Hadleigh. Is everything okay? Was he horrible? Did he do something to offend you?
Hadleigh Vanderburg is typing …
No, no, he was fine. Nothing nefarious happened.
Okay, there’s a spark of the woman I met, using words like “nefarious.”
But describing Xavier Williams as fine? Something’s off.
I decide to give it one more go before dropping the subject:
Was he boring? An idiot? Arrogant? Asshole? If he offended you, I can go up there and kick his ass. I grew up with hockey players, you know. I can drop gloves with the best of them.
I hit send.
She puts a laughing emoji on that comment, so that’s a good sign.
Hadleigh Vanderburg is typing …
No, he was fine.
I stare at the message.He was fine.
Something is so NOT fine with this whole meeting, but one of two things is happening here. Either Hadleigh doesn’t feel she knows me well enough to discuss whatever happened in her meeting with Xavier, which, fair play to her, I get that, or whatever happened, she doesn’t want to ever discuss.
I’m so invested.
I frown. Does that make me the asshole?
No. I decide it makes me human.
Another message drops in:
Looking forward to our coffee date when I get back. And GNO! I can’t wait for you to meet my friend Marley and her friend Ava.
She’s shifting the conversation away from Xavier. Much like I would do if she asked me if I was dating anyone.
There’s something about last night she doesn’t want to talk about.
I honor that by telling her I’m excited about coffee next week and end the conversation. But it doesn’t mean I’m not curious about what happened.
Ha. Apparently, the saying is true.What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
I get up and peruse the dessert table. I love all the seasonal offerings they have. There’s rugelach and jelly donuts to celebrate Hannukah, then all kinds of Christmas cookies and bars. I grab a cardboard to-go box and put a piece of rugelach in it. Then I move down to the display of cookies and brownies. I use the tongs and grab two peppermint brownies, because I’ll take one home with me, and then throw in a gingerbread cookie for good measure.
There. I can eat my way through the stress of watching Ethan and Aiden play on the same ice tonight.
My phone buzzes in my bag. I fish it out and see it’s Mom, letting me know she’s here and in our seats.
I pause by the bar, set my box down, and quickly text her that I’m on my way up and ask if she needs anything. She tells me she’s good, and I make my way through the tunnels to the elevator, and eventually to our seats a few rows behind the Manatees bench.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, smiling.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says.
I take a seat and situate myself. It’s so chilly down on this level, and I’m grateful for my oversized gray sweater and jeans. Only in Miami can you sweat on the walk from the parking lot, but feel cold when you take your seat.
We talk for a bit, mostly about Ethan and Jamie. I texted Jamie today and told him what Ethan said last night. Jamie told me to ignore him—that Ethan gets riled up about stuff, but then changes his mind once he gets to know more about the situation.
