Chapter 44
A GOOD A LOT
REMY
A little later, I’m ready to leave. After that emotional moment, I need to recalibrate.
Maybe he does too. Sometimes we need time apart to process.
There’s also the practical realities—I need to hustle back to my place and get ready to work for a couple of hours.
“I have to help out with a VIP tour in a bit,” I say as I reach the door, my bag slung over my shoulder.
“One of our charity partners has some VIPs in town, and Miller is going to be the tour guide.”
“That should make the tour last a couple of hours,” Lake jokes.
“And then I have the”—I pause to adopt a spooky tone and horror movie fingers—“spa day.”
He frowns, almost believably. He’s far too pleased about this timing. “Such a shame it’s a game day. Because I will be napping. I need it after this morning.”
He doesn’t mean the sex we had. Glad he feels the same.
“And I think I need cucumbers on my eyes to process all that,” I say, waving my hand to the table, the scene of all the unpacking. “That was a lot. But a good a lot.”
“It was definitely a good a lot.”
Where do we go from here? The wedding tomorrow, of course. There’s also the list. I don’t think either one of us expected to knock off two items today. We’re pretty much done, and the ending of the list looms even bigger than the wedding.
The quiet grows, and I should try to make it better. But maybe it’s okay that it’s awkward.
Lake swallows roughly, then says, “Will I see you tonight?”
The way he asks—vulnerable, like it’s hard for him but worth doing—stirs something inside my soul. Makes me want to write our plans in ink for the evening. Throw my arms around him and tell him he’s making me feel far too much far too soon. “I hope so,” I say.
“I’ll call you after the game.”
“Good. You better,” I say.
“Promise.” He tugs on my sweater, then drops a poignant kiss to my lips.
When he pulls apart, he sneers at my sweater. “This won’t do.”
“Why? This is a cute sweater,” I ask, then rattle off its attributes. It’s burgundy, it’s soft, it’s secondhand.
But he’s striding back to his bedroom and once he’s around the corner, I turn to Thor, who perks up an ear from the cat tower.
A second later, he drops his head back, returning to his slumber, uninterested in humans.
“You have no guilt over the broken plate,” I say to the cat as he covers his eyes with white paws to show me exactly how uninterested in me he is.
Lake returns with a purple and white jersey draped over his arm and a cocky look on his face. He closes the distance between us, then tugs the bag off my arm.
I’m smiling stupidly as he sets my bag on the floor, since I know what’s coming.
He drops the jersey over my head. I shimmy it on the rest of the way over my sweater. I’m swimming in it. I run my polished nail along the number 7.
“Wear this to spa day,” he instructs. “It’s hot, like you. And it says you’re mine.”
Heat rises in me at the same time my heart dares to flutter. I dip a toe in emotion-infested waters, but just a toe. “We haven’t finished the list.”
The unsaid corollary? There’s no way we’ll have time to go camping before my sister’s wedding.
He smiles. “We’ll figure it out.”
That feels like a promise. That maybe the list’s inevitable ending could be a new beginning. I swivel around to go, but he clears his throat. “Remy,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Yes?”
“You’re like a hummingbird.”
It’s the highest of compliments from him, and I want to cup it in my hands. “Why’s that?”
“You make me happy.”
It’s a miracle I’m able to leave without melting into a puddle.
* * *
This time on the way to work I don’t stare out the window and avoid planning dates as I daydream of Lake. Nope, I face my romance planner’s block head-on. By grabbing the loose thread, I unravel the sweater I’ve been making for the last year.
Or really, my whole life.
I’m giddy as I email my current clients I’ve been planning proposals, anniversary celebrations, and special nights for, telling them I’ll finish up their dates, and then I’ll be stepping back.
I go to my website and I disable the submissions form. I go to socials, and I flip the sign to closed for all intents and purposes, writing “not open to new clients.” Exuberance, thy name is Remy.
And as the bus trundles toward the arena, the fearsome fox statue growing bigger and bigger, I pop into the group chat with my friends.
Remy: Attention. Your resident type-A, tightly-wound, spreadsheet-nerd, turns-over-ten-thousand-iterations-of-everything girlie has an announcement.
Trevyn: You finally got that nipple piercing?
Skylar: You adopted a dog so Simon will finally have a cousin? *inserts praying paws emoji*
Mabel: Dude? Where did you find a praying paws emoji?
