortunately, Lou had a vasectomy years before your mother began attending the bar. He admitted to a short-lived relationship with her but said you couldn’t possibly be his daughter. ”

She put her head down, moving her hands quickly up and down her thighs. I reached out and placed my hand on hers, stopping the motion.

“It’s okay though; it’s not the end of the road. He said his memory is sketchy, but his son took over the bar. He began working there when he was 18. I guess adherence to liquor laws wasn’t really monitored that well back then.” I gave a short laugh.

“Anyway, his son still owns the bar, and Lou believes he’ll have a clearer memory of the men who visited the bar in that time. I’m planning to go down tomorrow to chat with Paul, his son. This is good news, Rose. There’s still hope.”

She took a deep breath and stared up at me across the distance of the sofa. I was still holding her hand, but it felt awkward because I had to stretch my arm across the empty sofa cushion. I shifted into the empty seat to be closer to her.

“Are you okay?” I asked when she still hadn’t said anything.

She gave a sad smile. “Yeah, I am. I’m preparing myself for a dead end, so I won’t be disappointed, but I’m so grateful to you for looking into this.”

“I’m known for not giving up, Rose,” I said. I had a soft look on my face, but I injected a firmness into my tone and used a deep voice. It was true. I didn’t give up.

A flicker of confusion passed over her face and she removed her hands from under mine. I went to withdraw my hand but instead of pulling away, she replaced her hands on top of mine.

“Thank you. I appreciate it Ace.”

Ace. I was Ace again.

My Zahra did want me. I wondered if she’d tried on the dress, or if Big Salad Gloria was still the assumed sender.

“Rose, would you like to meet up tomorrow night to discuss my findings from my chat with Paul? I won’t be able to get there until about 6 pm, so I could meet you at about 7 pm somewhere? It might be good for you to get out.”

She looked uncertain. There was a long silence, but I didn’t fill it. She needed to answer me with no distractions.

“Yes, okay. Where?”

“How about Gia’s? The restaurant near the pharmacy on Regent Road?”

“Okay. I can do that.” She was talking herself into it. Open the windows, my Zahra. Let the sunshine in.

“Great. Hopefully I’ll have something positive to tell you.”

She shifted in her seat and picked up her coffee. I mirrored her stance and asked her about her day. Rose seemed to relax and began chatting with me. She seemed to have a more relaxed vibe about her. I was finally making my way in.