41. The Great Sorting #2
“A table for Cindy is ready,” she says, and yep, with her use of the dog’s names for us, she’s definitely earned her admission into The Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society.
Miles is here already with a new mason jar of wildflowers for the table, but they have different colors this time—peaches and plums, and the fact that he’s mixed up the assortment every time we’ve met here is so very him.
So is the affection in his dark brown eyes.
It’s hard not to fling myself at him. To rise up on tiptoes when he stands, to kiss him here, then beyond the doors.
But I dig my nails into my palms, a reminder that we’re here as…friends.
It’s not the brownie I can’t wait for. It’s the moment when I’ll have no more questions.
Today, though, I’m ready for another step—a smaller one, but an important one nonetheless. “You asked about my rent the other week, if I wanted to talk about it,” I tell him after Birdie brings me a tea and him an espresso.
“I did,” he says, his eyes sparkling, clearly eager for me to share.
“So I actually had this idea when I was shooting the tunnel picture of you yesterday for the calendar.”
He holds up a hand. “If this is about a Miles-only centerfold calendar, I should warn you—it’s strictly a one-person distribution.”
I laugh, but the laughter softens as I focus on my plans. Nerves flutter in my chest, but I share them anyway. “Speaking of, that’s kind of my idea.”
His brow arches. “You’re saying people would be more interested in buying a calendar of you?”
“In a way,” I say, then explain. “I was thinking of offering boudoir sessions for some of the players’ wives and girlfriends—like Melissa, maybe Christian’s wife, or Freya, Alexei’s girlfriend—and making calendars they could gift their partners.”
The delight on his face is undeniable, and it tells me I’ve hit on a good idea. “Is that why you were looking at calendar templates on your tablet the other week?”
I nod, surprised, but delighted he remembers that. “I was brainstorming, and it hit me—it’s a perfect extension of what I’m already doing. Melissa wants to do a shoot, so I’m excited to pitch the idea to others too.”
He leans closer, his voice warm. “I love the way your brain works. I love that you’re sharing this with me.”
“Sharing isn’t really my forte, but maybe it can be,” I say.
“It can,” he says, and I know it’s true—I just had to get there on my own. “But I do have one suggestion.”
“Hit me,” I say, emboldened by his support.
“I think you should raise your prices.”
My face goes blank for a second. “Really?”
“You’re worth it,” he says, his voice steady and certain, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your landlord raised the prices, and you’re a phenomenal photographer who makes clients feel beautiful and empowered. Maybe just five percent, but it’s time. You’re worth it.”
You know what? He’s right.
I am.
Soon, he heads to the rink to work out, and I stop by Hush Hush to make sure I have everything I need for my next set of shoots.
I don’t love showing up at the Sea Dogs arena with him—it feels too public, too risky—so arriving separately also makes everything easier.
In the early afternoon the bus drops me off for another calendar shoot. This time, I take playful shots of Little Friends’ adoptable mutts causing mayhem in the locker room—chewing on skates, chasing pucks, or sitting triumphantly on the benches.
As the guys shift into pre-game mode, I put my camera in the bag and swing by Melissa’s cookie cart near the concession area.
“If you’re ready, I am too,” I say.
She draws a big, nervous breath but grins. “Sexy and sweet, here I come.”
Sexy and sweet. The words spark something—an idea that clicks perfectly into place. Her sweet with my sexy. “Would you ever want to do a collab?”
“I love partnering with smart, savvy businesswomen,” she says. “Tell me more.”
Within ten minutes, we’re brainstorming packages of lingerie-shaped cookies and sexy pics for boudoir-themed bridal showers, bachelorette parties, and other events. We even schedule a time for her session.
Maybe this is part of what I needed with time—time to see that I can keep growing my business. That I can give my work the attention it deserves and I want.
When the game starts, I take my spot in the stands. My good mood flickers momentarily when I see my dad in his suit, game face on, leading his players. I don’t want to keep lying to him, but I know I need to be certain before I say anything.
I do my best to push the thought aside, letting the fast pace of the game pull me in, feeling a connection to Miles that’s both wonderful and a little painful.
I want to cheer louder for him. The loudest, actually.
I want to wear his jersey. He’s never asked me to but I know he’d love it, especially considering how wild it made him the night I wore it on the dog-cam.
I want to wave to him. To wait for him. To be the one who asks how he feels after a win or loss and to listen no matter how he feels.
I want to be the safe space for him to open his heart to not just in his home, but out of it.
But does that mean I’m ready to take this terrifying step into a future I’ve tried to meticulously, painstakingly plan for?
I shudder, wishing I had all the answers and trying vainly once more to focus on the ice. It’s hard to separate thoughts of him from the game. But by the time intermission starts, I’m ready to focus on my next shot.
Sabrina glides onto the ice with an effortless grace, her skating style both fun and athletic. She tosses T-shirts into the crowd, her spins and axels breathtaking, her energy infectious. It’s hard to look away from her, and I’m pretty sure no one does.
When the game ends, I meet Everly near the locker room to snap a shot of Sabrina with some of the guys on the team.
Including Miles’s brother, who seems determined to get in the shot. Or at least on saying hello. Maybe he noticed her at the end of intermission, skating off the ice? I bet he did.
“Wow,” Tyler says, stepping into the corridor as Sabrina approaches. His tone is casual, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. Maybe intrigue. “You were amazing.”
Whoa. Did Tyler just single out her figure-skating moves?
Sabrina smiles at him. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
“I do my best,” he says dryly.
Everly must notice their interaction since her eyes light up. “Why don’t we take a picture of you two on the ice?”
Tyler fights off a smile, offering a stoic, “Sure.”
She guides them back down the tunnel, and I follow. Once there, I snap their photo, and the way he wraps an arm around Sabrina tells me everything I need to know. The dude has a serious crush.
But the glint of a ring on her finger reminds me that Tyler’s crush might be real, but it’s going nowhere.
Later, at Miles’s house, I show him the photo of the two. “I think your brother has it bad for the taken figure skater.”
Miles studies it, a smirk shifting his lips. “Yeah, that’s definitely a crush. Better luck next time, little brother,” he says with a chuckle.
Then he pulls me in for a kiss—one that’s interrupted by my phone buzzing.
I grab it and check the screen. My dad. He’s sent a picture of Riley and me—from his digital frame. In it, we’re holding mugs at a diner. It’s from a couple years ago. Before I started lying to him, only he has no idea that’s how I’m marking time. My stomach drops as I read his note.
This was fun! We should grab breakfast again soon. I’ve been slammed with college stuff. What are you up to tonight?
My face burns with guilt as I type back a lie. Just editing photos.
The truth presses at the edges of my thoughts, demanding its release. I wish I didn’t have to lie—but I’m not ready for the conversation that comes with the truth.
Not yet. But maybe with a little more time.