Falling Slowly (Falling Novella Series Book 1) Read online

  Falling Slowly

  Copyright © 2016 by Shirl Rickman

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Visit my website:

  https://shirlrickman.wordpress.com/

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction…

  The Beginning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  The Arrangement

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  The Decision

  Chapter Six

  The Change

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Morning After

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I Walked Away

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  My name is Rose. Rose Marie Fisher, to be exact. My grams never speaks to me without saying my full name like I’m important or in trouble. I never know. Her tone is always the same. Everyone else calls me Rosie—well, almost everyone. My mother just calls me Rose. And no, it isn’t a family name, although it’s what I tell everyone. The real story is a bit embarrassing.

  She named me after a character on her favorite eighties television show, The Golden Girls. Yep, the one that thanks you for being a friend in its memorable opening sequence. You guessed it; I’m named after the semi-old woman who is ditzy yet smart, clumsy yet coordinated, and utterly naive. A prediction of her future daughter because she couldn’t have thought of a more suitable name for me. Except for the old part, I’m all of those things. I admit it. Maybe it’s better to say I accept it. I’m klutzy, gullible, and insanely scattered. Organized chaos is what I call it. It’s the reason I’m twenty-six and alone. At least that’s what Michael told me when he left.

  Grams once told me that there are five pivotal moments in a person’s life, and it’s our responsibility to recognize what they are and where we allow them to lead us. She is right. I can tell you the moments that changed me and, well, where they lead me. I once thought Michael leaving me had been the most important, life-altering moment of my life. I was wrong. I guess we’ll see where they lead me because I, Rosie Fisher, move through life like I’m running with a blindfold on and no map.

  I’ll just ignore the nagging little voice in my head telling me it’s only inevitable before I run smack into trouble and land flat on my ass.

  Standing outside my office building under the awning, I huff out a breath as I watch quarter-sized raindrops fall from the dark, foggy sky. It’s on rainy days like this I wonder why I prayed to end the drought we’ve been having for years now. I should be relieved, but the idea of El Nino isn’t all that appealing. Of course, I didn’t bring an umbrella or a raincoat or any appropriate clothing for wet weather. I can hear my mother now: This is why you need to watch the news, Rose. It keeps you informed.

  I hate the news. It only depresses me, and frankly, I don’t need to watch the news to know that bad things are happening in our world. I don’t need to hear about the evil that goes on around me. I choose to live in my little bubble. I just wish my bubble protected me from the sudden change in weather patterns, too.

  Looking up at the dark sky again, I curse my insane addiction to caffeine. The Roasting Company is only around the corner; it’s possible I can make a run for it with little damage. My red pea coat will surely protect my white top and me from looking like I’m a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest. I’m doing it.

  Although it’s buttoned, I pull my jacket closed around my neck and took my chances with the rain.

  Dashing across the street and around the corner, toward the warm haven of The Roasting Company Coffee House, my hopes of making it to shelter only marginally wet have been, quite literally, doused. I can feel my pea coat grow laden with moisture. In other words, I’m drenched.

  I can see the door up ahead, calling my name to hurry, to offer me sanctuary from the rain. The brick exterior of the building is looking redder from the water coating it. I love the way it looks, but I’d love it more if I were warm and dry.

  Deciding to run a little faster, I ignore the dangers of wearing slick-soled flats on the wet ground.

  Just as I reach the entrance, I put my hand out to open the front door. But my hand never makes it. In fact, I’m pretty sure my feet reach the door first as they go flying out from under me. This moment feels like I’m in slow motion, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. With typical Rosie flare, I’m about to land flat on my wet back. I squeeze my eyes shut as I brace myself for impact with the concrete below me.

  Releasing a quiet, delayed scream, I anticipate the pain I will surely feel. I land hard, against the soft but firm chest of someone, my head cradled in the crook of their arm, my eyes still squeezed tightly closed. Slow motion. The world around me is still going in slow motion, silent around me. That annoying inner voice is back again, whispering, Open your eyes, Rosie. Face your inescapable embarrassment.

  Slowly, I open my eyelids and blink. My caramel eyes are finally looking up into my savior’s crystal-blue. My face immediately deepens to a dark crimson that travels down to my chest.

  A concerned look on his face, his raspy voice whispering across my skin, he asks, “Are you alright?”

  My gaze remains locked on his; I smile brightly. “Of course, better than alright. Normally, I would be on the ground right now, even wetter than I already am. But, um…do you mind letting me go so I can stand up?”

  His lips turn up in one corner, giving me a crooked smile.

  It says I’m awkward yet cute. Typical, I think as he helps me stand upright and opens the door.

  “Shall we?” he asks, still smiling.

  “Yes, thank you again,” I reply, smiling back.