Skylar: I made it myself. Have you heard of the Internet, Mabel? You can do pretty much anything on it.
Clementine: Like respond to a friend WHO SAID SHE HAS AN ANNOUNCEMENT. Remy, I’ve got my earmuffs on since I presume this is about my brother. If you’re going to mention you got that new life-changing toy I told you about last month, I’m going to see myself out of this chat.
Trevyn: As if you could ever see yourself out of anything, Miss Has To Know Everything.
Mabel: And I believe you just described all of us!
Anyway, Remy, is it that you nabbed some superstar celebrity client?
Ooh, I bet that’s it, and I am so proud of you!
I knew you could do it. I bet it’s one of the female hockey players!
Their stars have been rising ever since they won the championship last season.
I’m walking past the fox statue by the time I finally respond.
But I’m laughing, feeling a little over the moon.
Nervous, of course. But in a good way as I head into the great unknown.
I stop at the statue to reply, pushing my bag back up my shoulder.
I pat it for good measure—I have my jersey in it that Lake gave me.
I can’t wear it on the tour, but I’m yanking it back on the second I hit the spa. Let Jameson squirm.
Remy: I shut down Romance By Design! And I couldn’t be happier. I’ll tell you more when we play pickleball again, but I wanted to let you all know. Also, wish me luck. I think I’m going to go talk to my boss about the job I really want.
Mabel: Holy shit, you have ovaries. That’s big.
Clementine: Sometimes knowing what you don’t want is as important as knowing what you do.
Trevyn: Girl, that is not what I expected, and this is much better news than a piercing. And you should still get a piercing to celebrate.
Skylar: We all need to celebrate you. Let’s do something fun after pickleball. Ideally, involving frothy drinks rather than exercise. And good luck with the boss. He’ll be a fool not to hire you.
I push open the door to the arena, stop at security, then pass the giant posters of the hockey players.
I smile, a private one as I walk by Lake’s, and his words at the door echo in my mind.
We’ll figure it out. Maybe soon, we can figure out if our little fling can turn into something more.
If it does, I won’t even need to tell Daniel we split up. I won’t need to tell anyone it’s ended.
The list, the finishing of it, the what comes next. We’ll figure it out.
I clutch those four words tight in my hands, a precious sentence, a promise.
They give me an extra boost of confidence as I march through the arena, ready to tell Daniel I’m closing my burgeoning business.
It’s a little bittersweet to believe something will be your special thing and it turns out you just don’t love it.
But there is something I do love. Helping. Charity. Giving back. And planning events that celebrate those things.
With a fleet of nerves docking in my chest, I trot up the stairwell to the second floor, figuring Daniel will be working today, since we have a game tonight.
I also saw the schedule for the day and there’s an interview with the general manager, Theo Llewelyn, on a prominent sports podcast, so that’ll keep my boss busy pre-game.
I march down the hall toward his office, spotting him at his desk on the phone. He motions for me to come in.
“Sounds great. Love Anna Piper over here. I’d put her toe-to-toe against any of the guys on the team,” he says to someone on the phone, then mouths “Hi”, and nods to a chair.
I grab a seat, even though I’d rather stand. Too much energy. But I wait as he finishes up his call. When he ends it, he says to me, “Try not to be too excited, but Anna Piper is joining the VIP tour today.”
My jaw drops. “The play-by-play announcer for the Vancouver team, and one of the greatest players ever?” I ask, even though of course I know who she is.
“Yup. She’ll be here anyway with Vancouver and thought it would be fun to see the arena. She’s as good a sportscaster as she was in skates.”
“Queen. She’s a queen,” I say, and I can be a queen too, in my own way. By taking ownership of my choices.
“What can I do for you? You’re all set for the tour in thirty minutes? Early of course.”
“I always am,” I say, then take a breath, and wait one second for another flurry of nerves but they don’t come.
Maybe figuring out what you want gives you a newfound calm, something I rarely feel.
“I wanted to let you know I can plan that birthday celebration for you and your hubs, but I need to do it as a friend. No fee.”
His brow knits. “Oh, why? Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” I say, bursting with excitement. “Because I’d like to take you up on the offer to work full-time. I’m not going to do romance design as a business anymore. Turns out I actually love this job more.”