Sure, they have different last names, but I should have paid closer attention. I rub my eyes, squeezing down the pressure that’s been building. The stress is almost unbearable. I shouldhave never gone on that ski trip. I had no business blending the lines of personal and professional. Shaking my head, my heart thuds against my chest wall as if it’s mad for allowing myself to be vulnerable. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, everything about spending time with Noah felt so perfect and even magical. Now that it’s over, I know it can’t possibly be more than just a weekend thing to him.
I’m counting down the hours until I leave Mapleton, and I can already feel tiny cracks splitting as I prepare to be heartbroken. With a wobbly-knee plop to my desk chair, I click on the Sports Era website. I hold my breath as I wait for it to load. My article is on the top of the first page.
I made the feature article.
I place a shaky hand over my mouth and scroll over the article, soaking in every last ounce of it. It’s not the story I had originally wanted to tell. It’s not even close to a hit piece. It’s all the photos the team’s families forwarded to me, and it’s about the team excelling.
It’s Axl scoring goals, and the guys giving knuckies. It’s Jackson’s huge smile when he finally blocks a goal. It’s Noah—my heart literally pains—skating faster than everyone. It’s the families and fans cheering on their feet.
It’s exactly what my editor and the team were expecting.
I drop my hand to my keyboard and scroll back. I’m so immensely grateful it’s not a hit piece. Flashing my gaze to the heavens, I can’t help but smile. Someone was looking out for me when I lost that flash drive. I can’t imagine the shame I’d be feeling today if these photos were different . . .
I learned something this last weekend.
Aside from how soft Noah’s lips are.
I don’t have it in my heart to write a hit piece. As much as I want my dad to “see” me, that’s not the way to go about it, andthis team is actually a great crew of guys. They may work for Bill Baker, but that’s not their fault. They are following their dreams.
A text lights up on my phone. It’s my editor.
Steve: You did a great job, Paisley. It was a pleasure to work with you.
I don’t even hold back my grin as I text back.
Me: Thank you. It was an honor to work with you.
Steve: Best wishes in your next adventure.
I wait for another text, but when my phone goes dark, I drop my phone to my desk in astonishment.
That’s it?
No job offer?
Steve didn’t utter a word about applying for something permanent, nor did he offer me a reference. I haven’t seen Bill Baker, or anyone else who could offer me a position, and the building is empty.
All that is left is the deafening silence of my time in Mapleton being over.
I swallow, about to find myself in self-pity again, but my attention turns to the doorway. Noah strides straight toward me with the full smile on his face I’ve learned to love. He soundlessly steps forward, as if he’s walking on air, and doesn’t stop until he’s in my personal space bubble. His eyes glint a dark hue of aged copper, and my vision decides now is the perfect time to morph into a milky haze.
This weekend was a dream, which I can’t believe I haven’t woken up from. I half wince as I stand. I’m so scared he’s going to blow me off, but he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into an embrace, and drops a chaste kiss to my lips.
My heart trips and I’m so incredibly grateful he’s still here. When he pushes a magazine toward me, I ask, “What’s this?”
“It’s my issue.” He pushes it farther at me and hands me a pen. “I had to go to three gas stations this morning to find a hard copy, but I got one, and I want you to sign it.”
My heart swells, pumping full of so many tiny hearts. It’s not the glowing recognition I had dreamed of from my dad, but this is better. I roll my bottom lip in and take the magazine from his hands. I don’t need to check the page numbers as I know I’m on the first page, and I instinctively flip to my spread and sign it with my loopy cursive.
The girl you won’t meet twice.
As I pass it back to him, the smirk he gives me almost melts me to the ground. He sort of wobbles left and right, reaching his arm out, before saying, “I’m running late for practice but I wanted to catch you before you leave. Is there any way you can make it to the charity banquet tonight? The social is at six, and if you need to leave early, I understand.”
“Is Bill going to be there?” My teeth slide over my lip, digging in with force.
After a curt nod, his expression turns stony, and he rasps, “I’m not going to hide this, and I’m not making apologies to anyone. He might as well get used to it now.”
“Does he know?” I slowly tip my head toward him, my eyes growing wider. I start to go off about how bad this is going to be for him, but my words get stuck because I’m still in his arms. I can’t worry about anything when I’m here. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him decide.
