Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
kennedy
Patience isn’t my strong suit. Staring down my oven won’t make a cake bake any faster (weird, I know) and sending a string of emojis won’t make Cameron answer my texts any sooner. That doesn’t stop me from trying, though.
I can usually tell which flavors a couple will want to taste based on their intake form, but for the Anderson-Chen wedding, I’m second-guessing everything and need a second, and third, opinion.
Apparently, those opinions eat at the speed of sloths.
“Well? What do you think?” I press, fingers drumming against the counter.
“I haven’t even swallowed yet,” Maya mumbles, holding a hand in front of her mouth. “Chill.”
With a hmph, I turn my attention to Sophie. “Soph? Verdict?”
“It’s good,” she says, nodding slowly as she chews.
“But?” I prompt. I can hear it in her voice.
“No but. It’s perfect.” She licks her fork clean. “Lemon lavender, right?”
“Yep.”
I should have labeled the cake samples, but my friends showed up before I had a chance.
Maya finally swallows and announces, “That’s the winner.”
“You’ve only tried three flavors. You have seven to go,” I reminder her. “And you’re going to have some thoughts on the next one. It’s a champagne cake with raspberry filling and vanilla Swiss meringue buttercream.”
Maya holds out her arms and mimics a grabbing motion. “You’re both going to the game on Thursday, right? Elliott’s company has a suite, and he has extra tickets, so we can sit there if we want.”
“I can’t,” Sophie says. “I scored a ticket to an art exhibit I’ve been dying to see, and it closes next week.”
“Does the exhibit have a name?” I ask with a straight face.
Maya smiles knowingly. “It can’t beat Things I Found in My Grandmother’s Attic (Reimagined). That really changed my worldview.”
“Oh, that was profound,” I agree, matching her serious tone. “Though personally, I’m still recovering from The Audacity of Beige. Really made me question the nature of empty spaces.”
“You two are children,” Sophie says, but she’s fighting a smile.
“What’s it actually called?” Maya leans forward with genuine curiosity.
Sophie looks back and forth between us and mumbles, but I can’t make out what she’s saying.
“What was that?” I cup my ear and crane my neck.
“Fractured Permanence,” she repeats, louder this time, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Maya and I lock eyes for a beat before bursting into laughter.
“I hate you both,” our poor friend grumbles, crossing her arms even as her lips twitch. “And I am never bringing you along to another show or exhibit again.”
“You say that every time,” Maya points out, digging her fork into the next piece of cake.
“And yet you keep inviting us,” I add.
Sophie tosses a crumpled napkin at me. “Lesson learned.”
“She says, until next time,” Maya fake-whispers, winking at me conspiratorially.
A sharp knock interrupts our conversation, and the three of us turn in unison. We share confused shrugs, but since it’s my apartment, I pad across the hardwood to the entryway.
In retrospect, I should’ve peered out the peephole before swinging the door open, but I get lucky. Instead of a creepy man or killer, I find pink ranunculus blooms arranged in a glass vase on my welcome mat.
“Oh my God,” Maya says from directly behind me.
At the sound of her voice so close, I jump, startled.
She sighs. “Those are gorgeous.”
I crouch and pick up the arrangement. It’s way heavier than I expected, and some water sloshes out. Not caring if they’re a bit damp, I stick my nose between the soft petals, inhaling the sweet, almost honey-like scent.
“They’re so pretty,” Sophie agrees, bouncing on her toes.
I carry them inside and set them on the kitchen counter before opening the small ivory envelope tucked between stems. And as I flip open the card, I’m hyperaware of both of my friends breathing down my neck.
Seemed fair since you made me GF brownies. Enjoy.
P.S. they match your earmuffs
There’s no signature or name. That doesn’t matter. I haven’t made gluten-free brownies for anyone else in the past few weeks, and I’ve only recently mentioned my favorite flower to one person.
It’s the earmuffs comment that makes my heart trip over itself. The ridiculously fuzzy pink accessory that Cameron pokes fun at. Yet he chose flowers to match them. That shouldn’t feel as significant as it does.
“I can’t believe Cameron sent these,” Sophie says with a squeal. “I mean, I can, because obviously he’s obsessed with you, but this is so thoughtful of him.”
“And you claimed you two were just seeing where things were going.” Maya bumps her shoulder against mine. “You’re both down bad.”
My face splits into a beaming smile. There’s no stopping it. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I got so giddy over a man. Probably never.
