"Where the hell are you goin' now?!" Shouted John from outside Rosalie's tent.

Rosalie furrowed her brows and glanced at her tent flaps, having just pulled in her pants and shirt for the day. It was only mid-morning, so she couldn't imagine what kind of commotion was going on already.

She pushed open the flap and stepped outside, the air thick and warm from the summer heat of the deep south. She could already feel her curls frizzing from the humidity and ran a hand through them as her gaze drifted over the camp.

John chased Arthur across the clearing, but he waved John off like an annoying fly, not even stopping to give him the time of day. Rosalie felt a tick of irritation at the sight.

"It's none of your damn business, kid!" Arthur called as he unhitched Boadicea from the tree and saddled her.

"You've been gone for days, it ain't fair! At least Rosie told us where she's been, but you ain't sparin' any details! It's like you're abandoning us or somethin'!" Cried John, throwing his hands up in exasperation as Arthur stuck his foot into a stirrup and swung himself into the saddle.

Arthur grabbed hold of the reins and looked down at John. "Stop askin' me, alright? I'm off doin' grown man things, so go do somethin' else that's more worth your time than bothering me! I show up when it's important, and that's all that matters."

With that, Arthur tugged on Boadicea's reins and steered her out of camp, kicking her into a trot and taking off over the grassy hills.

John dropped his arms to his side, a pitiful look on his face as Arthur disappeared, leaving John in his dust.

Rosalie frowned from outside her tent, watching Arthur's retreating form in the distance turn to nothing more than a speck.

While she was mad at Arthur, mostly due to her own jealousy, it was still cruel of him to blow off John like that. Even if he was seeing a woman and acting that way because he was excited about the new relationship, it didn't excuse his treatment of John. He felt left out was all. John just wanted someone to do something with him.

With a deep sigh, Rosalie walked over to John, her boots scraping against the grass as she made her way over. Stopping beside him, she crossed her arms and gave him a sideways look.

"Hey, kid," Rosalie greeted, first gauging Johns's reaction.

"Hey," He responded grumpily.

"I was thinking…" Rosalie pursed her lips, looking off to the side in feigned thought. "I know I've been busy lately, and today isn't a great day… but tomorrow we could go rob one of those stagecoaches? From that wealthy businessman I met at the saloon?"

John turned to her with hopeful eyes, a grin pulling at his lips. "...Really?"

Rosalie smiled. "Sure."

John's grin practically split his face in half. "Yeah! Okay! I'd like that! I've been itchin' to do somethin' fun since Dutch said he's savin' his energy for that thing at Lake Catherine you mentioned, but I wanna get out!"

"Alright, then you have a deal," Rosalie said as she gave him a pat on the shoulder.

John was practically vibrating with glee, his grin widening. "Alright!" He cheered.

Rosalie's proposal seemed to placate him, as there was a pep to his step as he went about his usual chores, Susan ordering him around after Rosalie had done her fair share of washing some of the clothes and dishes too.

Susan had laid off most of her pestering, especially since Rosalie took on what was considered the 'men's work' of hunting and fishing. Fishing was one of Rosalie's favorite activities anyway, so if it got her out of scrubbing shirts, she would eagerly take her line to the nearby lakes any day.

After her morning chores, Rosalie found herself in Isabella's store sipping a hot drink called Horchata. It was unlike anything she'd had before, especially as it was made from rice, which was especially surprising as the drink was sweet and tasted like cinnamon. She never thought she would like the taste of rice and milk so much.

Not that she was complaining about the ingredients. It really was delicious.

"I'm not surprised. I thought you were part of the Montgomery family the first time I saw you," hummed Isabella, her chin resting in her palm as she leaned against the counter.

Rosalie had just finished giving her a slight recap of the last week or so, telling her about what happened when she left Isabella's store after their first meeting.

Rosalie sighed and shook her head. "I had no idea who those people even were. Did I mention that I went to my grandfather's garden party? I feel so stupid complaining about that, attending a big, fancy party… but it was so… odd. I felt out of place there." She explained, feeling sheepish as she voiced her thoughts out loud.

"I don't think you have anything to be ashamed of," Isabella shrugged and picked up a rag, wiping down her cup from some of the spilled horchata. "It's a strange environment and one that has many rules. I assume from what you've told me about living with your father and being on the road so much, that you didn't have very many rules. It's a complicated society, being wealthy."

