Page 143 of Proposal Play
“I want to thank you all for coming today and supporting Total Teamwork,” Beckett says. “None of this would be possible without Asher’s idea to get it started, so I’ll let him take it from here.”
And the words ring in my head once more as Asher steps to the front of the picnic tables, his usual easy confidence shining. “Thanks, Beckett,” he begins, glancing around at the gathered crowd. “This cause is so important, and I’m grateful to everyone who’s helped make Total Teamwork possible. But today’s not just about me—it’s about the people who’ve supported me along the way. I’ve been lucky to have Maeve by my side, helping in moreways than I can count. I couldn’t do any of this without her. So thank you—to my wife. My best friend.”
His words hit deeper than I’d expected. Everything right now feels so real, from my brother’s unexpected advice to Lia’s watery eyes to my own dreams finally feeling within reach. But this, most of all—the goal Asher and Beckett had years ago to create this charity. They made it happen, and it’s coming true at last.
Asher talks more about the charity, the picnic, the fun run, the upcoming summer camps, and the range of services available. When he’s done, the crowd applauds, and I’m left standing there, feeling the warmth of his words, the heat of his gaze, the love that surrounds us.
Don’t break his heart.
I don’t want to. I’d never want to. But is that even on the table? His heart? As that thought grows roots, so does another one. Is my heart on the table too?
It beats louder, thumps harder.
My thoughts start to race. It’s only been six or seven weeks—how could I possibly be falling in love? My emotions are so tangled, so blurred, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore. Is this part of the act, or am I starting to feel something deeper?
There’s no time to figure it out, since I need to mingle more, so I push down the confusion that swirls inside me. Play the part. Smile. Focus on him, on being the wife. Optics, right?
Asher is amped up when the event ends. I’ve seen him like this after hockey wins. There’s this charged energy around him, like he can’t sit still even as he drives.
“Are you happy with how it went?” I ask on the short ride back to Pacific Heights.
“Hell, yes. This launch is better than I’d imagined. Had a good chat with Marcus for a while too. Smart guy. He knows a ton about working with athletes’ mental health. Well, obviously,” he says. “So we can definitely incorporate more of his skills. But that’s not why I’m so fucking excited right now.”
“Why, then?”
He grins at me, full of secrets, as we pull into the garage. “Let me show you.”
“What is it?” I ask, his energy infectious.
“Patience, my wife,” he says, then he leads me through the house, out onto the terrace, and into the backyard. Fairy lights twinkle along the fence—brand new and lighting up the yard with a soft glow. My eyes drift toward the little shed, the former sunroom.
It doesn’t look like a sunroom anymore.
I gasp, barely able to breathe. “Asher?”
“Yes?”
“Did you make a—?” I stop, unable to finish. This is so much. This is unreal.
“A studio for you?” he asks, holding my gaze with the most satisfied, hopeful look ever. “I did. Well, I had it made while we were gone.”
This is so much more than words of affirmation. This is everything.
48
YOUR FAVORITE COLOR
Maeve
“How?”
I can’t even begin to process how he’s pulled this off. It’s stunning. I stand in the backyard, staring—no, gawking—at the sunroom, now completely transformed. Even at night, under the soft glow of string lights, I can see the changes. The large windows reveal it’s no longer just a spot for a casual coffee break—which he never takes. There’s an easel inside, the one I had tucked away in the guest room, and shelves lined with paints, as well as a workbench like the one I use to make mirrors.
“What did you do?”
Asher’s smile radiates with pride, deservedly so. “Ididn’t really do anything.”
“I mean, how did you pull this off?”