Page 88 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

A plan that feels so solid and aligns with what I want for my personal life. Finally, I feel like I’m back on track, and it’s better than ever.

The only problem is Tyler.

I wanted him to be a part of my plan, but apparently, he’s not.

I even called Lance. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that we ended up together, and while I wanted him to spill all of the sordid details of Tyler’s life, he wouldn’t. I didn’t intentionally do anything wrong. I can see how some of the things he accused me of looked really bad, but if he had just breathed a little and listened to what I was saying, we wouldn’t be where we are right now, which is nowhere, instead of emotionally together.

“Lily, if you’ll just come stand over here, we’ll get a few more photos and then we’ll get you situated upstairs,” Julia says, breaking me from my thoughts.

Julia and Morgan outdid themselves today.

Downstairs in the bookstore is a large pop-up banner for Love on the Lake. Next to it is a table where you check in and collect your preordered book. A balloon arch takes you upstairs to where the event is being held. They’ve had swag made for purchase, there's a food station with dozens of donuts and two cakes that’ve been decorated like the cover, one for each session, a nonalcoholic drink of the day, and heart-shaped cookies that are of a loon with the title over its head.

Upstairs are more balloons, a large backdrop with my author logo repeating across it, two director’s chairs, and rows and rows of chairs for the readers. Julia has already hooked a tiny microphone to my shirt. While this isn’t her first rodeo, it is definitely mine, and I’m on edge.

“Sure,” I tell her as I move to stand next to her. I smooth my pants down, make sure my shirt is tucked in, and let the photographer do her thing. I’m nervous for today. Who wouldn’t be? After all, I can’t remember the last time I did any public speaking, if ever. While I’m used to standing in the spotlight next to someone, being the main attraction is something else.

“You’re going to do great today,” Morgan says once the photos are over. She’s really been my ride or die this week, and she looks incredible, matching me in a black suit. Whereas my shirt underneath is silver, hers is a white T-shirt with my author logo on it. Both of us are wearing heels, and I know the suit should give me some confidence, but it’s not. It’s the shoes. I might have splurged on four-inch black patent leather heels with red soles.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” She gathers my hair to fall over my left shoulder. “We went over the interview questions already, so nothing will be a surprise, and they’re all going to love you,” she says, smiling up at me. Leaning forward, she wraps her arms around me, and I sink into the hug. “I’m really proud of you, and also, you look kick-ass today. If I wasn’t already spoken for, seeing you like this might tempt me to sway to the other side.”

A laugh bursts out of me.

She pulls back, her hands clasping my shoulders. “I’m serious. You look incredible, the book is amazing, and everyone here is so excited to see you because you’re you. You’ve earned this, and I want you to love every moment of it.”

I let out a sigh, and my head drops a little.

“Don’t do that.” She shakes me. “We’ll think about him later because today, right now, it’s your day.”

“I know. I just wish he would have texted me or something.”

She gives me a closed-mouth smile. It’s one of pity but also understanding as she knows how much I’ve fallen for him.

“Men are stupid,” she says, and for some reason, that makes me smile.

It’s then that the bell over the bookstore entrance jingles, and the door swings open. Shoppers aren’t allowed inside yet, so we all turn to see who it is. Morgan’s hand, which is still on me, squeezes my arm so hard, I stop breathing.

There, standing in the doorway, is Tyler holding a ginormous bouquet of orange flowers that half cover his face, and he sneezes. Three times. My eyes stick on the flowers and their vibrancy. They’re so beautiful my eyes prick with tears. No one has ever bought me orange tiger lilies before. You would think that they would have, considering my hair color and my name, but they haven’t. I imagine this feeling that I have is the same for brown-eyed girls the first time someone plays for them the Van Morrison song, and the emotions in my chest swell so large I feel like I’m about to burst.

My eyes travel up from the flowers to him, and he is entirely locked in on me. My soul cries out at the recognition of his. His dark hair is styled perfectly, his dark eyes are full of apology and awe, and he’s wearing a sharp gray suit with a white shirt and black tie that unknowingly matches me. He’s so tall and handsome, I want to collapse into his arms and have him hold me forever.

“Have you seen the line outside?” he asks. “It’s wrapped all the way around the block.” He points over his shoulder and then drops his hand.

No one says anything. No one even moves.

But then he takes a step toward me. I snap out of the shock at seeing him and step toward him too.

“What are you doing here? You have a game tomorrow.”

“I know I do, but I couldn’t not be here.” He gives me a small sheepish smile, that’s just for me, that tells me he thinks I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. “It’s your big day, and someone I love recently told me that this is what you do for your friends, you be there for them. And well, how could I not come and be here for my best friend?”

Morgan squeaks next to me, and those tears start to fall over.

He’s here.

For me.