Rosalie wrapped her hands around her cup, the porcelain warm. "That's true. I never thought about it that way. If anything, I felt guilty for having any negative thoughts, as I was given a warm bath and nice food at no cost to me… I don't know." She said, sighing.

She then gave Isabella a sideways look. "You talk about it though like you have personal experience…? With high society, I mean."

Isabella paused her wiping, her hand faltering as she swallowed hard. The hesitation was slight, and easily missed if Rosalie wasn't so good at picking up on social cues, but she could tell that something was making Isabella nervous as she set the rag to the side and picked up her drink.

"I don't." She said quickly. "Just repeating things I heard, is all."

"Uh huh…" Rosalie said slowly, watching as Isabella sipped at her drink, refusing to make eye contact with her.

Rosalie wouldn't pry. If she wanted to keep something to herself, then Rosalie wouldn't mind. Some things were good to be left private until they felt comfortable sharing it.

While Rosalie decided she would not pry, it didn't matter as Isabella couldn't contain herself. She set the cup down and looked around as though she was checking for anyone who could be lurking. Pressing her palms to the countertop, she leaned in with a serious expression.

"Can you keep a secret?" Isabella whispered.

Rosalie blinked, taken aback. "Yes?" She said, her response coming out more as a question due to her confusion.

"I…" Isabella took in a breath, her skin turning pale. "I've been meeting with a man. A very, very affluent man for some time now… and it's serious between us."

"Oh?" Rosalie blinked, unsure what the problem was. "That's wonderful?"

Isabella's face faltered, and she shook her head as she leaned back. "No, I can't say it is. Only because… he's a white man."

Rosalie was still failing to see the point. "Is there something wrong with him being white? Do you… not like white men?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Ah, well, I guess your father raised you well, and you're a Yankee." Isabella sighed and shook her head as she fidgeted with her cup. "This family is very affluent… I'm sure you've… heard of them before…" She fidgeted and cast her eyes to the side. "But they do not take kindly to people who are not like them, and they specifically do not like the Spanish. I'm not white. But despite that… we come from very different backgrounds and were raised differently—but we still love each other the same."

Rosalie's stomach churned at the thought of the reason they couldn't be together just for the sake of their race. This kind of oppression and twisted thinking was not something she was used to. It made her heart hurt. While it still wasn't okay, she could understand if this man's family didn't like her because she wasn't rich. But because she was a dark-skinned Spaniard? It was despicable.

She did wonder who this mystery person was. Isabella was a very beautiful woman, so she wasn't all that surprised that she had someone who was romantically interested in her.

"I'm sorry," Rosalie said with a frown, unsure what else she could say, even if it was not her apology to give, her heart still hurt.

Isabella gave her a tight smile. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. He and I talk sometimes about what we should do… if we should run away… I don't think my Mama would even want me to be with him. She wants me to marry a nice Spanish man, but I haven't found someone who loves me as he does." She sighed with a shake of her head.

Rosalie reached across the table and gave her wrist a firm squeeze. "I think that if you really love him, then you should do what makes you happy. I know things are more complicated than that… but if you love each other, that's rare. I hope you both come up with a way to be together. Having feelings for someone… it can be painful." She said.

Isabella gave her an inquisitive look. "Do you have experience with love as well?"

Rosalie's face flushed and she looked away. "I don't know about love. But… I don't know. There's a boy I've been traveling with since my Daddy died. I thought that… I thought that maybe he had feelings for me, and I had feelings for him. I've only known him for about three months, so it doesn't make sense to feel the way I do… but…" She sighed.

"But you do," Isabella said softly. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. There's no time limit to explain how you feel about a person. If you love them, then you love them. It doesn't need to be something you explain away. I tried to talk myself out of loving the man I do for some time, but our feelings have a funny way of occurring right under our noses for reasons we can't explain." She said, her eyes far off as she spoke.

Isabella shrugged. "But as you said—these feelings you have for him, you think them to be just a crush, so maybe someone else will come along that you'll love more. Eventually, I'm sure you'll find someone who will love you as you love them."

"I don't know about that," Rosalie laughed, her cheeks red. "I think love is a little silly, sometimes. It's hard for me to understand, as the only time I've felt love was between my family or friends. A romantic kind of love… it's weird." She said thoughtfully.

"It is weird. But that's what makes it so great." Isabella smiled warmly at her. "There's something special, just as you said, about choosing another person and them choosing you. Sharing that kind of raw love is rare. If this person you care about comes to love you… then hold onto it tight. Or if it's not them, and you meet another who holds you just as tight as you hold them, don't take it lightly, you know? It's a special feeling."

