Page 86 of Proposal Play
She rolls her eyes at him. “I see plenty of you.”
“Because I’m your type,” he says, planting a kiss on her cheek before walking away to give her space. He’s respectful like that when it comes to her job.
“What’s up?” I ask, curious.
Everly waggles her phone my way. “Eleanor is going to be donatinga lotof money with that repost,” she says, then gives me the figure, and damn.
“That’s nice,” I say.
“Stop making my job so easy,” she teases.
“That was all Maeve,” I say, since my wife deserves the credit. Actually, she deserves so much more than credit. As I head into the elevator, a new realization hits me—Maeve isn’t a good luck charm. She’s a good luck catalyst. That wasn’t fate or fortune looking out for us. That wasMaeve seeing what I wanted—for the Greers to know how I feel—and thenmakingit happen.
My heart thumps harder at the awareness, and I grab my phone and send her a text, telling her the good news.
Asher: You did this. You. Not luck. Just you.
Maeve: I’m an instigator.
Asher: The most diabolically clever instigator I’ve ever met.
Maeve: The best compliment I’ve ever gotten. Also, here’s a gift for you.
Attached is a digital badge, something she probably made in Photoshop. It’s a blue ribbon and it saysBest Two-Week Temporary Husband.
I laugh lightly, but the laughter fades when I spot the next image under it and the wordsfor you.
A black-and-white pop-art sketch of a couple almost kissing. It’s small, but it does funny things to my chest as I sink back into bed, running my finger over the silhouettes. I can’t stop touching it. I can’t stop thinking of her. And I can’t help wishing for many more badges.
Most of all, I can’t stop loving the wordsfor you.
In the morning, another text lands. It’s a photo of Maeve in the T-shirt I had made for her last night and rush-deliveredto her place. She’s giving the camera a look like she can’t believe I did this, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips—even as she’s flipping me double birds.
But I’m grinning too. In the pic, she’s not wearing any pants, so really, I won. I’ve got a photo of my wife in her two-week anniversary shirt that saysQuick-Draw Maeve.
She looks so spectacular, so…Maeve. Playful, sexy, all the things that make her, well, her, that I take matters into my own hand.
Happy anniversary to me indeed.
Later that morning, while I’m riding the exercise bike in the hotel gym before we take off for the next city,Everly marches in with a too-pleased smile on her face.
I pull out my earbuds, and she says proudly, “I’ve got some press requests about you,” she says, all business now. “And they involve Maeve.”
Didn’t have that on my bingo card today. “Everything okay?” I ask, ready to do battle for Maeve if I have to.
She holds up her hands like she’s telling me to stand down. “It’s mostly feel-good stuff. You want the details?”
“I do,” I say, still pedaling, my heart and legs pumping fast.
She rattles off a few lifestyle news sites that I’ve never heard of that want to do features. Stuff she can mostly handle on our behalf. Then, she adds, “Webflix has an entertainment news show that’s pretty popular.The Good Stuff.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” It’s a soft show, focusing more on lifestyle than gossip.
“They love you and Maeve and the whole viralkindness thing. And they want to do a piece on the two of you.”
Well, that sounds like something the Sea Dogs would eat up, and it’d raise Maeve’s profile on her own merits, not just mine. “I’m interested. What’s the catch?”
Because there’s always a catch.