And this particular man is only dating me for show.
Even so, there’s no denying the genuine excitement coursing through me.
The arena buzzes with pregame energy as I make my way toward the private suites level and flash the barcode on my phone at security when I reach the elevator bank. The sound of the crowd isn’t as loud here, but the excitement is still a palpable hum in the air as I walk down the carpeted hallway.
I’m checking the suite numbers—because apparently the even numbers increase going left while odd numbers increase going right, which makes zero sense—when someone barrels around the corner and collides with me.
Cold liquid hits my chest and stomach, soaking through my new Davies jersey and dripping onto my jeans. Lovely.
“Oh my God,” the woman gasps, her free hand flying to her mouth. Her other is holding a now empty drink tray. “I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” I reassure her with a smile. The smell of tequila and vodka is overwhelming as I hold the now-tacky material of my shirt away from my body.
The staff member frantically pats at the stain with a towel from her waist, which only makes it worse, spreading the liquor around rather than absorbing it. “I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention, and I just—”
“Really, it’s okay.” I gently take the towel from her before she can cause more damage. “Accidents happen.”
She looks like she might cry. It seems excessive for spilled drinks, but before I can reassure her again, a smooth voice cuts through the moment.
“That looks uncomfortable.”
I turn to find Gigi standing a few feet away, leaning against the doorframe of what I assume is the suite she’s sitting in tonight.
She’s dressed impeccably as always, her dark hair falling in perfect waves.
She looks like she walked out of a fashion editorial, while I look like I lost a fight with a frat party.
“It’s not ideal,” I admit, still holding the jersey between my thumb and forefinger to keep it away from my body.
Gigi studies me, wearing an expression I can’t quite read. “You can’t go into a suite like that.”
“I’ll just—” I wave a hand vaguely. “Find a bathroom and go buy a new jersey downstairs.”
“Don’t be stupid.” She pushes off the doorframe and pulls out her phone. “What size are you? Medium?” she asks as she taps at the device’s screen.
“I—what?”
“Jersey size,” she clarifies, glancing up at me.
“I’ll have someone bring you a new one. Free of charge, of course.
” Her words have a sharp edge to them, making my hackles rise, but I have no legitimate reason to turn her down.
I need a new jersey, and she’s offering me one.
I can’t just say, “You have a thing for my boyfriend, and I think you’re a sneaky snake, so no thanks. ”
I mean, I could, but I shouldn’t.
“Large, please,” I finally reply. “Thank you.”
Gigi’s smile is perfectly polite. “No problem at all.” She taps a few more times, then tucks her phone away. “What suite are you in?”
“L-101.”
“Perfect. Enjoy the game.”
It’s a dismissal.
Fine by me. I reassure the petrified staff member one more time, then hightail it down the hallway.
The moment I’m out of their sight, I let out a breath, my lungs burning.
Gigi didn’t have to help. She could have pretended not to see.
She could have easily gone back to her suite.
Instead, she offered me a new jersey, turning a random accident into an opportunity to… what? Be helpful? Establish dominance?
I shake my head. Maybe I’m reading too much into a simple gesture because she’s Cameron’s ex and she’s been on my shit list since before we met.
Putting that out of mind, I continue walking until I find the suite. When I step inside, it’s already half full of people. I greet Maya’s brother and introduce myself to his coworkers before sliding into the empty seat to Maya’s right.
“What the hell happened to you?” she asks, taking in my sopping wet jersey and splattered jeans.
With a groan, I recap the spill and Gigi’s odd act of kindness, my spidey senses once again tingling. “Weird, right?”
“Suspect,” she agrees. “But at least you’re getting a free jersey out of it.”
I grumble under my breath and slump in my seat.
Yes, I may be getting a new jersey, but I was excited about the one I wore to the game.
It took me forever to find the vintage jersey online and it cost a pretty penny.
I’ve borrowed Sophie’s Davies jersey before and have a ton of Bobcats merch, but this is the first Davies jersey that’s mine.
A staff member shows up with a new (and thankfully, dry) jersey a few minutes after the puck drops, and I step into the attached restroom to quickly slip it on. Much better.
I return to our seats, but before I can sit, Maya turns me around, checking out the back of the jersey. “Who’s Linden?”
Head tipped back, I groan. Of course Gigi wouldn’t have them bring me a Davies jersey. Instead, I have some random-ass player’s name on my back. I call her an unsavory name under my breath, then shake it off and focus on the game.