Isabella sighed wistfully and took a drink from her cup.

Rosalie looked off to the side with a pondering expression.

Was the emotion she held for Arthur… love? She wasn't certain, but the thought of him holding her close, encased in the smell of leather and cigarettes before the fire, or how he would tenderly hold her face as he cleaned her injuries, sent warmth through her body and butterflies in her stomach. The thought of him being with someone else, and another experiencing those things with him, sent a jolt of pain through her.

While Rosalie didn't love Arthur, at least not yet, she was certain that she held real, deep feelings for him. Enough for her to tell a friend and think about him as more than a fleeting thought.

"There is someone else, though," Added Rosalie, glancing at Isabella.

"Oh really?" Isabella gave her a teasing grin. "You seem to have a lot of suitors. I'm not surprised, as you are pretty, but still, another man?" Her eyebrow lifted suggestively.

Rosalie shook her head with a laugh. "No, I'm not sure this man has any affection for me, and the other doesn't even care about me the way I care about him… but he works with my grandfather. He's kind and has a nice sense of humor. He asked to take me to a café near here. I'm meeting him later, actually." She hummed, glancing at the clock to check the time.

Isabella shrugged. "Well, not every interaction with a man has to be serious. Have fun and get to know him. No one is saying you have to marry him."

Rosalie sputtered at the mention of marriage. "W-what?"

Isabella's lips curled into a grin. "What? You haven't thought about getting married? You're nineteen, right? Most girls get married around our age. I'm only twenty, and my Mama nags me all the time about finding a husband." She shrugged. "Though it seems you haven't gotten that far in your plan."

"No, I haven't." Rosalie furrowed her brows, the thought of marrying someone sending anxiety through her.

What would a marriage even look like for her? Living in a house… having children… was this even something she wanted? A few months ago all Rosalie had thought about was what scheme her uncle and father were going to pull off next. The prospect of settling down was far from anything she considered. Being a homemaker… a wife… she wasn't sure she was built for that kind of life.

"Well, you don't have anyone proposing right now, so I don't think you need to worry yourself with the thought," Isabella teased as she took Rosalie's and her own empty cup, stacking them inside of each other.

"Yeah, that's true." Responded Rosalie, though she still had a pondering look on her face, brows furrowed as a line formed on her forehead.

Rosalie left Isabella's store soon after that to head to the bridge she was set to meet George.

The city was busy, people walking about with friends or business partners, the hum of chatter and clacking of hooves filling the air. It was hot, the sun high in the sky and making the humid, warm weather almost unbearable. Hairs stuck to the back of her neck and she was grateful for her father's hat shielding her from the sun.

Rosalie leaned against the bridge, her hand curled around Blitz's reins as she rubbed his neck, humming to herself to pass the time.

George was a nice man, but Rosalie didn't know enough about him to form a true opinion. He had gone out of his way on multiple occasions to help her, such as keeping her company at the party and showing her the gardens instead of giving a long, boring tour of the Montgomery Manor. There were little things about him too that she found funny, such as when he sprinted over to her at their first meeting, huffing and puffing as though he had just run a race. Or when he stuffed almost three fruit tarts in his mouth, one after the other.

It was interesting that he asked to take her to a café too. George went out of his way to plan a time for them to meet up again and even offered to pick her up from wherever she was staying.

Of course, that wasn't an option, as no one at camp knew who George was. She didn't want to reveal the location of their camp to just anyone either.

"I hope you haven't been waiting long." Greeted George as he walked up from the other side of the bridge.

He wore a black pinstripe shirt rolled to his elbows, a black vest on top, and a silver chain clipped across the pocket. While he usually didn't wear one, a black fedora sat on his head, some of his dark hair sticking out underneath the brim.

"No, I haven't. I was meeting with a friend earlier anyways, so I was already kind of late," Rosalie said as she ran her hand over Blitz's neck.

"Oh, a friend?" George asked as he came up beside her, eyeing the black stallion she was petting. "I thought I remembered Loius telling me that you've never been to New Orleans?" He asked, wondering how she knew someone in the city already.

"I haven't been here before," Confirmed Rosalie. "But I met a friend during my first few days here. Her name's Isabella. Her family owns a store in the Spanish district and I thought the architecture was pretty, so I went inside and she helped me pick out a few things."