  The warmth of the room and the strong smell of freshly brewed coffee hit me. I love it. Moving my way towards the end of the line, I wipe the drops of rain from my face. I can still feel the heaviness of my drenched coat. I pull my long, chocolate-colored locks from my face. I’m sure I look like a drowned rat, but it will be worth it. Because coffee. It’s everything.

  “Those shoes aren’t made for running, especially in the rain,” deep voice states from behin
d me.

  I swing around so quickly; I knock into the same guy who kept me from falling only moments ago. He stumbles back a little, taken off guard, raising his hands to grab my forearms.

  “Whoa, careful. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grins.

  I laugh. I laugh? Shit, awkward moment number two. I press my lips together. The smirk remains in place on his face.

  “I’m Andrew Nallen,” he informs me, reaching his hand out in my direction.

  Staring first at his large hand then up to his ruggedly handsome face, my cheeks color once again before I blurt out, “I’m Rose Fisher, most people call me Rosie.”

  His expression doesn’t change, but I swear his eyes twinkle.

  Taking my small hand, he suggests, “You can call me Drew. It’s what everyone but my mom calls me.”

  This time, I smile. “Well, pleased to meet you, Drew. Thank you again for rescuing me from total embarrassment.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He laughs.

  I hear a familiar voice from behind the counter call my name. Turning, I beam at Andy standing behind the counter. Andrew? They have the same name. I almost laugh out loud, but stop myself when I realize I would be laughing alone. I don’t need any more awkward moments this morning.

  “Hello, Rosie. The usual?” he greets me in his charming British accent.

  “Hi, Andy. Please, and thank you,” I reply, moving closer to the counter.

  “You got it,” he answers then places his attention on the person behind me. “What about you, Drew? What will it be today?”

  Andy seems to be familiar with Drew. I turn my head to get a good look at his face again. Have I seen him in here before? I’m here every day, and I don’t think I’ve seen him. My mom’s voice creeps into my thoughts again. “Rose, honey, you need to pay better attention to the world around you. You might miss something important.” Not that Drew is important, but if Andy knows his name, then he is in here often. I just don’t recall seeing him. Ever. He’s handsome. More than handsome, actually, and I should’ve noticed him without needing to fall into his arms first.

  “Let’s get crazy today, Andy. I’ll take a black coffee. Iced.”

  Yuck, black coffee, I think.

  Damn. There’s that smirk again. His eyes dart to mine, and his smile widens. I turn away from him and back to Andy to pay him for my coffee. I feel the heat in my cheeks again. I’m pathetic. I want to laugh again. Walk away, Rosie. Walk. A. Way.

  Andy hands my change and coffee to me. “Thanks, sweetie. Stay dry…well, don’t get any more wet than you already are now,” he says, a humorous look on his face.

  Pushing my hair off of my face again, I assure him I won’t.

  Before I walk away, I politely turn to Drew, who is standing behind me in line. “Drew, thanks again. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “I’m sure you will. Bye, Rosie, and no more running in those shoes. I won’t always be there to catch you,” he jokes.

  Walking away, I stop and look back one last time. His back is to me, chatting with Andy. Admittedly, I would have noticed him if we’d both been in here at the same time before. Or would I have? I turn back to the door and stare through the glass outside. It’s still dark and dreary outside but thank god it has stopped raining.

  When I get back into the office, I look up just in time to see Abbey brightly shining as she walks toward me. “Good morning! I can’t wait for you to read this new ar…tic…le.

  Her expression completely changes as soon as she is standing in front of me. I know that look; she is disappointed about something.

  “Seriously, Rosie. Do you even own a mirror? I mean, when you wake up and put on your clothes in the morning, are your eyes open?” Abbey laughs, but there is a bit of stress behind her words. She takes my coffee out of my hand and places it on my desk before taking me by the arm and marching me into the ladies’ room. “You’re a successful copy editor. It’s crucial you dress the part. I love you, but really, Rosie.”

  “What are you doing, Abbey?”

  Without answering me, she rolls her eyes and turns me toward the mirror. “Look at yourself, Rosie. You’re one hot mess.” She throws her hands up in exasperation. “I guess it could be worse. It’s still early, so your interaction with people who have eyes has been limited.”

  I stare at my reflection. I look like a wet rat. Or worse. My hair is lying in wet clumps against my head and face. My skirt is a little crooked, the seam nearly down the center instead of on my sides. The worst part is my cardigan sweater looks as if a kindergartener buttoned it. It’s lopsided, and all the buttons are in the wrong holes. Abbey’s right, I’m a mess. My appearance could’ve been mortifying if…

  “Oh, shit,” I say, so loud I startle Abbey.

  She looks at my face and rolls her eyes. “My God, Rosie. What happened?”

