Page 75 of Proposal Play
When we break the kiss, she sighs—a deep, satisfied sound. “You kiss me a lot.”
She’s not wrong. “Want me to stop?” I ask like it’d be no big deal. Only, it’d be a terrible deal.
“No,” she says, then smiles up at me. “Who knew my best friend was such a good kisser?”
I drop a kiss onto her nose. “I guess you know now.”
“I do know,” she says in a feathery whisper.
I drive Maeve to the arena so she doesn’t miss her appointment with Eleanor, telling her goodbye as she goes inside.
But I don’t take off yet. I do what the guys said I should do—make this official on social.
I post the bridge photo with a caption, keeping it cheeky.
Can’t spell kindness without kiss. And I can’t kiss without my brilliant wife, Maeve Hartley. What have you done to be kind today?
I tag the Sea Dogs and Maeve, hoping the Greers see it.
If anyone doubted I want my wife, they’d better not doubt it now. But for all Eleanor talked about loving our photos, she doesn’t even like this one.
Well, you can’t get lucky every time.
26
THE FOLD PROBLEM
Maeve
If the brunch with the Greers was an out-of-town tryout, this dinner three nights later with the Total Teamwork board is opening night for the Broadway show.Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.
And I plan to earn a standing ovation.
It’s been a busy week, working on the sketches for the mural both at the arena and at home. But on Friday night, at Everly’s place, I put murals, paint, acrylics, and ladders out of my mind as I zip up my navy blue sheath, one of my painting-party dresses.
My friend smiles approvingly. “You look amazing,” she says. I can’t believe you snagged this at Goodwill.”
“I can’t believe someone bought this and never wore it. The tags were still on when I found it,” I say.
“Thank god for fancy ladies who buy too much.”
“Indeed,” I say. I look in the mirror, admiring the shoes Everly let me borrow—basic nude heels. “Tastefuldress. Styled hair. Understated pumps. Will my husband even recognize me without an outrageous outfit on?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’llalwaysrecognize you,” she says, knowing. “The man doesn’t take his eyes off you when you’re around.”
Scoffing, I shoot her a look. “Please.”
“Don’tpleaseme. You know it’s true.”
My stomach has the audacity to swoop. I like her suggestion too much. Which means it’s best not to focus on it at all. I don’t want to cling to my temporary husband. “Anyway, give me your best tips for a fancy-pants dinner.”
“Don’t use the word labia,” she says.
I jerk my gaze to her, jaw falling open. “Why would I use the word labia?”
“I don’t know but I wanted to pass on the tip,” she says earnestly.
“Did you say labia at work today? Tell the truth.”