Chapter 4 #2
But at least I won’t be walking in there alone.
The rest of the evening isn’t nearly as terrifying as I’d expected.
Mostly because Jo refuses to leave my side.
She somehow has a conversation with the mayor about local youth sports, remembers the name of the foundation director’s wife after hearing it once, laughs at my teammates’ terrible jokes, and gently steers every conversation whenever she notices me beginning to freeze.
I don’t even realize she’s doing it at first.
Someone asks me about the upcoming season.
Before I can overthink my answer, Jo smiles.
“You should hear him talk about the rookie receivers.”
Every head turns toward me.
Not because they’re waiting for me to perform.
Because they’re genuinely interested.
“They’ve been working hard,” I say. “They’ve got a lot of talent.”
One of the donors nods.
“I watched training camp. That kid from Ohio looked impressive.”
“He is.”
The conversation keeps going. Nobody notices that Jo quietly nudged it back onto safe ground.
More guests approach. Each time, she’s there. Never answering for me. Never taking over.
Just...making it easier.
By the time dinner is served, I realize I’m actually enjoying myself.
Monica catches my eye from across the ballroom. She gives me a subtle thumbs-up. I shake my head. She grins.
She knows exactly why tonight is going so well.
It isn’t because I suddenly became charming.
It’s because Jo somehow makes every room feel better.
Dinner stretches into speeches. Speeches become an auction. The auction becomes dancing.
By the time the band starts another slow song, the ballroom has relaxed.
People are laughing. The photographers have mostly wandered off.
Jo leans toward me. “So...”
“So?”
“I think your publicist is happy.”
I glance toward Monica. She’s talking to my agent now. Both of them look...pleased.
“They’re terrifying when they’re getting along.”
Jo laughs the sobers. “You okay?”
I realize... I am. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”
Her smile is even brighter than mine. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Across the room, another flash goes off. Instinctively, my shoulders tense.
Jo notices immediately. “Want to take a walk?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
We slip out a side door and into a quiet hallway lined with oversized black-and-white photographs from previous charity galas.
The music becomes little more than a muffled hum behind the walls.
We stop beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city.
“I owe you an apology,” I say.
She looks over. “For what?”
“I should’ve warned you.”
“About what?”
“All of...”
I gesture vaguely toward the ballroom.
“The cameras. Monica. The schedule. Everything.”
She smiles. “I survived.”
“I know.”
“I even got a really good piece of cheesecake.”
I laugh. “That’s your biggest takeaway?”
“It was excellent cheesecake.”
We stand there another moment.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” I admit.
She bumps my shoulder gently. “What is it?”
I look down at my hands. “I spent weeks wondering what you’d think when you met me.”
She says nothing. Just waits.
“I kept thinking...” I shake my head. “...what if the real me disappointed you?”
Her expression softens. “Cal.”
“I know the interviews. I know the headlines. I know I’m not exactly...”
She steps closer. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re exactly who you’ve been pretending not to be.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“I think you’re kind. I think you’re thoughtful. I think you have a good heart.”
My throat tightens.
“I know the man who stayed awake texting me until two in the morning because I couldn’t stop crying after a terrible day.” She smiles. “I know the man who went ring-shopping with his best friend, because he was nervous.”
I blink. “I told you that?”
“You tell me lots of things.”
She reaches out and lightly smooths an invisible wrinkle from the front of my jacket. “The interviews are the real you. This is it.”
“You make me feel...” I search for the word. “…seen. For the first time.”
Her eyes shine. “So do you.”
The hallway feels impossibly quiet. The city glitters beyond the glass.
I look at her. Really look at her.
She’s somehow even more beautiful than she was in every picture she’d ever sent me.
Not because of the dress.
Not because Monica had a team of professionals fussing over her all afternoon.
Because she’s smiling at me like she already knows every awkward, anxious part of me, aand she’s still here.
“I’ve wanted to do something all night.”
She tilts her head.
“I was hoping you would.”
I smile. “You know what it is?”
“I have a pretty good guess.”
I step a little closer. “Can I kiss you?”
Her smile softens. “Please do.”
I lift one hand slowly, giving her every chance to move away if she wants to.
Instead, she closes the last few inches between us. Our foreheads brush first. Then our noses.
I smile.
“So this is less awkward than the airport.”
She laughs quietly. “Barely.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I was worried I’d imagined this.”
“You didn’t.” Our eyes meet one last time.
Then I kiss her. Slowly. Carefully.
Like I’m afraid rushing it might somehow wake me from the best dream I’ve ever had.
She kisses me back just as gently.
Like her it’s warm. Patient. Certain.
When we finally pull apart, neither of us moves very far.
She smiles.
I smile back. “I think we’re going to have to retire calling each other ‘Wrong Number.’”