  Turning toward her, I give her a bright smile. “Well, let’s see. I may or may not have slipped while running through the rain when I went to get coffee. And I may or may not have fallen into the arms of a handsome stranger.”

  Abbey begins rubbing her temples, looks at me and turns to leave the bathroom. “Only you, Rosie. Only you.” A giggle slips out as she leaves the bathroom.

  I’m left standing alone, staring after her and contemplating on a scale of one to ten just how likely it is that I will see Drew again in the future. Except, what does it matter? I’m not interested in worrying about what a handsome stranger thinks. I just need to worry about me.

  Apparently, the chances are good. Like ten on a scale from one to ten good. Because I just walked into the coffee house and immediately spotted Drew quietly sitting across the room at a corner table.

  I look up at the ceiling and stick my tongue out. Thanks, God, I think.

  Looking back in the direction Drew is sitting, I study his features. His head is down, the sunlight filtering through the windows shining over him, highlighting the red in his dark hair. Broad shoulders. Olive skin. Even though he’s sitting down, I can tell his body is lean due to the tight-fitting burgundy T-shirt he is wearing. How did I not notice him before the other day?

  “Rosie’s in the house, Andy!” I hear a familiar voice yell behind me.

  I freeze as all eyes in the coffee shop focus on me, including an amused pair of green that just so happen to belong to the very body I’m admiring. His mouth quirks up in one corner. Not knowing what to do, I lift my hand in a shy wave and quickly turn toward my friend, Lynn—the one who just announced me only moments ago.

  Before I greet Lynn, I hear Andy call out a hello to me from behind the counter.

  “Good Morning, Lynn. How’s it going?” I ask with a smile on my face. I lean down to give him a hug. Lynn is probably in his fifties, handsome, and friendly. He spends his days in and out of the shop, and every morning when I come in, if he’s here, Lynn announces me. In fact, he greets nearly every person who walks through the door. I’ve seen him make more people smile than I can count.

  “I’m better now that you’re here,” he says in innocent flirtation.

  “Well, my morning is better now that I’ve seen you, too,” I tell him.

  Suddenly, I feel someone standing close to my side. “What about me?” a male voice asks, joining our conversation. Turning toward him, I’m surprised to see Drew standing there. He still has that crooked smile on his face. Now that he’s closer, I can see specks of gold in his blue eyes and for a moment, I’m mesmerized into silence.

  My gaze travels down from his eyes to his perfectly shaped lips. When they pull into a wide grin, I snap out of my trance and turn a deep shade of crimson.

  Oh, shit. I’m about to say something stupid. I know it because that’s what I always do when I’m embarrassed. And right now, I’m definitely embarrassed.

  Look in his eyes, Rosie. It shows confidence. Look. Into. His. Eyes.

  So I do, and it’s almost like he knows I’m about to say something I’m going to regret too. It’s something in the way he’s watchin
g me.

  “Yes!” I shout with a little too much enthusiasm. I sigh, taking a moment to compose myself. Pushing an errant strand of hair behind my ear, I bite my bottom lip before saying, “I mean, yes. It’s nice to see you too…again…also, Drew.”

  Jesus, Rosie, you were an English major. Get it together. You know how to speak.

  Ugh, there’s that lip quirk again. It makes me want to lick them.

  Is it hot in here? Damn it; my mind is running rampant. Stop. It.

  His lips catch my attention again. They’re pretty. So nice and perfectly shaped. Dreamy.

  “Good, I was hoping you’d say that. Do you have time to sit a while?” he asks me. My eyes snap up from his mouth, and I blink a few times until they focus on his. “So? What do ya say?” Waiting for my answer, his eyes never leave mine.

  It’s intense, and the weight of his stare begins to bend me. I don’t want to be bent. I’ve been bent before by a charming, handsome man. At this moment, something in me resists the urge to cower away from his offer, which is something I might typically do. It took Michael months to get me to relax around him. Abbey whispers, You can do it, Rosie.

  Yes, I can do it. I’m in charge, and I want to sit down with this man. This breathtaking and confident man. Take a chance, Rosie. There’s a shift in me. I want to try something different. Be something different.

  Straightening my shoulders, I stand a bit taller. “Sure, I think I’d like that,” I tell him.

  His eyebrow lifts over one eye. “You think?”

  Just then, the old me of one minute ago, the less poised version, almost lets his teasing get to her. Instead, I never miss a beat.

  Lifting my chin, I look him directly in the eyes. “Yes, I think. We’ll have to see if you can make it worth my while.”

  A burst of laughter escapes him, and his eyes crinkle in the corners and dimples form perfectly on either side of his mouth. Breathtaking is certainly the right word to use when describing him, because I just lost mine.