Chapter 40
CHAPTER FORTY
MIA
“You need to wax.” Sophie says it like she’s informing me of a tragic death.
I stare at her from my spot on the sofa, with a towel still wrapped around my damp hair. “Wow. That’s how we’re starting the day, is it?”
“You said ‘help me get ready for this date,’ not ‘validate my body hair choices.’”
“I didn’t say that either.” I fix her with a raised eyebrow stare.
“You implied it with your eyes.” She squints dramatically. “They screamed ‘please make me smooth and irresistible to a hockey god.’”
I throw a cushion at her, which she dodges with far too much satisfaction.
She’s already raided my bathroom, spreading out her entire makeup bag like she’s prepping for war. Brushes, palettes, some strange sparkly serum that reminds me of marshmallows. Sophie doesn’t do half measures. Especially not when the word date is involved.
And not just any date. It’s a date with Dylan Winters. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already passed all the bases and hit a home run several times. This is technically our first date, and it’s exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time.
God help me.
“Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate excuse to attack my eyebrows?”
She grins. “Babe, I have been waiting to get my hands on your face for months. You’ve been walking around with this natural, dewy, fresh-out-the-clinic thing and frankly, it’s offensive.”
“Thank you?”
“Not a compliment.” Her face is scrunched up as she examines me, obviously trying to figure out how she’s going to make a purse out of a pig’s ear.
I roll my eyes and sit back, letting her pluck and blend and dab with surgical precision. It’s nice having her here. It’s grounding. Familiar. Like breathing air I forgot I missed.
And I need that today. Because underneath the fluttering nerves and giddy excitement about tonight, something heavier is sitting in my chest.
My phone buzzes beside me. Again.
Dylan: How long does it take to pick an outfit? I’m dying here.
Mia: You said 7. It’s 3:40. Try surviving one more hour without sending a thirst trap.
Dylan: No promises. I’m wearing a towel right now.
Dylan: That was a lie. I’m wearing nothing and thinking about you in my hoodie.
Sophie leans over my shoulder. “Oh my god. Is that Dylan?”
“Don’t read my texts!” I screech as I fumble to lock out my phone, but I’m too late.
She snatches the phone and gasps. “He’s NAKED?! Is there a picture?” she’s desperately trying to click on each message in hope her quest will be rewarded.
I grab it back. “That’s between me and the towel-less menace.”
Sophie flops down next to me, her eyes wide. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Shut up.”
“You do! And he’s into you, like, really into you.”
I press my lips together and don’t answer. Because she’s not wrong. And that’s the part that scares me most. I’m not used to this. To letting someone in. To wanting to.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it’s not Dylan.
It’s my mum.
Mum: GP appointment moved. Tuesday, 2pm. He’s getting worse, Mia. He couldn’t remember Ben’s name this morning. Please come.
My stomach drops.
Sophie sees my expression shift. She gently takes the phone from my hand, scans the message, and wraps an arm around me.
“Hey,” she says softly. “You okay?”
I nod. Then shake my head. “I don’t know.” We sit there for a moment in silence.
“I thought maybe… maybe it was just stress. That he was tired. That it would pass. But he’s not sleeping. He’s snapping at everything. And now this,”
“You think it’s dementia?”
I nod again. My throat is tight. “Mum’s trying to get him to do some proper tests, but he’s resisting. He keeps saying it’s nothing. But it’s not. It’s getting worse.”
Sophie pulls me into a hug, and I bury my face in her shoulder.
“He used to be the sharpest man I knew,” I whisper. “Now he looks at me like he’s trying to remember who I am.”
Her grip tightens. “I’m so sorry, love.”
I sniff and wipe at my face. “I’m scared he’s going to hate me even more now. That he’ll forget everything except how disappointed he’s always been.”
“Mia, no.” She pulls back to look at me. “He might not have understood your career choice, but he’s always loved you. That’s not something dementia can erase. And even if his memory fades, your impact doesn’t.”
God. That undoes me more than I expect. I let myself cry for a full thirty seconds before Sophie claps her hands.
“Right,” she says firmly. “Now we cry, later we slay. That’s the rule.”
I blink at her, dazed. “That’s not a rule.”
“It is now. You’ve got a date with a hockey god, remember?”
My phone buzzes again.
Dylan: Thinking about you in that white top you wore to training last week. The one that made me forget my own name.
I smile, despite myself.
Mia: You’re a menace.
Dylan: Yeah. But I’m your menace.
God, I’m in trouble.
By the time six rolls around, Sophie’s transformed me from tired wreck to actual functioning human goddess.
My hair’s soft and curled at the ends, makeup glowing but not heavy, and the outfit; tight jeans, a black lace-trim cami, and a slouchy beige blazer, is enough to make even me do double-take in the mirror.
“He’s going to combust,” Sophie declares.
“Too much?”
“Not even a little. He’ll worship at your feet.”
“Let’s maybe not start with foot worship.”
“Fair.”
I grab my bag, check my phone, and stare at the text waiting for me.
Dylan: Waiting outside. Don’t make me come up there.
My heart stutters.
Sophie grins and practically pushes me toward the door. “I’ll tidy up and let myself out. Go get your man, Clarke.”
He’s waiting by his car, leaning against the side like something out of a damn romance novel.
Dark jeans, white tee, leather jacket. That cocky, lopsided grin that makes my knees go weak.
And the moment his eyes find mine, they darken in a way that makes me forget every coherent thought I’ve ever had.
“Wow,” he says, low and reverent. “You trying to kill me?”
I shrug. “Just keeping your ego in check.”
“Failing. Miserably.”
He steps forward, brushes a kiss to my cheek, and opens the passenger door for me like a proper gentleman. But I don’t miss his smirk when I blush.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re on the road.
“You’ll see.” He won’t tell me. Just reaches across the console to tangle his fingers with mine.
And I let him. Because for the first time in weeks, even with my heart breaking over what’s happening at home, I feel light. Like there’s a little space carved out just for this. For us.
And right now, that’s enough.