Page 166 of Proposal Play

I don’t know if she’s forgiven me, but right now, I’m focused on the man striding over to me, already dressed in a sharp dark brown suit since it’s game night.

“Did you nap?” I ask, dusting off my hands before I touch his tie, tap dancing my fingers down it.

“I did. With Ruby Roo,” he says.

“Aren’t you just the cutest dog dad,” I tease.

He loops an arm around my waist. “You doing okay?”

I look around at the long and, honestly, impressive mural. I told him I was sad this morning about not hearing from Eleanor, but that I’d deal. “I’m okay. I’ll be thrilled to be done, but I’ll miss this too,” I say. But Angelina has new work for me.

And so does Everly. She hired me to paint a mural of hot-pink silhouettes of women of all shapes and sizes dancing on poles at her studio. I can’t wait.

“How about you? How was Marcus?” I ask. He had another session today, before his game-day nap.

“It’s good. We’ve been working on cognitive behavioral therapy techniques. I’m cured,” he adds dryly.

“Yay, therapy! Also, I have no idea what that is, but it sounds good.”

“It is. It helps you recognize patterns in your thinking,” he explains.

“Sounds hot,” I say, tugging on his tie and running a hand along his stubble. “I love a man in therapy. Who also happens to be growing a beard.”

“Because you like the beard for when you sit on my face.”

“You got me there. And I will tonight after you win.”

“Talk about an incentive,” he says, then nods in the direction of the locker room. “I should go.” He pauses, his lips quirking up in a hint of a grin. “Also, it’s going to be a good game.”

“Of course it is.”

“Hell yeah,” he says with even more than his usual hockey confidence.

I give him a kiss and watch him leave.

Then I finish the mural for good.

Later, when I’m putting everything away so I can head down to the ice, I spot Eleanor at the far end of the corridor with her husband, laughing at something he’s said. Then she must catch sight of me because she lifts a hand and waves.

It’s friendly, warm, forgiving.

At least, I hope so.

I wave back, then put my things in Asher’s car before returning to the arena to change my clothes. I pull on my Mrs. Callahan jersey, a short skirt and high boots then make my way to join Josie for the game. But as I’m walking down the hall, I hear footsteps behind me, quickening. It’s Eleanor, and she catches up fast.

“The mural is amazing,” she says, her eyes warm, her expression maternal again. “It’s everything I wanted and more.”

“I’m so glad.”

“And I passed on your name to lots of friends. You’ll be hearing from them soon.”

A weight lifts. “Thank you, Eleanor.”

“I believed in your love story,” she says. “And I still do.”

“So do I.”

With that belief, I head into the rink toward my seats at center ice, joining Josie, who’s here to cheer on her guy too.