Amelia finally turns her head and says, “Don’t talk about me like I’m a headline.”
Maggie falters. “I—uh?—”
I keep my gaze on Amelia, my grin spreading wider. “Headline or not, dollface, you’re the only story I care about.”
Her lips twitch. “Careful, Hayes. You might start believing your own bullshit.”
amelia
. . .
I’m perched at the kitchen island, cross-legged on one of his barstools with my planner cracked open, and my iPad glowing in front of me.
There’s a half-empty mug of cold coffee by my elbow and Rex curled up like a little naked croissant on the floor nearby, twitching in his sleep.
I stare at the ring on my finger, turning it with my thumb. It isn’t anything I would have ever wanted, a simple halo diamond, with a silver band.
Maggie picked it out.
Shaking my head, I jot down my appointments for tomorrow. The moment I land in LA, I have a full day scheduled.
Chest piece at ten.
Matching rib pieces for twins at two.
Flash design at four.
I switch apps and begin sketching, dragging my Apple Pencil across the screen as the lines take shape beneath my hand, and slowly, green lilies bloom across the blank canvas.
Lilies have always been my favorite. There’s no suchthing as green lilies, not really, but in my world, they get to exist. I like bending reality like that, creating things that shouldn’t be, twisting the rules until they suit me.
My mind finally quiets in that way it only does when I’m creating.
Ah, serenity.
Until his goofy voice cuts through it. The deep baritone and semi-southern drawl suddenly too close.
“Whatcha workin’ on, dollface?”
I don’t answer as I keep sketching.
He takes the empty barstool beside me anyway, his big body radiating heat like I’m not actively trying to pretend he doesn’t exist right now.
“Okay, cool,” he says casually, “well, while you’re doing... whatever this is, figured I’d tell you, NFL season starts in a couple weeks.”
I pause, pencil hovering mid-stroke.
“And since you’re, y’know, my wife now,” he continues, “it’s better for my image if you’re at practices, games, and maybe some post-game interviews. Couple photo ops.”
I look up slowly, heat crawling at the nape of my neck.
“You want me at every game.”
“Yes.”
“You want me at practices.”
“Weren’t you listening to Maggie when we signed the papers?” he says in a teasing tone, reaching out to tickle my side.
