Page 125 of Proposal Play
“Spill,” I demand, stabbing the table.
She lets out a long, anguished sigh. “Fine, I had a thing with Miles Falcon late last summer before I knew who he was and that he works for my dad, and it won’t happen again, and it can’t happen again. And you really can’t say a word.”
“Last summer?” Everly’s voice shoots up. “Before the start of the season.”
Leighton nods guiltily. “It was pre-season. One night. Well, one day too. One amazing day together,” she says wistfully.
“Like a perfect date one day?” Josie asks, voice both sad and hopeful.
“Pretty much,” she says.
“Wow. That was before I saw you again in your dad’s office in the fall. Before you took pictures of the community center gardening event,” Everly says. That was one of the promo shoots Everly arranged when she was rehabbing Max’s image a few months ago.
“Yep,” Leighton says, a heavy admission. “It hasn’t been easy running into him those times. He drove me home too after that gardening event.”
“Where is my popcorn?” I pull my chair closer. “The coach’s daughter and one of the star players. This is going to be good.”
And it is very,verygood when she tells us about her one perfect day and night with him. About the earringstoo. When she’s done, I lift my glass once more. “To wonderful, fantastic, knee-weakening messes.”
“And finding our way through them,” Leighton finishes.
We all clink glasses once again, and in that small gesture, I make a silent promise to my parents that I’ll try to find the way through mine.
43
THAT GUY
Maeve
When I walk through the door a little later, something smells good. Wait—scratch that—everything smells good. Like a dog, I lift my nose and sniff the air as I kick off my shoes and pad into the kitchen.
Where…
Oh god.
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
My husband is cooking, and he’s cleaning up as he goes. Is this a dream? I walk slowly into the kitchen, practically in a trance. Or maybe I’m under the spell he’s casting.
I flash back to the coffee shop with my friends, when they gave Asher their “care and feeding instructions” for me.Keep snacks handy at all times. Maeve loves her independence, so don’t crowd her—but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t cook for her.
I’d protested, saying I didn’t need anyone cooking for me. But actually? I think I like it.
A lot.
It’s strange, though, letting someone in like this. I’m not used to having someone take care of me, not since my parents. And Asher—he’s not just cooking. He’s paying attention, knowing exactly what I need without me asking.
My heart swells. New emotions, indeed.
“Hi.” It’s not the most artful opening, but it’ll have to do. He turns around, and he’s wearing an apron that saysSuck This.
I crack up. “Where did you get that apron?”
He stirs something on the stove—basmati rice, maybe? Butternut squash? Possibly curry?
“I got you a shirt that saysQuick-Draw Maeve. You think I can’t find an apron to amuse you?”
I stop in my tracks. He got it to amuse me. I’m not used to men doing things like this for me—really, anyone doing things like this. I’d have to go way back to when my parents were still alive, when my mom used to send me silly photos of the dog I grew up with, posed as if she were reading my mom’s books. Mom would caption them with sayings likeThis is good in Woof.