Up until her mother put the words out there, Rosalina had been thinking of nothing more than working on her essential oil…with Brodie. But three simple words—maintain your dignity—shook up a carbonated brew of emotion.

She wanted to break free of dignity and expectations and duty, almost as much as she wanted to work in her lab. Okay, just as much. “I’m not here to run wild, Mama. I’m here to work on something important. If I have to give up my career for several years while I marry and have children, then I’d like to get my business launched now. This matters to me. So much.”

“I know that, my love. You’ve always been a wonderful, dutiful daughter. But I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that we can’t afford to have any pictures hit the media of you behaving badly, particularly with other men.”

She smiled, because she already had her workaround for that. “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to be Princess Rosalina here. I’m Rosie, and I wear cowboy boots and jean skirts.”

Chapter Eight

“I love the idea of creating scenes throughout the store,” Vanessa said. “Like bears gathering at a stream or a pack of wolves coming out of a den. What do you think?”

Brodie couldn’t concentrate. It was the damn lyantha, filling up the whole bunkhouse. “Something to consider.”

Not five minutes after Rosalina left, Vanessa had come over with the floorplan for the new Outfitters. Held in place by beverage coasters, it stretched across the table. As she pointed out the various features, his mind kept zeroing in, then zoning out.

That smell would forever be associated with the princess. And, right now, it drove home that she was gone. He’d known her, what? Five days? So, it wasn’t like he missed her.

No, it was the business. They’d started something good, and he didn’t want to lose momentum. She’d probably get distracted as soon as she got home.

He thought of that awkward handshake, and he knew it wasn’t the business he was worried about. No denying it, there was some weird kind of connection that pushed beyond the formality of strangers but stopped short of the easy comfort of a girlfriend.

Friend. He’d meant friend.

“What do you think?” Apparently, while his mind had drifted yet again, she’d shifted gears, because now Vanessa was tapping the left side of the drawings.

He noted five small rooms. “I don’t think we need that many booking agents.”