@rosiemoretti
During William’s travels across Asia he’d discovered his Ikigai, or as the Western world called it - ones reason for waking up in the morning. The pursuit of a medical career was why he ended his two year long travels abroad, and it brought him fulfillment every day. Even on the days like today where his shifts lasted twenty-some-odd hours. It was noon before he got to crawl into bed, and his tired eyes felt like they had just barely closed when his alarm clock started blaring at him to get back up. He groaned loudly, until he remembered why he was waking.
Rosie Moretti. Utterly adorable. Sweet. Tiny. As cute as they came.
William had given her a ride back into town some weeks ago after her truck broke down, and they’d been texting back and forth since. He felt oddly comfortable with the girl, but it made sense given their shared connection. A link that William wished they didn’t have to share. The loss of ones once loved.
After a shower to wash away the smell of sleep and yuck from the hospital William got dressed. He kept it casual but stylish. His time abroad had fostered a subtle fashion sense that a lot of other American men lacked. The look was topped with a few spritz of cologne, something expensive by Armani gifted to him by one of his sisters for his birthday. Or had it been Christmas? William couldn’t recall. He had a lot more on his mind than cologne. Like the guilt that was festering in his gut for going on a date with any woman that wasn’t Julianna; his former fiancé, who had spent many years in the grave already. He and Rosie were just friends, he reminded himself, no reason to feel bad. Sure, he’d bought her a bouquet of flowers, but he gifted his mothers and sisters flowers, too.
Once loaded up into his jeep the grief really started to kick in. William even found himself scrolling through old pictures of his dearly departed on his phone as he stopped at red lights. This was entirely unhealthy, still being in love with a dead women, but he’d come to Westport to try to open himself up again, and he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.
His hands shook just before he tapped on Rosie’s door, but his nerves somewhat settled after a long breathe out. You’re fine, he told himself, but his hands were still a little unsteady. He could tell by the way the petals on the flowers he held bounced, and he could only hope that Rosie wouldn’t notice.