She raised a brow thoughtfully. "Isabella is actually the first person who thought I was related to the Montgomery's. Funnily enough, I met Eleanor that same day, but when Isabella asked me if I belonged to that family, I had no idea what she was talking about."

"Isabella…?" George asked, his face twisting thoughtfully. "The one who owns a clothing store?"

"Yeah, that's her." Rosalie turned to face him fully and titled her head. "Why, do you know her?" She asked.

George shook his head and cleared his throat. "Uh, no. I don't. Um… that's interesting though. I wonder if she made the connection just based on your looks." He shrugged and then plastered a smile on his face. "Are you ready to go to the coffee shop?"

"I am." Rosalie smiled back at him, before pulling herself into Blitz's saddle. After adjusting herself and grabbing ahold of the reins, she looked down at him with a raised brow. "Well, aren't you getting on? You can point me in the direction of the shop and I'll take us there."

George looked up at her under his hat with wide green eyes. "Uh, I don't know about that. Maybe I can walk beside you while you ride…?" He suggested, nervous about getting on the horse.

Rosalie snorted. "That's silly. Just get on behind me. It'll be faster anyways."

George stared up at her with a grimace, fidgeting with his hands. Rosalie rubbed Blitz's neck as she waited patiently.

While it might have seemed odd for her to be the rider with a man sitting behind her in the saddle, she didn't think it was a big deal. Little did she know, that was the main reason George kept his feet planted on the ground, his head turning to scan the area for anyone he knew, fearing embarrassment.

After another pause, George grumbled a quiet 'to hell with it' and stuck a polished shoe in the stirrup, swinging himself in the saddle behind Rosalie. He kept his hands firmly pressed to his sides, refusing to grab onto Rosalie for balance as she kicked Blitz into an easy walk, not wanting to go too fast for fear of him flying off.

"See, it's not too bad," Rosalie teased, glancing over her shoulder at him.

While Rosalie didn't think it was a big deal, George's face was turning tomato red from the close proximity to her… and the fact he was saddled on a horse behind a woman. It was an embarrassing position for a man, and being so close to a woman who wasn't part of his family was considered improper. Rosalie was still clueless about these societal rules, though, so she simply thought his reddened cheeks were from the sweltering heat.

"Mhm…" George cleared his throat."Not… uh. Not too bad." He nodded his head forward. "Just down the street there."

The two continued on, Rosalie weaving in between people as they went and making idle conversation. It was a short ride, and George instructed her to stop before a small, almost empty-looking café at the end of the street.

The brick building was quant, placed just between the Spanish and French districts. She could see inside through the large, glass windows, that wooden chairs and tables were scattered throughout the room with only a few people inside. For it to be such a good café, she was shocked to see how few people there were.

Rosalie slid off the saddle, George dropping to the ground beside her as she led Blitz over to a post and hitched him there.

"After you, ma'am," George said with a smile as he opened the café door for her.

Rosalie blinked, blushing slightly as she walked through the door, the smell of sweet pastries and coffee hitting her.

It was a nice place and far less crowded compared to the café where she met Eleanor. Rosalie appreciated that, as she felt she could relax in a less crowded space and enjoy the serene atmosphere. The decor was charming, with floral wallpaper and wood floors. The tables were clean and adorned with flowers when there was enough space to hold a vase without getting in the way of whoever sat there.

"Have a seat and I'll order us something," Geroge said, turning toward the counter where a barista was patiently waiting, having noticed them walk inside.

Rosalie shook her head and reached into her pocket, pulling out a few coins. "Oh, no–let me pay for my own–" She began to insist.

George shook his head with a breathy laugh and placed a hand on her wrist, pausing her scrambling for money. "No, please, it's my treat. I'm the one who asked you out. It would be improper of me to expect you to pay for anything." He smiled. "Besides, you're a lady. A lady shouldn't have to pay for her own things if a man can help it."

A furious blush lit up Rosalie's face at the mention of her being a lady. He said it so tenderly, as though she was someone to be cared for. The statement made her feel sheepish, and also a bit… warm.

"Okay," Rosalie said stupidly, watching him smile at her once more, before he turned to the counter to order something for them.

Rosalie chose a table by the window, sitting with her back to the wall, the other chair's back to the café entryway. This table didn't have flowers, the dark wood grain visible and shiny from whatever smooth lacquer was poured on top. She ran her finger over the grain to distract herself from how intimate this setting really was.

While she knew George was just being friendly, it was strange for her to be out… alone… with a man. Not to mention a setting where they drank coffee and ate pastries. To someone who saw them on the street, they might have even looked like they were on a date or a couple.

