“He’s a lawyer now,” I said. “Well…almost, pending interview reviews. He asked me to grab a drink tonight, but—”
“And you’re telling me this now?” she cut in. “The guy shows up, does his time, flirts with the office assistant. Handy.”
“Jeez, Sam. It’s not a corporate takeover.”
She grinned. “I’m just saying, he’s got that Hallmark movie-villain vibe—charming at first, but probably trouble.”
I gave her a look. “He wasn’t sleazy. He’s smart, sweet, and for the record, he didn’t get hired at the firm. So much for ‘handy.’”
“And you,” she pointed a finger at me, “have not had an actual date in too long. You’re going. I don’t care if I haven’t seen his résumé. Please put on something that screams ‘I’m interesting.’”
I chuckled and stood to walk her to the door.
“Remember,” I said, grabbing the door handle, “if the Boyd family ends up on a cringe social trend tonight, that’s on you.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Relax, Mom 2.0. Anything else before I go embrace my twenties’ bad decisions?”
“Yep. No mystery drinks. If someone tries to kiss you without asking, elbow first, report later. We’ve been over this.”
She burst out laughing and pulled me into a quick side hug before stepping outside. We’d played this game forever. Me parenting, her pretending to be annoyed, and it usually made me feel like I was holding the world together.
Her laugh faded down the walkway. I clicked the door shut, and silence flooded in, making the noise in my head louder. They let me go. I worked my ass off, and now it was… gone. I exhaled. Should I cancel on Andrew because I was spiraling? No magic job offer will land in my inbox tonight. At least a drink with someone nice might take the stink off the day.
I took a bath, tossing in one of those fizzle bombs Erica had given me with a happy ‘for a crisis day, darling.’ I let the hot water do its thing: steam rising, tension melting. It didn’t fix my life, but it softened the edges. By the time I stepped out, the idea of pampering myself didn’t seem so ridiculous.
Standing at the mirror, I dabbed a little color onto my cheeks the way I usually did for weddings or job interviews. The shimmer caught just right across my cheekbones, making me feel almost sparkly.
I stared at my reflection. My eyes had always been my one brag. Green-blue with sharp little bursts around the pupil, catlike in their glassy color. Their slanted shape stood out above my high cheekbones, the part I’d inherited from my Apache grandmother. Out of three generations, I was the only one who’d gotten the shape; Sam’s were the same color, but wide and even. And yet I still looked frustratingly pale, as if the maker ran out of melanin pigment mid-project.
That contrast alone had snagged attention more than once, not that it ever led to the type of fireworks they promise in books. One in particular: Vince Silvio. Getting engaged to him had been a mistake, and being the one left behind…that part was still a paper cut.
I took a breath. Today had already knocked me flat; I didn’t need a mirror dragging me through old chapters, too.
I slipped into my prettiest boosting jeans and a soft, fitted top, then glanced out the bedroom window just as a car pulled up. My heart gave a little tap-tap behind my ribs, and nerves I hadn’t felt in a while showed up out of nowhere. I grabbed my purse, took a breath, and stepped outside. Andrew was just reaching the bottom porch steps, his sleeves rolled up, his easy smile already in place, looking effortlessly charming.
“I figured this might be more memorable than a simple dessert somewhere,” Andrew said later, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as we parked beside the glowing glass building of the city’s hockey arena. “I assume you don’t mind cold places, since you’ve survived law offices.”
A wry laugh escaped me. He was right. Dinner had been a pleasant surprise at a cocktail bar with unexpectedly good food, and Andrew actually knew how to ask questions that didn’t feel like a cross-examination.
“So, you love hockey?” I asked as we stepped onto the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the home of the Tahoe West Panthers.
Andrew rounded the car to meet me, a shrug in his shoulders. “Not a die-hard fan, but the after-party can be fun.”
I raised a brow, intrigued.
“Skating,” he explained, nodding toward the arena entrance where a sign read:Public Skate, 9:30–11:00.Couples, gigglingteens, and tired-looking parents trickled through the doors, a Friday night parade of hopeful fun.
He wasn’t into hockey, and strangely, that gave me a wave of relief. Vince, my ex-fiancé, had been a hardcore fan and used to drag me to the games. I pursed my lips.
Andrew glanced at me. “You hate the ice?”
“Oh no.” I recovered, coming back to the present. “I haven’t skated since forever.”
“Perfect. We’ll wobble around newborn-giraffe style together,” he promised, his eyes twinkling.
I gave him a playful look. “Are you sure you’re not secretly a figure skater trying to hustle me?”
“Nope. Basketball all the way,” he chuckled, offering his hand. “I’m here for the comedy.”
