Rosie Cotton wanted The Green Dragon for herself, but her uncle made it clear that she’d never get it without a husband.
"Runnin’ an inn is no job for a maiden, dear Rosie."
"You know I practically run this inn already, uncle! I don’t need a husband."
"You might say that now, but there’s ruffians about these days. If you don’t find yourself a good husband, the Dragon’ll go to my second-cousin’s son-in-law."
She had no desire to marry. The tedium of wifely work held no appeal for her, not when she’d grown up underfoot of the cooks and barkeeps of her uncle’s pride and joy. Rosie needed a husband who wouldn’t mind her…strangeness.
So when Samwise Gamgee flirted with her, darting glances back at Frodo Baggins, Rosie knew how to fix her problem.
SHe knew what she was getting into. She’d seen the way that Sam looked at Master Frodo, and how he’d ask her to dance only at the insistence of his friend. She had no delusions about the order of Samwise’s affections: her dear, sweet Samwise was head over heels for Frodo.
If she didn’t know that already, she would have known it when he disappeared with the young Mr. Baggins without even saying goodbye.
There was, of course, that small snag of Sam running off on his queer adventure, but she’d had enough time to make it fairly clear that there was something going on between them (though, honestly, sometimes she wondered if it was more work than it was worth to make it look like Samwise loved her half as much as he loved Frodo).
She loved dear Samwise, and she loved the little girls he gave her, but she loved him only as much as she needed to, no more. He loved her, too, of course — they were quite comfortable with the life they’d arranged. But sometimes, she would catch him staring off into nothingness, with a soft expression of grief mingled with love.
Sam was a good hobbit. She was glad he’d had his true love.