If Rosalie dressed nicer, she was sure that others would suspect there was something romantic between them.

Rosalie didn't have any romantic feelings for him, though. She would only recently call Geroge her friend, as his helpfulness at her grandfather's garden party had earned him some major brownie points. But Rosalie still held feelings for Arthur, even if it wasn't love, and only a crush, she still cared about him.

It didn't mean George wasn't handsome, or that he wouldn't make a good partner. Rosalie could tell he would be a caring man. He was handsome too, with nice features, a strong jaw, dark hair, and bright green eyes. There was a dark beauty to him, along with his sense of humor and cheekiness, Rosalie could see the appeal if a woman were to fall for him.

That didn't mean Rosalie cared about him in that way, though.

"Here is your coffee… with some milk," George said, setting down two porcelain cups, one for himself and one in front of her.

He slid into the seat across from her and took off his hat, setting it on the table. "I ordered us two pastries, but they have to warm and bring them from the back, so it'll be a minute before they bring it over." He said, picking up his cup.

Rosalie slid her coffee closer, peering down at the cup, the color a rich dark brown. She could smell the sweetness of the drink mixed with the creamy milk, and she couldn't help it as her mouth began to water.

"Thank you," She said, taking a drink.

Her eyes widened as the warm drink hit her tongue. Pulling the cup away from her mouth, she couldn't help but hum in approval. "This is amazing." She said, surprised at just how good it was.

George nodded and laughed, setting his cup down. "I know! This place is owned by an old Italian family. I don't like to bring most here, as most of the people I know despise mingling with someone who isn't English or French, but I didn't think you would care about that." He explained, wiping at a bit of coffee that had dribbled down the side of his cup absentmindedly.

Rosalie furrowed her brows. "It seems like lots of people around here have some strong opinions about those who come from different places than themselves. It's… weird… because I've never known anyone who had an opinion like that. My Daddy never seemed to have an opinion like that, anyway."

"I think it's something the older generation still holds onto with an iron fist." Replied George. "I don't think it matters, really. The civil war has been over for some time now. All men are the same. Why should it matter where we came from? Because we have different backgrounds, we get spectacular things like this," He lifted his coffee cup with raised brows, before sipping at the drink.

"That's true. I had horchata for the first time because Isabella made it for me," Rosalie said, thinking back to the milky, cinnamon flavor of the drink she had earlier. "I've never had anything like it, but it was good. A drink made of rice and milk? Who would have thought?"

George seemed to shift at the mention of Isabella's name again. Rosalie furrowed her brows, looking at him strangely, before internally shrugging to herself.

If it was important enough, she would figure it out eventually, or George would tell her if their friendship continued to progress.

"So, who is Rosalie Klein?" George asked, facing her with a teasing grin to change the subject. "I know your mother was a Montgomery, but that's as far as my information goes. And I don't care too much about that, as I know plenty about the Montgomerys—but who are you?" He asked.

Rosalie blushed, feeling sheepish. "Me? Well, I don't think I'm that interesting."

"Well, if you won't tell me, then I guess I'll just have to go with what I know." He shrugged nonchalantly. "That you're a wild gunslinger."

"I am not a gunslinger!" Rosalie cried, light laughter escaping her at his playfulness. "Why do you keep insisting that I am?"

George grinned at her. "Well, if you won't tell me, then I'll just have to fill in the details for myself. And with the details, I've decided you are a wild gunslinger. If you don't tell me otherwise, how would I know? I think you have to prove me wrong." He said innocently, looking out the window as he sipped his cup. His gaze flicked back to hers as he lowered the brim from his lips.

Rosalie took a drink as well, unable to bite back her own grin.

He was funny. She had to give him that.

"Well, what do you want to know?" Rosalie asked with a bat of her eyelashes, tipping her head forward as she looked at him under the brim of her hat.

George's grin widened. "What are you… passionate about? What gets you up in the morning?" He asked, enjoying the shift in her attitude from being all coy to matching his playfulness.

"Hm… that might be too hard of a question," Rosalie teased, before throwing her hand up. "But I suppose I can indulge you."

"I would be honored," George said.

Rosalie sipped her drink, thinking about what she should tell him. There was a fine line between friendly details and things she wanted to keep to herself, along with what would be considered dangerous information. It wasn't as though she thought George had malicious intentions, but she didn't want to share too much.

"I come from up north," She began.

George raised a brow. "Uh huh… I already knew that."

Rosalie snorted. "Okay, then what is it you want to know? Maybe you should start, Mr. Langley, so I can have a better understanding." She teased.

"Alright then, that's fair." George conceded with a nod. He raised a thoughtful hand to his chin. "Where should I start… hm… well, I suppose I should tell you the important things. I love sweets, so much so that my mother would yell at me for eating them, screaming about how I would get fat and never get a wife."

Rosalie laughed, thinking back to his display with the fruit tart at the garden party. "You did already tell me that."

"I know," he smiled. "But it's important, so I thought I'd reiterate it."

"Sweets are an important detail to remember when getting to know you?" asked Rosalie, amused.

"Why yes, very important." George grinned, eyeing the barista who was bringing over two plates in their direction.

He set them down and both Rosalie and George thanked him. Rosalie looked down at the plate, blinking at the sight of the rolled pastry, chocolate dribbled over the top and a bit of cream sticking out the side. It smelled good, but she had no idea what it was.

"It's a cannoli," George picked his up and took a bite, audibly groaning. "I wish I had an infinite supply of these. I really would get fat then. My mother's worst nightmare." He joked, licking his fingers as he set the pastry back on the plate.

Rosalie took a bite of hers just as George did, eyes widening at the flavor, the scene reminiscent of when she tried the coffee for the first time.

There was a delicate crunch as she bit into the pastry, the cream spilling out and getting on her fingers, but she really didn't care too much about that, especially as she tasted the soft combination of vanilla and chocolate.

"This is amazing!" Rosalie didn't hesitate, scarfing down the rest of the pastry and licking her fingers. She dragged a finger over the plate, licking at the leftover cream that dribbled out.

George laughed and tapped the corner of his mouth. "You uh… you've got something just here."

Rosalie blinked at him, not sure what he meant, before the realization that there was food on her mouth settled in. She licked her thumb and wiped at the corner of her lip, but she seemed to be missing it entirely as George only shook his head.

"Ah… no… here," He reached across the table and dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, the pad of his thumb soft and warm.

The action startled her, and she did her best not to react, but the furious blush that lit up her face, and his, gave way to how both of them felt.

Rosalie lifted a hand to her face and touched her mouth, swallowing hard at how fast her heart was beating, and the heat that still resided in her cheeks. His touch was so gentle that it shocked her.

George wiped his thumb on his napkin and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Um… well I'm glad you like the cannoli. Like I said, I know my sweets. Besides that though…" He trailed off, seeming to be in thought for a moment before he looked up at her.

"I've always loved music. My mother taught me how to play piano when I was a boy. It's always been my favorite thing. It's how I… remember her sometimes." He smiled, though there was pain in his eyes as he attempted to be vulnerable with her. "Other than that, I like to read. Mostly the paper, to keep up on events, but sometimes other things too."

Rosalie's heart faltered in her chest at the mention of music. She turned to look out the window, hands wrapped around her coffee. "That's really beautiful. I… I love music too. My Daddy taught me to play guitar. He used to have a really nice, beautiful black guitar, but he sold it a long time ago for cash. He and my Momma were very poor, living in New York… I think about it sometimes. I wish I had it to remember him by."

A thoughtful expression crossed Georges's face, "I see… do you… do you still know how to play? Do you sing too?" He asked.

"Sing?" Rosalie laughed. "Oh, I mean, I can. Anyone can sing, but I wouldn't say I'm very good at it. Playing the guitar, though… yes, I can do that. I used to play my Daddy's guitar when he had one, but they would get broken. Or as soon as he bought one, they would have to sell it, or it would get stolen." Rosalie shrugged. "Though if I had another, I would guard it with my life. Not sure when I'll get one, though. They're expensive."

George smiled at her. "I'd like to hear you play one day. I'm sure you're amazing."

Rosalie blushed. "I wouldn't say that. I can use it… b-but I wouldn't use the word amazing to describe it."

"I think you're being too modest." He grinned. "If you get a guitar, or we come near one, you have to promise to play for me."

Rosalie fumbled a bit, not expecting him to suggest that she play for him. Why did he even care about that? It struck her as odd, but also… kind of touching that he would want to hear. It was unlikely she would ever have a guitar near her anyway, so there was no harm in agreeing, right?

"Okay," Rosalie smiled. "Sure. You have a deal."

He smiled. "Wonderful."

George Langley was an interesting man, but Rosalie liked him.